Perfume Review – Amouage Opus VII: The Heart of Animal Darkness

Posted on June 1, 2013 by Kafkaesque

In 2010, the royal Omani perfume house, Amouage, launched a new line entitled The Library Collection which was meant to be a “poetic homage to the art of living” and inspired by the concept of memories as treasured books in a library. Just a month ago, in mid-April 2013, Amouage added a seventh “book” to its line, this one created by Alberto Morillas and Pierre Negrin. Opus VII is described as “a green, woody and leather fragrance evoking the juxtaposition of harmony with the intensity of recklessness.” It is a difficult, complex, assertive and very masculine scent that takes you to the heart of darkness in a smoky oud jungle populated by ferocious big cats.

According to the Amouage press release quoted by CaFleureBon:

Opus VII literally stands out from the previous six editions as it is the first to use a black flacon with gold criss cross lines; an allegory of the mind when thoughts are subjected and diverted. The use of galbumum and violet in Opus VII are integral to the composition and Christopher [Chong]’s vision.

I don’t see violet listed as one of Opus VII’s notes which — according to both Amouage‘s website and Fragrantica — consist of:

top: Galbanum, Pink Pepper, Cardamom, Nutmeg, Fenugreek
heart: Agarwood Smoke, Patchouli, Ambrox [synthetic amber], Leather, Ambergris
base: Costus Root, Muscone [synthetic musk], Sandalwood, Olibanum [Frankincense], Cypriol [a woody note with earthy and spicy nuances]

Source: herbalveda.co.uk

As always with Amouage, understanding what the perfume smells like requires understanding the more unusual ingredients that the house likes to use. In this case, one of the most important would be the Costus Root. In a long article on animalic notes, The Perfume Shrine describes costus root as “reminiscent of unwashed hair, in more intimate places than just head” and says that it is one of the elements for the trademarked perfumer’s base called “Animalis,” produced by Synarome. In a post on Animalis itself, The Perfume Shrine describes costus root as

a plant essence that has an uncanny resemblence to a mix of unwashed human hair, goat smell and dirty socks. […] It’s also part of the mysterious urinous & musky allure of Kouros by Yves Saint Laurent (which indeed features a healthy dose of costus under phenyl acetate paracresol).

Though the Perfume Shrine says that modern perfume restrictions have limited or “axed” the use of costus, it is a huge part of Opus VII on my skin.

Dried fenugreek leaves via Suhana.co.in

Another big element is Fenugreek, a plant whose dried leaves or seeds are often used in Middle Eastern or Indian cuisine. In fact, I have a large bottle of it in my pantry right now. Fenugreek has an extremely difficult scent to describe; if you’ve ever smelled it, you’ll know it right away, but otherwise, it’s a little complicated. Basically, it’s a very green aroma that is simultaneously sweet, herbaceous and extremely pungent. Though Wikipedia says that it’s called Methi in India and is a key component of some Indian dishes, to me it evokes Middle Eastern or Ethiopian food much more. It is a key ingredient in Persian Ghormeh Sabzi which Wikipedia says is considered to be one of Iran’s national dishes. Whatever its uses, fenugreek is one of those ingredients that, after you eat it, will ooze and seep out of your pores for days in a slightly sour, stale smell. As the Perfume Shrine explains,

An opaque, rather bitter smell with a nutty undertone, it traverses the urinary track to scent a person’s urine as well as their sweat and intimate juices. Its seeds’ odour is comparable to thick maple suryp. Fenugreek is featured in many fragrances which have rippled the waters of niche perfumery with pre-eminent examples Sables by Annick Goutal and Eau Noire by Christian Dior (composed by nose Francis Kurkdjian). Everytime I smell them I am reminded of the intense flavour that this spice gives them. [Bold font emphasis added.]

If all this talk of ingredients with sharp, bitter, animalic and/or urinous aromas is giving you pause, well, I’m sorry to say that both notes are key to understanding Opus VII. I could simply mention “fenugreek” and “costus root” all day long to you but, unless you know what that really entails, you won’t be prepared for the complicated, difficult scent that is Opus VII.

Source: all-hd-wallpapers.com

The perfume opens on my skin with an immediate burst of oud backed with something lemony that has a strong nuance of urine, along with the darkest of green notes and leather. Woods that are deeply smoky and dark sit atop pungently herbaceous sharp fenugreek with slightly intimate animalic musk, earthy, spicy elements, and sweetly bright, green patchouli. It is a vision of darkness, black and green, the innermost recesses of a forest where a golden jungle cat slithers, slinks and prowls in the shadows before releasing a guttural “rowwwwwwrrrr.” In the footsteps of that opening burst, there are other notes which quickly appear. There is brightly green galbanum that feels almost citric-like in its surprising freshness but which has a dark, liqueured undertone. Pink peppercorns and sharp smoke — black, acrid, and burning like a forest on fire — also join the dance.

Source: Facebook

Few of the notes besides the smoky oud have a chance of competing against the raw animalism of Opus VII’s opening minutes. If you’ve ever been to the wild cat enclosure of a zoo, you’ll know the smell. And, to detect it here, even in a less concentrated, milder form, is a complete shock to the system. It truly feels like a panther or cheetah’s ferocious growl: urinous, like animal droppings, but also musky with a faint tinge of dirty hair underneath. It’s lemon-tinged and sharply evokes YSL‘s vintage Kouros for me, albeit in a significantly softer, milder, tamer manner in Opus VII’s early stage. I lack the guts to be able to wear Kouros myself, but I absolutely adore it on a man and think it’s an incredibly sexy scent. However, that sharply animalic note — often described by some as resembling “urinal cakes” — makes vintage Kouros a deeply polarizing fragrance. I suspect the same will be true of Opus VII.

Despite the sudden shock, I found Opus VII’s opening to be completely mesmerizing, captivating and fascinating. Perhaps much like a scorpion’s victim would watch its slow, ominous walk forward. Opus VII is, on the one hand, exactly like a jungle on fire with its earthy, rooty, dark floor kicked up by panicked animals in full flight, leaving behind leathered, slightly urinous droppings in their wake. On the other hand, it is a deeply woody-leathery fragrance that feels quite smooth, with a savagely sensuous heart at its base and something that seems almost like a velvety floral. Opus VII is such a jungle scent in its opening stage: primal, elemental, ferocious, pungent, fetid, earthy, leathered and sharp — but, also, lushly green in the darkest way possible. Baudelaire would have fully approved of it and would have undoubtedly written a companion piece to Les Fleurs du Mal, entitled perhaps as La Forêt de Terreur. I approve, too, in some way that is almost partially terrified. I struggle with galbanum but, here, it’s not the brutal galbanum of Bandit or other famous leather scents. It’s not so green that it might as well be black; instead, it is smooth, spiced, warm and animalic. It’s a leathered, ambered jungle cat’s galbanum, and it actually makes me want to spray on some more.

Source: Tumblr

Thirty minutes in, Opus VII starts to shift a little. The smokiness that evoked a burning jungle recedes just a hair; the perfume turns slightly more sour and urinous; the pepper notes seem blacker and far less like pink peppercorns; the leather feels darker and muskier; and the subtle spices flicker with a little more fire in the background. Much more importantly, however, the earthy elements intensify. It’s as if the jungle’s humidity hit the blackest soil at the very base of an oud/agarwood tree, turning the earth almost rooty and musky.

Bearded iris via scenicreflections.com

And, to my surprise, there is a definite impression of iris. A number of bloggers detected it, and they’re right. Though there is no iris or orris root listed in Opus VII, I’m guessing that some combination of the muscone, the earthy-woody cypriol, and the earthy elements of galbanum have created the distinct smell of iris. (Technically, “iris” as a note is impossible to create solely from the flower’s petals; it is replicated by taking rhizomes from the root, and/or often using other notes to lend to an overall impression of the flower’s scent.) I suspect that another thing that helps is ISO E Super.

ISO E Super. Source: Fragrantica

Yes, Opus VII starts with a flicker of my most dreaded, hated note on earth: ISO E Super. A flicker that starts to slowly increase in volume until, eventually, it completely ruins the entire fragrance for me. A perfumer once astutely noted that ISO E Super was my “kryptonite” and, sadly, it’s true. For those unfamiliar with the aroma-chemical, you can read my full description of its pros and cons here. In a nutshell, though, it is used most frequently for two reasons: 1) as a super-floralizer which is added to expand and magnify many floral notes, along with their longevity; and 2) to amplify woody notes and add a velvety touch to the base. It seems to be particularly used in fragrances that have vetiver, with Lalique‘s Encre Noire being just one of the many examples. It is also used in a large number of Montale Aoud fragrances, to amplify the wood note to that high-decibel shrieking volume. And it is the sole focus of Geza Schoen’s notorious Molecule 01 fragrance. ISO E Super always smells extremely peppery and, in large doses, has an undertone that is like that of rubbing alcohol, is medicinal, and/or antiseptic. Some people are completely anosmic to the synthetic, while others get searing, vicious headaches from it. It is a constant base in most Ormonde Jayne perfumes, so if you get a headache from those, blame the ISO E Super. I’m not afflicted in that manner, but I cannot stand the smell in large quantities and, my God, it is strong in Opus VII’s second stage.

At the end of the first hour, Opus VII shifts in hue, turning mossily green. Visually, it is no longer the black-green of the jungle’s shadow, seeming almost ebony-like in its darkness. Instead, the perfume now reflects slightly lighter green notes, sweeter, warmer, rounder and backed by amber. The patchouli blooms, feeling as bright as emerald moss, and it helps soften the sharp edges of the urinous leather and the aggressive oud smoke. At the same time, both the iris and the fenugreek note rise in prominence. Though I’m not one to usually rave about iris, here it’s truly lovely and feels like the lushest, most buttery, velvety suede. Creamy and delicate, it has a sturdy woody-rooty undertone that prevents it from feeling gauzy, ethereal and cold. It feels like taupe-brown suede, not grey-white, if that makes any sense. Opus VII starts to turn into warmer, ambered scent where the animalic notes are softened, less sharp, dirty or urinous, the smoke is less aggressive, and the whole thing is more velvety, mossy and earthy.

Source: Sodahead.com

Unfortunately, the start of the second hour marks an abrupt right turn in Opus VII’s development. From that fascinating start as olfactory ode to the heart of darkness in a smoky oud forest inhabited by the most powerful of leathery, ambered jungle cats alongside velvety iris and mossy green, the perfume suddenly becomes a fenugreek-oud scent — much like a dark forest through which shines the fluorescent light of ISO E Super. Sure, there are still elements of animalic musk, leather, iris, spices (cardamom, in particular) and amber, but the oud really goes into high gear here. It is always infused with the pungent, herbal fenugreek, the slightly urinous feline musk, and the sharply medicinal, astringent ISO E — and the combination just gets stronger with every minute. By the middle of the third hour, Opus VII is an oud-fenugreek-musk combination above gallons of medicinal, antiseptic ISO E Super. By the end of the fourth hour, it’s predominantly, painfully, and primarily pure ISO E Super and oud, backed by animalic, sour musk over light amber. Honestly, I preferred smelling like a panther just peed on me.

Opus VII’s drydown begins at the fifth hour. The perfume is primarily dark, peppered, woody notes headed by oud, followed thereafter by light, synthetic sandalwood (which has suddenly made its first appearance), the endless ISO E Super, a miniscule pinch of spices, and a lot of sour musk over vague, muted amber. In some odd way that I can’t explain, the whole thing feels generalized and somewhat abstract. Opus VII is also a much softer scent now in terms of sillage, becoming very close to the skin where it lingers on for another few hours. At the end, 8.5 hours in, all that really remains is a musky, spiced oud note, though tiny pockets of scent still pop up occasionally on random patches of arm for another few hours. For the most part, however, Opus VII lasted in full form about 8.5 hours on me. Its sillage was much more moderate than some of Amouage’s floral scents, never projecting in tidal waves, though the scent was still extremely powerful within its small cloud a few inches above my skin.

As you can tell, Opus VII was ultimately not for me but I do think many people will be fascinated by its dichotomy, especially men. I think the perfume will be disconcerting for others and, for women used to mainstream fragrances, it will scream “masculine” in a very negative way. Opus VII is a fragrance for people who like very aggressive leathers, ouds, sharp smoke and animalic notes — all in one — as well as those who don’t get raging headaches from ISO E Super.

I think one of the best reviews for Opus VII comes from Lucas at Chemist in a Bottle. In fact, it was Lucas who so kindly and thoughtfully sent me a small sample of the perfume as a surprise gift. In his review, entitled Black Ink, he wrote:

With the first day of sampling Amouage Opus VII I noticed that it is a perfume of two different natures. The “outer” stratum of the scent is a hard shell. The smell is dense and oily with cypriol oil. When I smell it I get a feeling like I could drown in this scent. It’s mysterious and dark suspension, a black ink that covers everything permanently, making it impossible to return to the previous state. In this kettle particles of warm and spicy cardamom float, blended with a resinous smell of galbanum.

In no time the dark tincture smell gets enriched by the aroma of sandalwood. It’s raw, dirty, not smooth but full of splinters that can hurt your hands when you want to touch it and feel the structure of the wood. Neither musk is soft here. In Opus VII musky tones are animalic, wild and untamed which is additionally pronounced by the earthy, almost rotten patchouli. Maybe it’s just my nose (not used to smelling scents like this one) but so far this Amouage is a beasty creature on me.

Once you survive through the “outer” stratum of Amouage Opus VII the different story begins. After the hard shell is broken, the softer core of the scent is revealed. To me it is still dark, but now it’s more gentle and chic like a black silk scarf. Amber creates warm and sensual aura around the wearer and olibanum adds the restrained mineral quality with a slightly salty touch. Of course oud had to find its place in the composition. Luckily it’s not very powerful. Accompannied by the leathery chords it creates this a little bit mischievous smell of tanner workshop. The smell of raw leather, pigments… it’s all in here.

In the rest of the review, which I recommend reading in full, he notes the presence of the iris note and how the final stage of Opus VII on his skin was spicy and dry. He concludes with a very apt warning: “Bear in mind – this is not an easy to wear perfume. In my opinion one has to be really self-confident and needs to have a strong personality to rock it.”

I agree very much with that last part as well as with his overall impressions of the perfume, though the details of our individual experiences with Opus VII differed. For one thing, I detected very little sandalwood on my skin until the very end. For another, Lucas has often noted that oud notes manifest themselves very softly on his skin. My skin, in contrast, amplifies certain base notes, I think, which may explain the vociferous roar of the oud. But we thoroughly unite on the issue of the raw leather and those prominent animalic notes which, as he put it so well, are “untamed” and completely “beasty” — in the full sense of that word. And, despite having perfume tastes at the opposite ends of the perfume spectrum, we both would run away from wearing Opus VII ourselves.

African lion spraying to mark his territory. Photo: Charles G. Summers, Jr. Source: WildImages on Flickr http://www.flickriver.com/photos/wild_images/2236584479/

Opus VII is a difficult, thorny scent for a variety of reasons, and it is not one which I would recommend to the vast majority of people. Though there are fascinating, intriguing and, at times, mesmerizing parts, at the end of the day, I think it’s a very masculine scent with extremely assertive edges that border on the abrasive. Some of the notes are wildly aggressive but, taken by themselves, they would be manageable. Even a jungle cat peeing on your arm can be handled, in small doses. But Amouage rarely does anything in moderation, and Opus VII is no exception. The combination of difficult, raw, beastly notes at such supersonic volume (and atop such vast lakes of ISO E Super) made much of Opus VII simply unbearable for me. If Opus VII had been a projection beast — which, thankfully, it is not — then it would have been a complete scrubber right off the bat. As it was, I tried it twice and the second time, I gave up after 6.5 hours. The second time round, the animalic notes were so prominent, I felt as if I’d been chained in a wild cat enclosure and been peed on by a vast legion of feral, growly animals who had been fed a steady diet of antiseptic oud. At $325 or €275 a bottle, Opus VII is a very expensive wildlife experience but, if you enjoy the woody heart of darkness, then give it a try.

DETAILS:

U.S. availability & Stores: Opus VII comes only in a 3.4 oz/100 ml eau de parfum that retails for $325. It is available from Parfums Raffy, the authorized US retailer for Amouage, who offers free domestic shipping and Amouage samples with each order. Parfums Raffy also sells a 2.5 ml sample of Opus VII for $6. Elsewhere, Opus VII is available at Luckyscent and MinNY.

Outside the US: In the UK, Opus VII is not yet available at Les Senteurs which normally carries the full Amouage line. I also don’t see it amongst the Amouage listings at Harrods. However, there is an Amouage boutique in London. In Paris, Opus VII is available via Jovoy for €275 with shipping available throughout the rest of Europe. First in Fragrance usually carries the Amouage line but doesn’t have Opus VII listed on its website for some reason. Of course, the perfume is also available on Amouage’s own website, along with a Library Sampler Set for €50 of the other 6 perfumes in the collection. The website also has a “Store Finder” for about 20 countries which should, hopefully, help you find Opus VI somewhere close to you.

Samples: Samples of Opus VII are available at Surrender to Chance starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. The site also sells a Sampler Set for the other 6 of the Library line which starts at $19.99 for 1/2 ml vials.

Perfume Review: Histoires de Parfums 1725 (Casanova)

Posted on May 31, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Lavender fields in Provence.

Famous characters and mythical years, captured in a bottle. The lyrical, olfactory tribute to history is at the heart of Histoires de Parfums, a French niche perfume house founded in 2000 by Gérald Ghislain. As the Histoires de Parfums website explains, each of the early fragrances was entitled just with a date in history, the year in which a legendary figure was born. In the case of “1725,” it was Giacomo Girolamo Casanova who is best known for being a libertine, lover and seducer of women, though he was also much, much more. For example, did you know that some scholars believe Casanova helped write some of the lyrics to Mozart’s Don Giovanni opera, that he translated the mighty Iliad, got into a heated debate over religion with the brilliant Voltaire, or that he was a highly respected political advisor?

Giovanni Casanova via Wikimedia.

I bring up these other attributes because some may think that a perfume dedicated to Casanova would be a mighty oriental, intended to seduce with opulent, sensuous notes — and they would be mistaken. Histoires de Parfums has taken a very different tack with 1725, creating an aromatic fougère with gourmand qualities. The company’s full description for 1725, along with its notes, is as follows:

Venice, the riparian city of love. In that year of 1725 was born the man whose name would symbolize seduction: Giacomo Girolamo Casanova.

« What is love then? An illness to which man is prone to any age », claimed the one who was one after the other abbot, officer, scholar, writer, banker, con artist, magician, infantryman, spy, diplomat, but always claiming his Venetian origins. For every Casanova, here is an eau de parfum inviting intense pleasure, an amber fern mixing fine wooded tunes and touches of lemony freshness, sublimed by the elegance of lavender. Warmed with heady spices and colored by sweet fruits.

Originality: vanilla lavender combination.

Top Note: Bergamot, Citrus, Grapefruit, Licorice

Heart Note: Lavender, Star Anise

Base Note: Vanilla, Almond, Sandalwood, Cedar, Amber

1725 Casanova doesn’t evoke either the man or sybaritic Venice to me. Instead, I’m taken to modern Provence, perhaps the Luberon before Peter Mayle’s wonderful Year in Provence books made it less of a magical secret. I see vast fields of lavender infused by the aroma of a thousand patisserie shops at its base. They are filled with vanillic almond croissants, pate d’amande, aniseed galettes, and frothy vanilla drinks. Surrounding the lavender fields is a long avenue of cedar trees that create a bridge to the orchards of yellow lemons and zesty yellow grapefruits. The corridor of woody trees is occasionally tinged by smoke but, more frequently, by that wafting scent of vanilla from the patisseries at the bottom of the hill. To me, that is the perfume in a nutshell.

Source: Worldfortravel.com

1725 Casanova opens on my skin with aromatic herbs and citruses with underlying spices and a quietly muted leather note. The lemon is zesty, fresh, very crisp and similar to the juice in unsweetened lemonade. The grapefruit is similarly yellow and tart. Intermingled with both notes is lavender that feels smooth, not bitter or pungent. A little bit of spicy anise flickers at the edges and, within seconds, is joined by some very exuberant almond atop a light vanilla base.

Croissants aux amandes via foodattitude.fr http://www.foodattitude.fr/article-croissants-aux-amandes-113855705.html

The almond and vanilla notes are in sharp contrast to the lavender and citrus. The former evokes a French breakfast pastry; the latter, the herbaceous hills of Provence where fields of lavender meet orchards of citrus fruits. The sweetness of the almond-vanilla accord prevents Casanova’s opening from feeling like a primarily masculine fragrance with its typical fougère combination of herbaceous, aromatic citruses and lavender.

Fennel fronds.

Still, the perfume seems almost split into two until, about five minutes in, a bridge is formed between the two camps, thanks to the advent of the cedar note. It’s just barely peppered but, instead, creamy and backed by lightly spiced anise. The latter doesn’t feel like black licorice candy or even dried star anise; instead, it feels more like the fresh green fronds of an anise vegetable or, as Americans call it, fennel. It’s a beautifully delicate, subtle note, especially when mixed with the creamy wood accord, and the two together help to bridge the divide between the other competing groups. But I still found 1725 to be a bit jangly and discordant at the beginning.

Source: Usafilm.info

Twenty minutes in, 1725 Casanova turns into a smoky cedar and lavender perfume, with the tiniest dash of citrus and anise notes– all over a vanilla-almond base. The cedar note is beautiful, especially with the lavender — a note that some of you know that I absolutely despise in large quantities. Here, however, it is well done, adding just a subtle aromatic herbaceous quality to the peppered woods while also feeling airily creamy and sweetened. It helps that it’s subtle, creating an overall gauzy haze over the notes, but never smelling like those revoltingly concentrated sachets of dried lavender that were as ubiquitous in the South of France (especially Cannes) as the air you breathed. (If you lived in Cannes, which is right next to Grasse, you were so inundated by lavender sachets, oils, perfumes, creams, bath products, and lavender of every possible formulation, you ended up almost being traumatized. Few places in the South of France are so deluged and bombarded with the note as Cannes which is only about 18 minutes away from the world’s center of perfumery and lavender. So, by the time we escaped to Monte-Carlo, it was too late; I was scarred for life with a searing, deeply rooted, life-long lavender phobia.)

To my surprise, it is actually the vanilla note in 1725 Casanova with which I have greater difficulty. Infused by almond like that in pate d’amande, there is something extremely sickly about it. And, despite its generally light airiness, it feels both cloying and somewhat synthetic. Thankfully, however, about an hour into Casanova’s development, it softens and becomes significantly better. No longer cloying and quite so jangly (for lack of a better term), it mellows out into a much more harmonious note, blending in well with both the marzipan-like almond and the lavender.

Source: Epicurus.com

Starting at the 90 minute mark and for the rest of Casanova’s development, the perfume becomes a well-modulated, balanced, almondy-vanilla fragrance that has almost a heliotrope-like quality and which is infused with light, sweetened lavender — all atop a base of smoky wood notes touched fleetingly with softly spiced, herbal anise. It’s not dessert-like or gourmand; 1725 has too much lavender, light smoke and dry woods for that, but it’s also not a truly masculine fougère, either.

1725 remains that way until its very end, never changing in any dramatic way but merely softening until, finally, it is nothing more than a soft vanilla with a touch of lavender over an abstract, woody base tinged with the smallest whisper of smoke. Its sillage was generally moderate at the start, never projecting loudly; this is far too refined a fragrance for volume. Instead, it creates a very small, soft cloud within which the perfume is quite detectable. 1725 Casanova became a skin scent around the fourth hour, remaining there for a number more hours until it finally faded away shortly after the 8 hour mark.

It is surprisingly pretty — even to one who despises lavender. I wore 1725 Casanova to dinner with my parents and, to my surprise, it was a huge hit with the two biggest perfume snobs I know. I don’t know who is more difficult to please: my mother or my father. Almost everything I make them smell is greeted with disdainful silence and a faintly curled lip. Occasionally, there is a single raised eyebrow, a faint shudder, and a horrified comment on the state of modern perfumery. (“Why would anyone want to smell like food??!!) Out of perhaps 50 recent fragrances, I can only remember four or five perfumes receiving enthusiastic approval. Yet, both of them really liked 1725. Frankly, I couldn’t quite believe it. They did disagree somewhat on how powerful a perfume it was: my father thought it was strong; my mother scoffed. And, to my amusement, my mother refused to believe that 1725 Casanova was technically classified as a masculine fragrance. Simply refused. (“That’s a woman’s perfume,” to which my father responded, “Who cares? It smells really good.”)

I agree with both of them. 1725 Casanova is about as unisex as it comes. It’s also an extremely wearable, easy fragrance that would fit a variety of casual situations. I myself wouldn’t go near lavender on any frequent basis (let alone spend actual money on it), but if I think 1725 Casanova is pretty, then those with less violent lavender antipathies may love it.

On Fragrantica, opinions seem split. Half the posters think 1725 Casanova is a charming, lovely, wearable, and even elegantly sophisticated scent; the other half think it’s not hugely interesting, especially as compared to some other Histoires de Parfums perfumes. (The aggressively masculine leather scent, 1740 known as Marquis de Sade, is often mentioned.) Men seem to be more critical, while the few women who have reviewed 1725 seem to like it for themselves. And I think both facts really sum up the perfume: it’s not a very masculine scent, let alone a complicated one. As such, it will fall short with men who prefer the more unusual, and much more obviously masculine, fragrances from the same brand. Yet, there are enough admirers who find it utterly “charming” and timeless to show that it really depends on whether you want something classically elegant or something a little more rakishly adventurous.

One such admirer is the famous perfume critic, Luca Turin, who categorizes 1725 Casanova as an “Anisic Lavender” and gave it a Four Star review in Perfumes: The A-Z Guide:

Anisic notes are hard to handle in perfumery: they are sweetly happy on their own (few things smell better than star anise in a bag) but usually stand out in ensemble playing as a pan flute would in a string quartet. This clever fragrance associates two such notes, licorice and star anise, to a lavender-citrus structure and somehow clips the whole thing together with a touch of heliotropin and cedarwood. Top and heart are wonderfully melodious, and the drydown comes close enough to L’Heure Bleue to feel its gravitational pull, but then escapes again. Very good.

My experience wasn’t identical to his, especially as I never detected a strongly black licorice note and the anise one was much more like soft fennel than truly spicy, almost bitterish, woody, very pungent, dried star anise. That said, I can see why he would compare 1725’s drydown to L’Heure Bleue, and I do think it’s a good fragrance — even with the lavender.

As a final note, a huge number of people on Fragrantica seem to think 1725 Casanova resembles MDCI‘s Invasion Barbare. I haven’t tried or reviewed the latter, so I can’t comment, but 33 people voted on the similarity on each perfume’s page. A few noted subtle differences, such as one commentator who said that Casanova was similar but “with the violet removed and the notes toned down and refined.” All I can tell you is that 1725 is significantly cheaper than the MDCI fragrance: a 2 oz/60 ml bottle of Casanova costs $125, while the exact same size for Invasion Barbare costs $250.

In short, if you like anise and lavender, then I’d definitely recommend giving 1725 a sniff.

DETAILS:

Cost, Availability, Decant Sets & Samples: 1725 Casanova is an Eau de Parfum that comes in two sizes: 2.0 oz/60 ml for $125 or €145; or 4 oz/120 ml for $205. (Further decant or mini-sized options are below). Both full bottle sizes are available on the Histoires de Parfums website, which also has a fantastic sample program (6 samples of your choice) whose $20 price goes towards the purchase of a large 4 oz. bottle. Further details are available here as to how the process works. Shipping is free for all orders anywhere in the world for purchases over $130; below that, there is a $10 shipping fee. In the U.S., 1725 Casanova is available from Luckyscent in both sizes, along with samples. BeautyHabit has not only the 2 bottles but also a 14 ml decant for $36. The perfume is also found on Amazon in the smaller $125 size. The Perfume Shoppe (which has a Canadian division) sells 14 ml decants of 1725 for $36. Another option may be from Beauty Cafe which sells a 3 Bottle Nomad Kit of any 3 HdP fragrances in 14 ml bottles for $96. Outside the U.S.: In the UK, you can find it at Roullier White for GBP £125 for the smaller 2 oz/60 ml bottle. For the rest of Europe, you can find it at First in Fragrance for €145 for the 2 oz bottle. In Australia, you can find it on sale at City Perfume for AUD$179 for 2.0/60 ml oz or at the full AUD$190 price at Peony Melbourne. For all other countries, Histoires de Parfums vast Store Locator lists retailers from South Africa to the Netherlands, Sweden and Kuwait. Samples: You can find samples at a number of the retailers linked to above. Surrender to Chance has a variety of different options and sizes for 1725 Casanova, from samples to decants. Samples begin at $4.99 for a 1 ml vial.

New Perfume Releases: Tom Ford Atelier d’Orient Collection

Posted on May 30, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Tom Ford is releasing a new collection of fragrances within his Private Blend line. The collection is called Atelier d’Orient and will consist of four perfumes: Shanghai Lily, Plum Japonais, Fleur de Chine and Rive d’Ambre.

Source: Fragrantica

Now Smell This (“NST”) has the press releases for each scent which is provided below. The only site I’ve found that has the details of the notes for each fragrance is Miss Fashion News, so I’ve added that underneath the NST quote:

Shanghai Lily ~ “Opulent. Tantalising. Elegant. Tom Ford’s Shanghai Lily eau de parfum is a floral oriental scent that transports the senses into a world of rare and opulent ingredients from the historic silk road. Warm spices, elegant florals and addictive notes of vanilla and frankincense create a hazy reverie of glamour and temptation.”

NOTES from Miss Fashion News: bitter orange, pink peppercorns, black pepper, clove, jasmine, rose, tuberose, vetiver, cashmere wood, benzoin (Laos), castoreum, cistus, gaiac wood, vanilla and incense.

Plum Japonais ~ “Delectable. Luscious. Sensual. Tom Ford’s Plum Japonais eau de parfum reveals the extraordinary beauty of the ume plum by juxtaposing it with a lush and unconventional mélange of exotic asian ingredients. Rich and luxurious, it is a fragrance with irresistible complexity.”

NOTES from Miss Fashion News: saffron, cinnamon bark (Laos), immortelle, plum blossom, camellia blossom (Japan), agar wood, amber, benzoin (Laos), fir balsam absolute, and infusions of vanilla.

Fleur de Chine ~ “Dramatic. Smouldering. Seductive. Tom Ford’s Fleur de chine eau de parfum is an unequivocally romantic and haunting floral fragrance touched with a reverence for the great scents of the past. Precious asian flowers, including hualan flower and star magnolia, are arranged in a bouquet of rare beauty for a scent that lingers on.”

NOTES from Miss Fashion News: blossoms of tea, magnolia, fresh clementines, white peach, bergamot, hyacinth, hinoki wood, leaves of jasmine tea, plum, rose tea, wisteria, amber, peony, benzoin from Laos, styrax, Chinese cedar, and vetiver.

Rive d’Ambre ~ “Ornate. Compelling. Warm. Tom Ford’s Rive d’Ambre is a golden toned eau de cologne with a veil of colonial elegance. Precious citrus fruits – a talisman of good fortune in asia – are beautifully illuminated by a warm and seductive amber background.”

NOTES from Miss Fashion News: essential oils of bergamot, lemon and bitter orange with notes of tarragon, green mint, and cardamom [along with]… cognac oil [and] tolu balsam[.]

Source: Fragrantica

The collection is already out in the UK at Harvey Nichols, along with other British department stores like Harrods and Selfridges. The price for the 50 ml/1.7 oz bottles is £140.00, while the massive 250 ml bottles are retailed at £320.00. No word yet on when precisely the collection will hit the U.S. or elsewhere, and what the U.S. pricing may be. However, Miss Fashion News says that European pricing is €180 for 50 ml and €430 for 250 ml.

Lastly, Miss Fashion News also has some more information about the story associated with each scent — such as how Fleur de Chine is meant to reference the 1930s-1960s femme fatales of the Chinese silver screen — so you may want to glance at that, too, if you’re interested. Also, while Now Smell This has a more generalized, press release description of the scents, there are additional details in the comment section from its UK readers who have already given the four fragrances a quick sniff. So you may want to check out the responses if any of the fragrances intrigue you. One interesting tidbit: one poster says that the UK prices seem to have gone up for these four fragrances as compared to the other Private Blend perfumes. And looking at the Harvey Nichols’ prices in British pounds, I would agree. So, U.S. pricing is bound to also increase from the current $205 rate for the small 1.7 oz/50 ml bottles.

Perfume Review – Lubin Idole (Eau de Toilette): Take Me To The Jungle

Posted on May 30, 2013 by Kafkaesque

African sunset, Zambia.

Set the jungle on fire!

Set it ablaze “with a woody liqueur rich in scorching spices, as sweet as sugar cane, and as warm as leather.” That was the express goal of famous perfumer, Olivia Giacobetti, in creating Idole, the much-loved fragrance from the ancient French perfume house of Lubin. Idole is a reinvention of a 1962 Lubin fragrance, and is supposedly their 466th creation! It would sound like a complete lie from anyone else but Lubin, a perfume house whose storied history utterly fascinates me.

Lubin was founded in 1798 by Pierre François Lubin, soon after the French Revolution. He had apprenticed under the perfumer who served Marie-Antoinette but this was a new political climate. Lubin soon won favour with Napoleon’s Imperial court and his scents were beloved by both Empress Josephine and Napoleon’s influential sister, Pauline. The royal courts of Europe soon followed suit, from the King of England to the Tsar of Russia. Once Napoleon fell, the seemingly wily, pragmatic Lubin managed to curry favour with the new royal dynasty by dedicating his fragrances to the Bourbon queen, Marie-Amélie. A very ambitious man, Lubin seemed to need more worlds to conquer and, in 1830, became the first perfume-maker to conquer the New World with perfumes that reached the banks of the Mississippi. I have no idea if that last part of biographical past was embellished a little bit but, frankly, I don’t care one whit. For a history fanatic like myself, it is all utterly fascinating.

Idole was released in 2005 as an eau de toilette. In 2012, Lubin issued an Eau de Parfum version which I’ve read is largely similar to the Eau de Toilette with only minor differences and considerably greater depth. This review is only for the Eau de Toilette version. The Lubin press release (as quoted by Libertine Perfumes) describes the fragrance as follows:

Inspired by the ancient maritime spice routes, from Madagascar and Zanzibar in East Africa to Java in the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Idole is a seductive fragrance that never overwhelms. Rum and exotic spices mingle with dark, smoky woods and leather, creating a warm and seductive fragrance.

Serge Mansau designed the stunning bottle to much international acclaim with the inspiration being the sail of the traditional wooden boat known as a felucca, and features a carved African mask on the cap — a true collector’s item[.]

If you ever have time to spare, I urge you to check the Lubin website for their gorgeous graphics, music and the detailed story associated with Idole, which is as well done for Idole as it is for all their scents. As for the bottle, it is truly spectacular. One of the most eye-catching and unusual I’ve seen.

The notes in Idole include:

rum absolute, saffron, bitter orange peel, black cumin, Doum palm, smoked ebony, sugar cane, leather and red sandalwood.

As a side note, “black cumin” is another name for Nigella Sativa and seems to be quite unrelated to the type of cumin that is used in Indian curries. According to Wikipedia, Nigella Sativa is sometimes alternatively called “Fennel Flower,” “Nutmeg Flower,” or “Roman Coriander.” Its Turkish name — “çörek otu” — literally means “bun’s herb” from its use in flavouring the çörek buns. With a sweet, bitter taste, it is frequently used in Middle Eastern pastries or in liqueurs.

Sunset at Lake Kariba, Zimbabwe. Photo by: de Paula FJ via Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/fjota/2573634501/

Idole EDT opens on my skin with a strong note of actual, pure rum infused with sugar cane and followed immediately thereafter by loads of saffron. The latter is spicy, nutty, and sweet, but nothing like the dessert-like saffron used by Giacobetti in her famous Safran Troublant for L’Artisan Parfumeur. Idole’s top notes blend together to create a beautiful sum-total which is then joined by touches of bitter orange peel and a smoky, creamy, smooth wood note. I was extremely taken aback by just how airy the perfume is, given the richness of all those accords.

NW Africa fire dance via viewphotos.org

Within a few minutes, the perfume starts to shift. The saffron becomes less obvious as an individually distinct note, receding to the background to lend its indirect effect to the perfume’s rum, sugar cane notes. A very smoky, woody element that I assume is the Doum Palm muscles its way to the top. On its footsteps is a hint of some dry, dark, minutely bittered spice with an anise-like undertone which I assume is the “black cumin.” Flickering touches of something leathery dance at the periphery. The combination of elements swirls together to create a very spiced, rummy, woody, ambered feel. It is soft, almost gauzy on my skin, especially as compared to similarly boozy ambers with spice, but, despite that airy, lightweight feel, the notes seem rich, smooth and very warm. At least in the beginning….

One of Lubin’s associated images for Idole.

Thirty minutes in, Idole’s woody notes become very prominent. I’ve never smelled “Doum Palm,” but anyone who has been to the tropics knows the smell of palm trees with their almost vegetal, very beige, warmly woody aroma. Here, there is something darker lurking underneath, adding an almost smoky edge to the note. It’s probably the ebony. In his admiring Four Star review of Idole in Perfumes: The A-Z Guide, the famed perfume critic, Luca Turin, wrote that the perfume had “an eerie driftwood gray note at its center,” and I think that’s as good a way as any to describe the unusual smelling note. Alongside, there is a sugar cane-infused leather accord that feels wonderfully brown and rich. Saffron lurks in the background, adding a delicate touch of nuttiness to the underlying elements but it’s never strongly pronounced. To be honest, I would have preferred much more of it, along with the bitter peel orange accord which seems to have largely vanished from sight.

Traditional African Dogon Masque via Wikicommons

Idole remains that way for the rest of its duration on my skin — spiced rum and sugar cane with strongly woody notes that are smoked and supported by tinges of leather. It doesn’t fundamentally morph in any way, though the leather nuances recede about 90 minutes in and the darker, smoky wood accord becomes somewhat stronger. The smoke is perhaps one of my favorite parts, and its light tendrils embrace the wood in a truly lovely way. The flickering touches of the anise-like black cumin are also very pretty, though the note is even more muted after an hour than it was initially. In its final moments, Idole is primarily a musky, abstract rum with hints of woodiness and a sprinkling of sugar cane. All in all, it lasted 6.75 hours on my perfume-consuming skin, always feeling incredibly light and airy. The sillage wasn’t bad, but Idole isn’t a scent with enormous projection. Like everything else about the scent, it is moderate.

I liked Idole, but I have to admit, I was surprised it wasn’t more complex or nuanced. After all that I had heard about it, I had thought it would be darker, smokier, heavier. I had thought the jungle would be on FIRE; and it wasn’t, except for a few, itsy bitsy logs. (It didn’t help that Giacobetti’s quote kept making the refrains of the old 1980s song — “The roof! The roof! The roof is on Fire! Let the *___* burn” — ring out continuously in my head.) Also, for my personal tastes, Idole was far too soft and sheer. It seems to be Giacobetti’s signature to make heavy elements feel positively airy, but I really had expected far more, something that would take me to the heart of darkness, to reference the famous Joseph Conrad book, and to full sense of an African-like Apocalypse Now.

The Heart of Darkness and the Apocalypse Now that I had expected. Via hdwpapers.com

That said, I think Idole EDT would be a perfect choice for those who don’t want to give up their Orientals during the hot, sticky summer months. It is quite a versatile ambery Oriental, given its moderation on all fronts. Plus, its dry notes make it suitable for those who don’t like their boozy scents to verge on the gourmand. I also think Idole is highly unisex. Judging by what appeared on my skin, I don’t think it’s masculine at all. On Fragrantica, a number of people disagree, but I think it’s a highly subjective matter that all depends on your personal tastes. If you like clean, fresh, fruity, floral or dessert scents, then Yes, Idole may seem masculine with its smoked woody notes and leather nuances. If you’re used to Orientals, then, No.

African tribal makeup via iStock.

As a whole, Idole is a much-loved fragrance. Though there is a firm split on the issue of sillage and longevity, most people on Fragrantica either admire or flat-out adore the fragrance itself. Perhaps the most useful review comes from The Non-Blonde who, like me, wanted to love Idole EDT, but who struggled with its development on her skin and with its overall lack of depth. She ended up being blown away instead by the new Idole Eau de Parfum which is clearly something I have to seek out post-haste:

I first met (the modern) Idole de Lubin shortly after it came out in 2005. It was stunning. Completely and utterly breathtaking with its boozy opening and intense dark spicy heart. I loved it and tried for a long time to make it work, but there was a hollowness halfway through Idole EDT that make it fade and die on my skin much too quickly. It was like a great romance that didn’t survive the hardships of reality, but made me wistful whenever I looked back.

Six years later we meet again. Idole EDP is a changed perfume. Stronger, fuller and more reliable. I smell less cumin and more leather, the rum is sweeter and the incense smokier. It’s all I ever wanted Idole to be, and here it is- more brooding, taller but familiar. I want to bury my face in its warmth, wrap it over my shoulder and breath the dark woody aroma.

In asking her to create Idole EDP, Lubin allowed perfumer Olivia Giacobetti to make things right, to let Idole become what it was meant to be. It’s one of the best incense perfumes around, romantic and mysterious. On Luckyscent’s masculine-feminine spectrum they placed it slightly to the manly side and I agree, sort of. The rum-cumin-smokes wood ensures that Idole will appeal to men and smell magnificent on them, but women who have a thing for the dark side and wear perfumes such as Black Cashmere, Safran Troublant, Passage d’Enfer or Tea For Two will find a lot to love in it (the last three are also by Giacobetti).

Out of all the big bloggers out there, I find the Non-Blonde is the one whose views and experiences are always the closest to my own. We rarely seem to diverge in any serious respect. In contrast, I almost always differ widely in opinion, skin experiences, and detected notes from Bois de Jasmin — to the point that I often wonder if we’re smelling the same fragrance. I bring that up only because Bois de Jasmin swooned for Idole Eau de Toilette, writing about it as if it were one of the darkest, smokiest, most richly spiced, heavy fragrances she’d smelled in a while:

The warmth of spices is layered over the vibrant richness of woods, making Idole de Lubin one of the most voluptuous and darkest fragrances composed by Olivia Giacobetti. It does not evoke the images of transparency and hazy glow. Instead, the fragrance burns with the passionate intensity of sweet spices. A hot flame of clove accented by pepper slowly spills into the heart of the composition where it dies down in the smooth folds of orange sweetened leather. The base is filled with the caramel redolent vapors of rum, their warmth imbuing the darkness of woods with appealing sweetness. Against the backdrop of dark rosy sandalwood, a whisper of incense smoke lends an ethereal touch.

While the composition does not have a soft translucence characteristic of Olivia Giacobetti’s creations, her take on an oriental theme is interesting in terms of its ability to give airiness to the dark and heavy wood notes and to maintain outstanding tenacity. Like gold embroidery on silk, Idole de Lubin is a beautiful compromise between opulent richness and refined softness.

Obviously, perceptions of darkness, spice, and orientalism are a very relative thing. I do think that Idole is a pretty fragrance, but I didn’t find it even a tenth as complex, nuanced or “voluptuous” as what she experienced. (And I certainly didn’t detect any cloves or sandalwood.) Instead, I agree with The Non-Blonde’s impressions of ultimate hollowness, general softness, and insufficient depth or body. Even Now Smell This felt the same way, writing:

Olivia Giacobetti… fragrances make a virtue of simplicity and rarely raise their voice above a whisper, and Idole is no exception. It starts with peppery spices in a cloud of rum; the orange peel and saffron shine through beautifully as the alcohol burns off. The spice notes linger on into the dry down, lending an exotic touch to the smoky charred woods and leather. After an hour or so, it is rather mild and soft, just a whisper of leather and woods, no more than lightly sweet, with a subtle, close to the skin presence.

Idole EDP

Clearly, whether it’s on Fragrantica or between bloggers, there is a huge split on the issue of Idole’s richness. Since perfume is so subjective — especially in areas pertaining to richness, heaviness, spiciness, and depth — then, if you’re tempted by the fragrance, I would strongly recommend that you try both the Eau de Toilette and the fuller, seemingly more complex Eau de Parfum version before buying. Or, if you know you prefer heavier, richer perfumes, just opt right away for a sniff of the Eau de Parfum instead. The prices for both are excellent, especially given the size of the bottles and the fact that such enormously loved niche perfumes (in stunningly gorgeous, unusual bottles) are rarely so reasonable: the EDT comes in a 2.5 oz/75 ml bottle that retails for $120 or €95, while the Eau de Parfum comes in a large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle that costs $160 or €120. The relatively low cost of the fragrance, especially in Eau de Toilette form, may be one reason why many of the retailers that I have linked to below list the Eau de Toilette as one of their best sellers. In fact, it is completely sold out on Luckyscent at the moment.

Whichever version you opt for, I think Oriental lovers should definitely try Idole. If you’re lucky, it will take you to the heart of Africa and set the jungle on FIRE!

African Masai Warrior. Source: Foursquare.com

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Lubin comes in Eau de Toilette and Eau de Parfum. This review is only for the former which is available in a 75 ml/2.5 oz size for $120 or €95. In the US, Idole EDT is currently sold out on Luckyscent but it is available at Aedes and on BeautyHabit. I could only find the EDP version on MinNY. In Europe, Essenza Nobile and First in Fragrance both carry Idole EDT for €95. The site also sells samples. In the UK, Harrods carries Idole at Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie division (which doesn’t have its perfumes listed online). In Australia, Idole EDT is available at Libertine for USD$199. In the UAE, Karji is the exclusive distributor for Lubin. For all other countries, the Lubin website offers a list of retailers from Canada to the Netherlands, France and Hong Kong. As for the Eau de Parfum, it costs $160 for a large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle, instead of $120 for the 2.5 oz/75 ml EDT. It is sold at all the same retailers listed above for the Eau de Toilette version. To make life easier for you, here is the Luckyscent EDP link for any US readers. Samples: Surrender to Chance sells Idole EDT starting at $4.99 for a 1 ml vial. It does not carry samples of the Eau de Parfum, except for the vintage 1962 version which is universally considered to be a totally different fragrance.