Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 Oud 777

Posted on April 14, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Smoke #6 by Stefan Bonazzi. (Website link embedded within photo,.)

Oud 777 takes you on a journey through the darkness of leather, smoke, and oud, before you emerge on the other side in the soft light of silky creaminess. Along the way, you stop to picnic on labdanum amber, licorice, black truffle and anise, but the main leg of the trip is primarily about sharp smoke, tobacco, leather, and singed woods. It’s not The Heart of Darkness, but it sometimes feels like “The Smoke Monster” from Lost put on a leather jacket, dabbed on a little Amouage Tribute, then went to chew some tobacco on a stroll through burning woods in Cambodia. In fact, I suspect there are some leather-clad biker gangs who would very much enjoy Oud 777.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas, via the SHL Facebook page and used with permission.

Oud 777 is a brand new, 2014 parfum extrait from Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 (hereinafter just referred to as “SHL 777” or “777“). All the perfumes are created by Monsieur Lucas himself, a man who used to be the nose for SoOud and Nez à Nez. Up to now, the 777 line was exclusive to Europe, Russia, and Middle Eastern, but there is excellent news. The complete SHL 777 line will be coming to America in a few weeks, including the stunning amber, O Hira, that was previously contractually limited to Harrods and Printemps, and such new releases as Qom Chilom and the mandarin-ginger-immortelle-tobacco scent, Une Nuit à Doha. They will all be carried at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC. I have samples of the complete line, thanks to the generosity and kindness of Monsieur Lucas, and I will be going through them, one by one (though perhaps with some breaks and perhaps not all in a row) so that you will be well prepared when 777 hits the stores.

Oud 777. Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Oud 777 is a pure parfum that Monsieur Lucas described to me as follows:

Grand OUD
Brown Oud from Burma
White Oud from Laos
Leathers selection
Tonka

Based upon what I smelt, there is absolute no way that list is complete. None. In fact, I have the sense that Monsieur Lucas is one of those perfumers who, like Profumum Roma, prefers to give merely a nutshell synopsis. Perhaps it’s because he believes that one should experience a scent and let it transport you where it will, instead of focusing on the tiny specifics. (He has been very amused by my OCD obsession with facts and details, though he’s patiently taken the time to answer my numerous laundry-list of questions, and always with graciousness.) I suppose we should be grateful that he’s not Serge Lutens who doesn’t offer any notes at all, but that doesn’t change the fact that Oud 777’s official list doesn’t really give you a full sense of the actual fragrance.

Photo by Daniel Fox. Source: petapixel.com. (Website link embedded within.)

Oud 777 opens on my skin with such a rich blast of heavy labdanum that I instinctively reached for my decant to make sure I hadn’t accidentally re-applied O Hira. There are differences, to be sure, but for an instant, Oud 777 is all about dark, toffee’d, resinous, stick labdanum amber just like O Hira. Oud 777 had a definite whiff of tobacco lurking deep down in the base, but this labdanum was also animalic and redolent of chocolate. Then, the oud arrived — and all thoughts of O Hira vanished. My first thought and the exact comment in my notes upon smelling the agarwood was, “Uh oh.” It had the same blue cheese tonality that some really aged, very expensive Laotian woods possess, and I gulped in dread. Thankfully, it barely lasts. In fact, it lasted less than 4 minutes, and, yes, I timed it to be sure. (I know some of you all too well….)

Even though the blue cheese note in Oud 777 briefly brought back memories of Xerjoff‘s infamous Zafar, the two scents are nothing alike and there are strong differences. The oud here is not pure Gorgonzola for one thing. It’s also sweet, honeyed, and creamy. For another, it’s also much more animalic than Zafar was on me. Unlike some, I personally didn’t experience a heavy barnyard scent with Zafar, and had no feces. With Oud 777, however, I’m afraid the blue cheese segues into a few minutes of something that is both lightly fecal and strongly like a barnyard.

Source: artclon.com

I’d like to clarify that, in my mind and to my nose, there is a definite difference between, “animalic,” “horsey,” “urinous,” “barnyard,” and “fecal” — with the progression moving from left to right in terms of intensity, rawness and brutality. Let’s just say that Oud 777 covers all of those bases for a few minutes, with the exception of “horsey” and “urinous.” I can see a few of you shuddering right now, so let me repeat that all of this lasts another 5-8 minutes. So, in total, there was a 15-minute period of difficulty, at most.

There are other things happening on the periphery of that multi-faceted, complicated Cambodian wood. Oud 777 is also musky and earthy. In fact, I would swear that I detected both a truffle-like aroma and the sweetness of loamy, black soil. The whole thing sits upon a river of labdanum that feels very leathered, slightly honeyed, and subtly smoky. It’s now very different to the labdanum in O Hira, as it has a significantly stronger leather component, less honey, less sweetness, and much more of a styrax-like smokiness.

Source: sggwaser.ch

More importantly, however, there is an odd herbal note flittering about that feels like a dot of green in the vast vista of brown-black. It drove me quite crazy at first, because it was so muted and minor that I felt I was imagining it. Was it really there, and was it really some mix of tarragon with fennel/anise??! Slowly, slowly, the note grew stronger and, yes, 10 minutes in, Oud 77 has a definite touch of fresh fennel, though with a slight tarragon whiff as well.

By an incredibly strange, unplanned twist of fate, I went to my parents’ for a very late dinner last night with my notepad, computer, and 2 hours worth of Oud 777 on my arm. Guess what was on the menu? Caramelized, grilled fennel! The funny thing is that, sometimes, I can almost “taste” some perfume notes on my tongue (it’s a really odd feeling), but last night, I was quite literally eating the same notes that were wafting from my arm. When caramelized and grilled, fennel heart has a strong black licorice taste. Previously, my notes for Oud 777 stated that, 20 minutes in, the “mystifying” herbal note transformed into “bright green anise fennel with a hefty side plate of chewy, black licorice.” Having that precise combination subsequently confirmed in person, on the tongue, was quite disorienting, I can assure you.

Source: science.nationalgeographic.com

At the bottom of all these layers is the leather. Initially, and for the first hour, I really don’t smell leather, per se, but rather the mere impression of “leather.” It feels more like a subset of the labdanum, than leather in its own individual right. That subsequently changes, and in a big way, but at no point does the leather feel like black birch leather. Instead, it’s almost like a textural feel at times, a raw roughness, if you will.

Licorice. Source: Dylanscandybar.com

30 minutes in, Oud 777 is a blend of leathered labdanum with animalic, musky woodiness, anise, chewy black licorice, strong smokiness, a slightly muted earthy black truffle, styrax, and tiny suggestions of chocolate. With every passing minute, the black licorice grows stronger and nestles itself right next to the leathered labdanum. As for the oud, I have to say that I really don’t detect the note as actual agarwood any longer. The blue cheese left the building long ago, followed shortly thereafter by the barnyard and fecal tinges. What there is now is merely an abstract woodiness that is taking on an increasingly singed aroma.

I have a distinct disadvantage in all this because I have never smelled Cambodian oud (to my knowledge), let alone a “white oud.” I’ve heard plenty about how Cambodian agarwood is supposed to be the most expensive or sought after variety, and the blogger, The Smelly Vagabond, once told me on Twitter that either a single or a few chips of it sold for about $600 a few years back. So I looked up descriptions of Cambodian oud to learn how it may differ from the Laotian or Indian types that I’m more familiar with. I came across one Basenotes thread where a chap described his Cambodian oud as follows:

I get the barnyard smell that everyone is talking about…it’s a very dark and a raw animalic scent…very smokey, leathery and woody…

If that is the case, then it is very close to what I detect in Oud 777. The agarwood doesn’t smell like any thing I’ve encountered previously, but initially consists just of smoky woods that verge on the burnt. At the start of Oud 777, I had ascribed some of what I detected to labdanum’s undertones and to styrax, but as time passes, it’s become abundantly clear that something else is going. I have no idea where the labdanum starts and the Cambodian oud ends, what is the precise source of the leathery undertones, or even if there is styrax in Oud 777 any more. All I know is that the perfume starts to become darker and darker, smokier and smokier.

Nicolas Obery Gicle Digital Print. Source: googleplussuomi.com

At the end of the first hour, Oud 777 has become something that is completely different from its opening bouquet. There is a distinct and very prominent tobacco tonality, almost as if Tobacco Absolute has been used. It accompanies an intense, rather arid smokiness, so it must stem from the Cambodian oud. Whatever the source, man, is it smoky! It doesn’t smell like frankincense smoke, but like a super potent, concentrated, and very fierce mix of Serge Lutens‘ Fumerie Turque with Amouage‘s Tribute attar. I love Tribute, but the reformulated Fumerie Turque was too sharp for me, and something about the note in Oud 777 feels the same way.

Part of my difficulty is that the smokiness becomes so desiccated and intense that it eventually began to hurt my nose when I smelt Oud 777 up close and for too long. By the middle of the 5th hour, I actually wondered if an aromachemical had been used. Probably not, judging the Basenotes description of Cambodian oud. There is probably just a hell of lot of the Cambodian wood in Oud 777, but I’m afraid I’m too much of a wimp for it.

Source: rgbstock.com

From the start of the second hour until the 5th hour, Oud 777 blasts away razor-sharp smokiness and burnt woods, mixed with strong tobacco-like aromas, a very dark leatheriness, hints of black licorice, and an increasingly subdued labdanum amber. There is a slightly vanillic creaminess that appears at the start of the 4th hour which makes things better, though it’s not powerful or significant enough at first to counter that powerful tobacco-woody smokiness. To be fair, Oud 777 definitely feels softer and slightly smoother, and the creaminess makes the smoke less parched in feel, but the singed, burnt tonality continues to have a certain sharpness that is too much for me.

Painting by Moon Beom via lostateminor.com

I have to say, I rather feel like a wuss. I’ve concluded that Tribute is about as far as I can go with this sort of intense smokiness. On my skin, Oud 777 makes Tribute feel like a walk in the park. I’m quite serious. The Amouage attar had some hidden roses, a much richer, deeper softness, a velvety smoothness, and neither a burnt aroma nor any tobacco ashiness. Oud 777 doesn’t feel thick, dense, and as smooth as Tribute, and obviously the notes are completely different as well. For me, Oud 777’s smoke feels piercing, but the tobacco tonality is also substantially and significantly stronger than anything I detected in Tribute, and the leatheriness feels different as well. Rougher, rawer, and more intense. To be fair, my skin tends to amplify base notes, so maybe it’s just me.

Painting by Moon Beom via Lostateminor.com

Still, I am hugely relieved when the creaminess rises fully to the surface about 4.75 hours into Oud 777’s evolution. The perfume now smells of cream, sharp smoke, and singed woods, all flecked with tobacco, leather and vague whiffs of toffee’d labdanum. The cream note is odd because it smells quite separate and distinct, almost as if it were an actual element. The official note list for Oud 777 that I got from Monsieur Lucas includes tonka, but this doesn’t smell like the sort of tonka that I’ve encountered before. It’s neither vanillic nor powdered, and it’s not really sweet, either. It feels more like beige woods or some sort of really high-end Australian sandalwood in its smooth, creamy, wooded softness. Whatever the actual source of the note, the creaminess blessedly ends the reign of The Smoke Monster. Later on, it becomes responsible for Oud 777’s absolutely lovely drydown phase.

Painting by Moon Beom via lostateminor.com

Oud 777 continues on this same path for several more hours, turning more abstract and creamy with time, and changing only a little around the 10th hour. (Yes, I said, 10th hour!). Oud 777 is now a blur of creamy woodiness with an almost soapy cleanness to it. (The mysterious “white oud” perhaps?) The woodiness also has a faint whiff of the sort of oud note that I’m much more used to, but it’s subtle.

The soapy quality vanishes after an hour, and Oud 777 chugs along in its increasingly lovely drydown. The vanilla-ish tonka weaves its way through the notes, but it’s the return of the labdanum which is more significant. It is golden soft and warm, and melts into the butter-smooth creaminess which now feels like silk. I love the drydown, especially as the dry woodiness is increasingly subdued and subtle. In its final moments, Oud 777 is a mere blur of silky, smooth creaminess with a vestige of dry woods and subtle hints of ambered warmth.

Source: wallpaperscraft.com

All in all, Oud 777 lasted at least 18.75 hours on my perfume consuming skin. I say “at least,” because it is actually still churning along as I write this review. I’m dumbfounded, especially given how voracious my skin can be. I almost feel as though I’m imagining it, but no, at this very minute, I can still easily detect creamy woodiness with labdanum amber and a slightly clean vibe at times. For all I know, this thing could go on for another 6 hours, so I’m just going to get on with the review for the sake of my writing schedule.

By the way, Oud 777 wasn’t really a skin scent for all that time, either. In fact, it had quite a strong sillage at the start. Then, for a good portion of its life, Oud 777 hovered about 2 inches above the skin. Unfortunately, my usual numeric breakdown is going to be a little fuzzy this time when it comes to the quantity that I used. The decant I was sent had an even worse spraying mechanism than my O Hira atomizer, giving out little drops and dribbles, rather than an actual spray. However, I always judge things by surface area saturation on a particular stretch of skin on my forearm, so I can approximate the amount. I applied roughly the equivalent of 2 big sprays from an actual bottle, 3 good atomizer spritzes, or about 1/3 of a 1 ml vial. That quantity gave me over 18 hours in longevity!

In terms of sillage, Oud 777 initially projected out about 3 inches at first, before it dropped down to 2 inches after 30 minutes. There, it stayed for hours, turning into a skin scent near the end of the 5th hour, though it was still easy to detect without any effort at all. Actually, I’m not sure if “skin scent” accurately conveys the situation in this case. You do have to put your nose on your skin to smell it, but Oud 777 essentially just lies right on the skin as a silken smear. O Hira really did the same thing as well for about 7 hours, so maybe I need to find more precise terminology. Whatever the linguistic phrasing, Oud 777 never really turned into a skin scent in the way that I’m used to, perhaps because the perfume still hasn’t ended. Honestly, I’m completely stunned by Oud 777’s longevity.

Source: featurepics.com

As a whole, Oud 777 is quite light in feel. Potent and definitely sharp at times, but quite airy and sheer in weight. Oud 777 feels very dark for the first 5 hours, with a very leathered texture that continuously evoked images of a rhinoceros’ rough hide in my mind, more than any smooth or even black, rubbered leather. Actually Oud 777 has been created in a way where texture feels like a distinct, individual characteristic, almost like one of the notes itself. That was noticeable in the middle section as well when the creaminess appeared to act as a bridge between the opening stage’s blackness and the drydown’s ivory visuals.

Oud 777 is too new for me to provide you with a comparative assessment, and the fragrance doesn’t even have an entry on Fragrantica at this time. In fact, at the time of this post, it’s not widely available outside of Harrods and Paris’ Printemps. That will change in a few days time when, I’ve been told, Germany’s First in Fragrance should receive more of the SHL 777 line. And, according to Monsieur Lucas, the collection will be released in the U.S. in roughly 2 weeks time.

I don’t have the official American pricing information for Oud 777 but, in Europe, the perfume retails for €395 for a 50 ml bottle of pure parfum. While that comes to $546 at today’s rate of conversion, my experience in the past with European exclusives is that they are always priced lower than the exchange amount. My guess is that Oud 777 will probably retail for around $495 in the U.S., but that is only a guess.

I’m not sure what I can say about the pricing at this point, as I’m starting to sound a little bit like a broken record with regard to what I’ve termed the “Roja Dove Rule.” For people new to the blog, what I mean by that is: it’s going to be a personal calculation that comes down to each individual’s subjective valuation and tastes — and the extent to which the fragrance in question brings them to their knees such that the price becomes worth it to them.

Photo: Federico Bebber. Source: MyModernMet.com

For me, personally, Oud 777’s price is too high for the scent in question, especially as it lacks the enormous opulence of O Hira. Then again, O Hira is meant to be the crown jewel in the line and is in a whole other category, so that’s not really a fair comparison. My difficulty in all this is that judging a high-quality fragrance that is well done ends up implicitly being an assertion of (my) personal economic feelings. It’s not like we’re talking about some toxic aromachemical bomb that’s been badly put together from a 3rd rate company, or a flimsy, generic fragrance that lasts a mere 2 hours. This is a different matter, and I’ve given up trying to do the math. (It doesn’t help that Cambodian oud is said to be extremely expensive.) Bottom line, Oud 777 would be too expensive for me even if I hadn’t found the smokiness of the middle phase to be such a challenge and even if I had loved the whole thing. You have to make your own determinations.

Is Oud 777 the most approachable scent? I don’t know. I doubt you could wear it to work. I also think that Oud 777 skews quite masculine in feel. Then again, I know quite a few women who absolutely adore very smoky, dry, woody scents with tobacco and leather, so it is going to come down to personal tastes. (Yet, again.)

At the end of the day, all I can say is that you should definitely sample or sniff Oud 777 if you like really dark, extremely smoky, woody scents that eventually transition into a beautifully silken creaminess.

Disclosure: Perfume sample courtesy of Stéphane Humbert Lucas. That did not influence this review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Oud 777 is an Extrait or pure parfum that is only available in a 50 ml bottle and costs €395. The 777 line should be at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC by the end of April. [Update 5/2/14 — Osswald has now received the 777 line. It sells Oud 777 for $515.] Outside the U.S.: Currently, the Stéphane Humbert Lucas’ website is under construction, and doesn’t have an e-store. The best online resource is First in Fragrance which currently has about half of the SHL 777 line, and will soon be receiving the newer releases as well. As of this morning, Oud 777 was not yet in stock, but I’ve been told by SHL 777 that it should be in a few days. In London, you can find the entire collection at Harrod’s Black Room, while in Paris, they are exclusive to Printemps under the name 777. In France, the SHL 777 line is also said to be available at Taizo in Cannes, but they didn’t list the line on their website the last time I checked and they have no e-store. Zurich’s Osswald also carries the line, but I don’t think they have an e-store any more. The Swiss perfumery, Theodora, also has SHL 777, but, again, no e-store. In the Middle East, Souq.com has about 6 of the earlier perfumes which it sells for AED 1,500. In the UAE, the SHL 777 line is available at Harvey Nichols and at Bloomingdales in the Dubai Mall. In Russia, SHL 777 is sold at Lenoma. Ukraine’s Sana Hunt Luxury store also carries the line, but they don’t have an e-store. Samples: None of the U.S. sample sites currently carry this fragrance, but Luckyscent and Osswald NYC will be your best option once the SHL 777 perfumes are released in America. Osswald used to have a great sample program where you could try any 10 fragrances in relatively large vials for a mere $20, with free shipping. However, that program is only available to U.S. customers, and, more importantly, it may have recently changed. Looking at the Sample section on the website now, there is no set deal, and pricing depends on the cost of the particular perfume in question. They range from $3 a vial up to $9 a vial for fragrances that cost over $300. You can call Osswald at (212) 625-3111 to enquire further as to the situation.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 O Hira: The Incredible Hulk of Ambers

Posted on April 13, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Amber on steroids, if not the Incredible Hulk of ambers. That is O Hira, a stunning, super-powered, monster labdanum that would be worthy of its own character in the Marvel universe. O Hira is a simply spectacular extrait from Stéphane Humbert Lucas, and a scent which made me do an instant double-take the first time I smelt it. I actually said “ooohh!” and closed my eyes to better take in the tidal wave of richness. The molten, dripping, resinous juices were so beautifully honeyed, dark, leathery, and toffee’d, I was amazed. And, at a higher dosage, O Hira showed a naughty side that drove me quite wild. All I can say is, if I came across a man wearing O Hira, I’d want to rip his clothes off pretty quickly. I’m quite serious about that. I think O Hira on the right man or woman could be quite devastating.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas. Source: SHL 777 Facebook page.

O Hira is a 2013 parfum extrait released by the Paris niche house, Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 (hereinafter just referred to as “SHL 777” or “777“). Monsieur Lucas used to be the in-house perfumer for SoOud and Nez à Nez, but he launched his new house in 2013. All the 777 fragrances are created by Monsieur Lucas himself. Up until now, the line was exclusive to Europe, Russia, and Middle Eastern, but there is excellent news. The complete SHL 777 line will be coming to America in a few weeks, including new releases like Qom Chilom which I covered yesterday, the smoke monster, Oud 777 (which includes tobacco and leather touches), the mandarin-ginger-immortelle-tobacco scent, Une Nuit à Doha, and the stunning Black Gemstone which is one of the best fragrances that I’ve tried this year. They will all be carried at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC. I have samples of the complete line, thanks to the graciousness and kindness of Monsieur Lucas, and I will be going through them, one by one (though perhaps with some breaks and perhaps not all in a row) so that you will be well prepared when 777 hits the stores.

The 777 line. Source: Stephane Humbert Lucas.

O Hira is an ode to amber. SHL 777 has no official notes for the fragrance, and the press release photos or website descriptions only say:

No Pyramid.
Remake of fossilized Amber
Primitive Scent – Pure – Rare – Intense – Dedicated to the amber lovers.

Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas

I’ve had some correspondence with Monsieur Lucas, and he elaborated a little further. He spent more than two years working just on O Hira, using complicated, classical techniques of “distillerie, effeuillage, glacis” on the most expensive raw materials. The fragrance is an extrait with 24% concentration, and is intended to be the richest soliflore around. No, there is no actual fossilized amber, so if you’re imagining something dug up from the bowels of the earth and dating from prehistoric times, you’d be mistaken. However, it’s clear to me from the scent that Monsieur Lucas has worked very hard with not only labdanum but some other materials, including a few really dark resins, to create a scent that is as dark and as heavy as if it really had been dug up from the earth.

Labdanum compiled into a chunk. Source: Fragrantica

This review won’t be a traditional review in the way that they are usually structured because O Hira is ultimately a soliflore devoted to labdanum and, thus, its core aroma is quite simple in some ways. So, I want to start by taking a few minutes to talk specifically about labdanum. It has a very dark, toffee’d, nutty, resinous, balsamic aroma that can often feel very honeyed. It can also sometimes have a masculine, leathery undertone, which is why some amber lovers I know aren’t particularly enthused by its distinctive, almost “dirty” aroma. For me, the visuals with true labdanum are dark brown, verging almost on black, and far from ambered gold. That brings to me a very important point.

Some of my regular readers may have noted that, in my reviews, I often write “labdanum amber” or “labdanum,” instead of simply saying “amber.” It’s not because I am OCD, but because I think the difference is enormous. A perfumer once told me, “only labdanum is real amber.” Someone else said words to the effect of, “a lot of fragrances listed as ‘amber’ today aren’t actually amber, because they’re not centered on labdanum. The note is either synthetic, or an approximation of amber through other means, like an accord using labdanum highly diluted with vanilla and benzoins to really become something else.”

Lava. Source: HuffingtonPost.com

Labdanum amber has a dark, dirty scent that is quite unique from many of the “ambers” listed even in the niche world, and it’s also completely different from ambergris. If you’re familiar with Dior‘s Mitzah, the opening of Serge Lutens‘ Ambre Sultan (minus the herbal nuances), parts of Tom Ford‘s Amber Absolute or Sahara Noir, and the more goaty, masculine, almost dirty parts of Amouage‘s Opus VI (separate from the Ambranum and Z11), then you’ve encountered labdanum. However, if you’ve tried Dior‘s Ambre Nuit or Profumum Roma‘s Ambra Aurea, then you’ve really experienced ambergris for the most part. And if you’re thinking about softer, gentler, or powdered ambers like Histoires de Parfums‘ Ambre 114, then you’re talking about the quasi-amber made up primarily of benzoins for an approximation of a golden amber. But it’s most definitely not labdanum amber, in my opinion.

Source: Huffington Post.

O Hira opens on my skin with a tsunami of true, undiluted, super concentrated labdanum in all of its manifestations. It is heavily honeyed, almost boozy at times, completely brown and dirty, with a hefty, walloping amount of cinnamon mixed in. Within seconds, it turns smoky with what is clearly styrax, the darkest and most leathered of all resins (and a big base note in such fragrances like Guerlain’s Habit Rouge). I suspect there is also a massive dose of Tolu balsam (as there is in Shalimar and Opium’s base) mixed in as well. What I’m less certain about are the tobacco tonalities that grow increasingly noticeable as the minutes pass. Is there actual tobacco absolute in O Hira, or is it a subset of the very dirty labdanum amber? How much of the leathery undertones come from the styrax, as opposed to something else?

It’s really hard to know the extent to which some of the nuances in O Hira stem from labdanum’s natural characteristics — only amplified and teased out to show their individual character — or whether they are from other supplemental sources as well. Monsieur Lucas told me that there is styrax in O Hira, and he mentioned cinnamon aromas from benzoins as well, so it’s very clear that O Hira is not just labdanum. But where the labdanum ends and the other notes begin is hard to say, because this is one superbly blended fragrance.

Source: .wholesalefabricsstore.com

Within minutes, new layers emerge. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some castoreum in O Hira because there is an absolute beautiful, velvety, very musky richness which appears. It is leathered, sharp, almost skanky, but also plush like velvet. The tobacco-like dirtiness also grows stronger, while the cinnamon fades. There is almost an incense-like whiff at the edges, though it probably stems from the styrax. Lurking deep, deep in the case, there is a subtle gingerbread note that smells like Siam benzoin as well.

Source: FilterForge.com

For the most part, however, I would say that O Hira is a bouquet centered around MASSIVE amounts of labdanum, along with some styrax, tolu balsam, and a tiny touch of castoreum. I cannot begin to tell you the richness of the scent. When I applied several good, hefty sprays from my decant, I was overcome by memories of my beloved (vintage) Opium‘s base. At high doses, O Hira has the same walloping, sticky, dense, dripping viscosity as 1980s-version Opium (especially in the parfum concentration). It feels like the thickest sludge of darkened, smoky, treacly amber — and I use the word “sludge” as the highest compliment in this case.

A goat whose chest and beard are covered with labdanum. Source: labdanum-creta.blogspot. com

At the same time, though, O Hira takes labdanum’s masculine, sometimes dirty underpinnings and heightens them to an extreme degree. For the first time since I reviewed Amouage’s Opus VI, I was transported back thousands of years to ancient times when shepherds would scrape the resin off the chests and beards of goats who had clambered on or around the rock rose. There is almost a sweaty, goaty quality to the labdanum, and it has a muskiness that feels almost animalic in the first hour. Interestingly, though, I didn’t detect anything similar when I applied only a small amount of O Hira. As I’m going to explain later in more detail, this is a fragrance that I think best shows off its nuances when you apply a lot of it. A few small sprays result in a scent that is much softer, less dense, less leathered, less dirty, and more cinnamon-like in aroma.

Henry VIII by Hans Holbein. Source: luminarium.org

For me, O Hira is unlike the other rich ambers on the market. It’s extremely different from Ambra Aurea which is a primarily an ambergris soliflore, though O Hira does have the same very opaque, dense, concentrated richness. O Hira isn’t like Tom Ford’s Amber Absolute or Sahara Noir, either, because both of those scents are heavily infused with incense. If you took Amber Absolute’s core (without the frankincense), combined it with a stripped down version of Dior’s Mitzah (without that fragrance’s supporting players), injected the two with vintage Opium’s resinous base, boiled the whole thing down to its most reduced, sticky, balsamic form, and then injected it with steroids, you would get O Hira. It is such a fatty, over-the-top, super-saturated, dark, monster amber that it feels indulgent enough for someone like Henry VIII.

And it’s so damn sexy. When I applied a lot of it, the castoreum in the base exuded a muskiness that was not only very leathered, but also rather brazen and verging on the skanky. There was a seductiveness that once again called to mind vintage Opium’s base with its lusty, bold, take-no-prisoners, raw sensuality. I just wanted to slather O Hira on someone’s neck, lick it off, and then rip off their clothes. I mean it, O Hira got me quite hot and bothered at times.

The scent only becomes better as the minutes pass. The tobacco and leather tonalities are joined by something almost verging on dark chocolate, followed by a definite flicker of salty, black licorice after about 20 minutes. The whole thing feels so dark, it verges on the brown-black in hue, and is incredibly far removed from the golden palette of many “ambers” that I’ve tried. It also feels very masculine, though women who love dark, dirty, smoky, heavy, balsamic orientals should adore it as well.

As a soliflore, O Hira doesn’t change in its core bouquet or essence — but then it’s not meant to. O Hira seeks to focus on one central note, shown in all its facets; one very simple thing heightened to its most luxurious depths. However, it’s clear to me that a lot of different parts were melded and fused together to create this seemingly monolithic, dense, heavy, “amber” aria. This is the sort of fragrance that sings at operatic levels, like a Middle Eastern Valkyrie belting out her final passion on a funeral pyre. You know how I’m always going on about wanting my fragrances to be Wagnerian in nature? Well, this is it. O Hira is definitely The Ride of the Valkyries.

Artist: Helen Abbas, Mosaic Collection, Summer 2013, “(Erdowaz) Slate.” Source: IslamicArtMagazine.com. (Website link embedded within photo.)

Even if O Hira’s main note is unwavering labdanum, its nuances and layers most certainly change. After 30 minutes, the sometimes intense smokiness from the styrax pipes down a few notches. Or, perhaps, it merely infused every one of the other notes in such a way that it seems softer. At the same time, the honey and cinnamon tonalities take a step back, while the musky, toffee’d leather and tobacco undertones take a few giant leaps forward. O Hira also turns fractionally softer and airier in feel. On occasion, the perfume feels smoother, as if some of the edges had been buffed out. At other times, however, O Hira continues to feel like an intentionally raw, almost brute-strength amber. It’s merely dialed down from a 10 on the Richter scale to a 9. The drop is slightly bigger for O Hira’s density, however, moving from a solid 10 in the opening minutes to about a 7 after 40 minutes.

O Hira is massively potent at the start with very big sillage. I will try to give you a sense of things, but it will be hard to use my usual numbers for application or quantity. The decant I was sent had a slightly wonky spraying mechanism which wasn’t very smooth when pressed down and only gave out half-squirts, rather than a more usual, fluid spritz. Using 5 half-spritzes or roughly the equivalent of 2 big sprays from an actual bottle, O Hira projected out a good 5 inches at first, before it softened at the end of an hour to about 2 inches above the skin.

When I used a lesser amount — similar to one and a half very large sprays from a proper bottle or 3 wonky spritzes from my atomizer — things were slightly different. The projection dropped a little, and O Hira wafted out only about 2-3 inches at the start, though that is still quite good. The more noticeable difference, however, pertained to the notes. At the lower dose, O Hira became a much softer, less sticky scent with a slightly different set of nuances. It was slightly cleaner, less dirty in feel, with little of the castoreum muskiness, and none of the more brute, goaty undertones to the labdanum. The cinnamon was stronger; the styrax’s smokiness was much softer; there was much less tobacco in the undertones; no licorice nuance; and the more viscous, sticky, dense resemblances to Opium’s base largely vanished. To try to explain it in terms of visuals, O Hira felt less solidly brown-black, and more bronze-gold.

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

O Hira shifts over time in terms of its nuances and the prominence of its individual layers. However, it’s hard to give a clear description of what happens because each time I’ve worn the perfume, the layers are different at different times. The notes also feel a bit circular, in that they come back around just when you think they had died or retreated to the sidelines. For example, in one test, the tobacco seemed to fade away about 2.5 hours into O Hira’s development, though the leather remained, and the cinnamon from one of the benzoins grew much stronger. O Hira was softer, smoother, and had almost a creamy feel to it which was unexpected. O Hira lost a lot of its stickiness and opaque density, became airier, felt sheerer, and hugged the skin much more. However, it was still extremely potent when smelled up close.

That was one occasion, but, on another, the tobacco and leathered smokiness were still subtly blasting away well into the start of the 7th hour. In fact, much of O Hira’s progression of notes was different, starting with labdanum that felt practically boozy at the start, and which then transitioned into heavy cinnamon-labdanum, before ending up as darkly leathered, tobacco’d, toffee labdanum. In short, the order of the perfume pyramid was up-ended.

“Black Widow v1”
by *smokin-nucleus. Source: DeviantArt. (Website link embedded within photo.)

There are only two consistent aspects to O Hira. First, its primary bouquet from start to finish is some manifestation of dark labdanum — in all its various, complex nuances — with resins. Second, O Hira consistently lasts over 11 hours. With a lesser quantity, O Hira’s longevity clocks in at about 11.5 hours. With a higher dosage (the equivalent of 2 sprays from an actual bottle, or much more), O Hira has lasted up to 14.5 hours on my perfume consuming skin. The sillage is always monstrous at first, but it generally drops to about 1-2 inches above the skin which is where it stays for hours and hours. On average, O Hira turned into a complete, true skin scent on me about 7 hours in with a large quantity, and 5.75 hours into its development with a small amount.

In a way, the best way to sum up O Hira is in terms of the images or moods that it evokes. Depending on which one of the notes dominates on your skin, O Hira can either be lavishly rich and indulgent, in an opulent manner worthy of Henry VIII, or positively sensual, brazenly seductive, darkly raw, brutal, and oozing pure, animal sex appeal. It’s a surfeit of riches, either way, and honestly feels like amber on steroids. I think it’s the Incredible Hulk of ambers, but I’ve been mulling over the possibility that it may be Iron Man instead.

Antoni Gaudi chairs at Casa Mila, La Pedrera, Barcelona. Source: gaudi-barselona.ru

The reason is that there is a definite refined intelligence to how O Hira’s notes have been put together, an attempt to have some sense of luxurious refinement that goes beyond mere brute strength or primal rawness. Speaking purely for myself, I think Tom Ford’s ambers verge more into the brute force category, and have some synthetics that prevent the scents from feeling quite as pure. To me, his ambers are potent and rich, but they don’t evoke luxurious opulence and refinement in quite the same way. They also don’t smell as if the most expensive raw ingredients have been used in almost undiluted form, which is the sense I get with O Hira. In short, O Hira feels much more sophisticated, expensive and nuanced. To me, it has class. It feels like a European’s baroque, almost Gaudi-esque interpretation of “death by amber.”

O Hira may have been released in 2013, but I couldn’t find any reviews of the scent to provide you with a comparative assessment. O Hira doesn’t even have an entry on Fragrantica at this time. In fact, at the time of this post, it’s not widely available outside of Harrods and Paris’ Printemps. That will change in 2-3 days time when, I’ve been told, Germany’s First in Fragrance should receive O Hira, along with several of the new 2014 fragrances. As noted at the start of this post, the complete SHL 777 line will be released in the U.S. in roughly 2 weeks time.

The bad news in all this is that O Hira is very expensive. I mean, seriously expensive. I don’t have the official American pricing information but, in Europe, O Hira’s retail price is a hefty €580 for a 50 ml bottle of pure parfum. I have heard rumours and talk that O Hira will cost $795 in the U.S., but none of that has been confirmed. The bottom line is that O Hira is going to cost you a lot, regardless of the currency that you use. It is certainly too rich for my blood. As a general rule, and regardless of the brand, I have difficulty with nosebleed prices like these — but I find it even harder when it comes to something that is a soliflore.

O Hira’s quality and luxuriousness, though, make the math much more difficult and complicated. There is absolutely no question in my mind that the most expensive ingredients have been used in O Hira, that great care was taken with complicated techniques, and that none of it came cheaply. I can fully understand why it took more than 2 years to finesse raw materials used in such intense quantities, so that the end result would be something nuanced and so spectacularly rich. I can see it, I can smell it, and I have no doubts at all. But it’s still too expensive, in my opinion.

At the end of the day, however, it all comes down to what I’ve now decided to call the “Roja Dove Rule“: it’s going to be a personal calculation that comes down to each individual’s subjective valuation and tastes — and the extent to which the fragrance in question brings them to their knees such that the price becomes worth it to them.

All I can say is that O Hira is absolutely worth sampling and, if possible, getting in a decant. It’s the bloody Incredible Hulk of Ambers. I think that it’s in a class all of its own.

Disclosure: Perfume sample courtesy of Stéphane Humbert Lucas. That did not influence this review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: O Hira is an Extrait or pure parfum that is only available in a 50 ml bottle and costs €580. The 777 line should be at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC by the end of April 2014. [Update 5/2/14 — Osswald has now received the 777 line. At this time, O Hira will be available by request only.] Outside the U.S.: Currently, the Stéphane Humbert Lucas’ website is under construction, and doesn’t have an e-store. The best online resource is First in Fragrance which currently has about half of the SHL 777 line, and will soon be receiving the newer releases as well. O Hira is not yet in stock at the time of this review, but should be in a few days. In London, you can find the entire collection at Harrod’s Black Room, while in Paris, they are exclusive to Printemps under the name 777. Zurich’s Osswald also carries the line, but I don’t think they have an e-store any more. The Swiss perfumery, Theodora, also has SHL 777, but no e-store. In the Middle East, Souq.com has about 6 of the earlier fragrances which it sells for AED 1,500. In the UAE, the SHL 777 line is available at Harvey Nichols and at Bloomingdales in the Dubai Mall. In Russia, SHL 777 is sold at Lenoma. Ukraine’s Sana Hunt Luxury store also carries the line, but they don’t have an e-store. Samples: None of the U.S. sample sites currently carry this fragrance, but Luckyscent and Osswald NYC will be your best option once the SHL 777 perfumes are released in America. Osswald used to have a great sample program where you could try any 10 fragrances in relatively large vials for a mere $20, with free shipping. However, that program is only available to U.S. customers, and, more importantly, it may have recently changed. Looking at the Sample section on the website now, there is no set deal, and pricing depends on the cost of the particular perfume in question. They range from $3 a vial up to $9 a vial for fragrances that cost over $300. You can call Osswald at (212) 625-3111 to enquire further as to the situation.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 Qom Chilom: Red Ash

Posted on April 12, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: pinterest

An ancient Persian mosque in Qom, replete with the smell of cedar. A man dressed in the colours of the dry desert sits next to a woman veiled in crimson. They sip cherry wine served in cups made of cedar and latex. The desert wind blows a fine mist of clean oud into swirls of black rubbered smoke and white, sweetened, heliotrope powder. The sour tartness of rubied cherries lies against the white of fresh almonds and the silky creamy of vanilla. Then, the desert wind blows its dry breath again, and the images change, turning into a vista of cream, powder, dry woods, and softness. It’s the story of contrasts — light and dark, masculine and feminine, harsh blackness and soft sweetness, all tinged with cherried ash. Is it a tale from Le Rouge et Le Noir by Stendhal? No, it is the Persian fabric of Qom Chilom by Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas. Source: SHL 777 Facebook page.

Qom Chilom is a 2014 parfum extrait released by the fledgling Paris niche house, Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 (hereinafter just referred to as “SHL 777“). It bears the name of its founder, a man who has been working in the perfume industry for a while, most recently as the in-house perfumer for SoOud and Nez à Nez. Mr. Lucas launched his new SHL 777 brand in 2013 with 7 fragrances, all of which are inspired by the Orient and their style of perfumery. This year, just a few weeks ago in fact, he released several new scents, one of which is Qom Chilom.

The 777 line. Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Up to now, the perfumes were exclusive to Europe and Middle Eastern, but there is excellent news. The complete SHL 777 line will be coming to America in a few weeks, including the new releases like Qom Chilom. They will be carried at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC. Monsieur Lucas kindly and graciously sent me samples of his entire collection, and I will be going through them, one by one, over the next 10 days so that you will be well prepared when the fragrances hits the stores. Today, we travel to Persia, but soon after that will be the fantastic amber, O Hira (which blew my socks off), the smoky new Oud 777, the gourmand Une Nuit à Doha, and the superb Black Gemstone which was love at first sniff for me.

Qom Chilom. Source: Sagma Corporation.

Qom Chilom was inspired by the ancient mosque city of Qom in Persia and the narguile smoke pipes of the Orient. Like the rest of the SHL 777 line, Qom Chilom is a pure parfum or extrait in concentration with more than 20% perfume oils. (I believe the precise number may be 24%.) The perfume is about to be released, so there isn’t a lot of information out there about it and Stéphane Humbert Lucas’s website is currently under construction.

Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

However, he wrote to me about the perfume and its notes. For example, the plume on the red-lacquered bottle is meant to symbolise the Imperial Peacock Throne of the shahs, while the perfume’s aromatic woodiness (and subtle smokiness) seeks to evoke the ancient rites of the past. At the heart of Qom Chilom is the concept and colour palette of “red ash” or “rouge cendré”: woodiness infused with cherries and turned quietly to ash.

According to Monsieur Lucas, Qom Chilom’s notes include:

Morello cherry – Bigarreau cherry – Raspberry

Heliotrope – Imperial Almond – Iris – Blue Cedar

Patchouly – Oud – Teak – Barks – Latex – Vanilla absolute – Musk

Source: andhereweare.net

Qom Chilom opens on my skin with a burst of Morello sour cherries whose bright, unsweetened tartness is thoroughly infused with black rubber latex, then misted with a clean oud. There is a definite medicinal note that swirls all around, and, for the life of me, I cannot pinpoint its source. It is probably the cedar which feels very green, since the oud seems too clean to my nose. On the other hand, it might be the patchouli which took me two tests to detect behind all the woody notes. It is hidden almost out of sight, fully overshadowed of the strong cedar and latex, but its brief, muted presence also translates as green and camphorous.

Source: walmart.com

Whatever the precise cause of the medicinal aroma, there is absolutely no doubt what the overall effect smells like on my skin: cherry cough drops. It’s a distinctive smell that was instantly recognizable, wafting a camphorousness that almost verged on cherry eucalyptus at times. Definite flecks of greenness are interspersed throughout the ruby and black colour palette, which seems to exclude the oud as being the cause. It might be the patchouli but, honestly, that note is virtually nonexistent on my skin.

What is interesting is the black part of the perfume. Initially, for a fleeting moment, the latex conveyed the smell of tires burning on hot asphalt, before transitioning into smokiness. At times, there is almost textural rubberiness to the note, but it primarily smells like a harsh, rough sort of black smoke.

Source: Wikicommons.

Qom Chilom’s blackness is masculine but it is soon tamed by softer, sweeter notes. There is an absolutely lovely touch of raw almonds that really took me back to my childhood. Every summer, I would get bags and bags of raw almonds, crack open the green, fuzzy pods, and suck on the white treasures within. It’s been years since I’ve smelled anything similar or been so transported, but Qom Chilom has that same delicate greenness and liquidy nuttiness. Alas for me, the note is subtle, quite muted, and hardly lasts.

The first time I tested Qom Chilom, there was also a whisper of heliotrope at the start. It combined with the raw almonds and an unexpected sudden pop of butteriness to create the distinct impression of an almond pastry. To be precise, almonds croissants covered with bright, fresh, very tart cherries, a dose of cherry cough drops, a rubbery smoke, and a lot of cedar. It was a really unusual combination, one that I’ve never encountered before, but it lasted only a few minutes at most.

Much more noticeable, however, is the vanilla which appeared consistently in both my tests less than 5 minutes into Qom Chilom’s development. At first, it is only a soft flicker of creaminess in the base, but it rise to the surface less than 20 minutes in and coats the rubberized, dry, cherried woods with smooth sweetness.

Source: zazzle.com

There is an oddly teasing aspect to Qom Chilom that I’ve noticed, the notes not only dance about coyly, going back and forth, but several of them also seem to morph and alter character every few minutes. At first, I thought I was merely imagining it, but, no, it happens repeatedly during the first 20 minutes and it also occurred during both my tests. One minute, the almonds smell fresh and raw, cool and liquidy. Almost the very next moment, the note is replaced by buttered croissants aux amandes. Then it vanishes entirely.

Same story with the latex. First, it smells like burnt tires; two minutes later, it is harsh black smoke; and five minutes after that, it is harsh smoke infused with creamy vanilla. Then, it seems to melt into the background, replaced by the medicinal, cherry cough drops. But, just when I think it’s gone, the actual rubber roars back, waves a black-clad arm hello, before swirling back into the background mists. Everything is constantly popping in and out, changing and twisting. Even the vanilla darts about like a teasing ghost on occasion. It is all very fascinating, maddening, enigmatic, intriguing, and a clear sign of Monsieur Lucas’ technical skill.

The only things which remain constant in the song and dance of the opening hour are the sour cherries and the woods. The oud never changes its party dress because it is consistently a tertiary note in the background on my skin. At most, it lends a subtle smokiness to the proceedings, but it also feels oddly clean at times. The cedar, however, is hardly a shy wallflower and seems increasingly hellbent on world domination. It suffuses Qom Chilom with a dryness that feels both aromatically green and a little bit dusty at times.

Source: wallpaperswa.com

For all my fascination at the notes, one thing initially frustrated me quite a bit about Qom Chilom. The perfume is incredibly airy and sheer in feel. In fact, the first time I tried the scent, I applied 2 small sprays from my decant, began writing my notes, and then, 10 minutes later, frowned and hurriedly rushed to apply more. I had the oddest sensation that Qom Chilom was evaporating off my skin, even though that was a clearly illogical thought since the scent itself was pulsating out cherries and was quite potent up close. But there is a translucency to Qom Chilom’s opening phase that made the perfume feel just as elusive as its notes can be.

The sillage doesn’t help prevent any potential misimpressions of strength, either. Using 3 large sprays from an atomizer (or about 2 good sprays from an actual bottle), Qom Chilom projected just 2 inches at best above the skin. The fragrance dropped further at the end of the hour to hover just above the skin, and there it remained until the 3.5 hour mark when it turned into a skin scent. For my personal tastes, Qom Chilom is far too gauzy in weight and soft in sillage. Then again, as regular readers know, I like my perfume to be Wagnerian in potency, density, and forcefulness. By those standards, then, yes, Qom Chilom falls short as a very airy, generally soft, rather intimate scent.

Despite the sheerness, I soon noticed just how much of Qom Chilom’s opening phase is about contrasts, contrasts which almost verge on gender-bending. On the one hand, masculinity is represented by the oud, the black rubberized latex and the initially harsh smokiness, accompanied by Qom Chilom’s early medicinal, camphourous undertones and woody dryness.

Source: wallpho.com

Those aspects are juxtaposed next to the more feminine symbols: the soft vanilla; the delicate, comforting, almost maternal aspects of heliotrope’s sweetness; a growing, powerful creaminess; and the raspberry’s subtle jamminess that finally pops up after 45 minutes. Bridging the two sides is a ruby river of sour cherries. It all feels very modern, especially with the almost fetishistic rubber nuance, but there is also a subtle undercurrent of something ancient. To me, Qom Chilom feels like the olfactory expression of yin and yang; masculine and feminine; hard and soft; sweet and sour; dry and creamy. Honestly, I find it all quite brilliant on an intellectual level.

However, all of these layers and contrasts require some focus and concentration up close to detect. Thanks to the perfume’s sillage and sheerness issues, it wasn’t always easy for me to detect the subtle transitions and shifts. Being blunt, from a distance, Qom Chilom in the first hour initially smells like: a cherry cough drop; then cherry woods with some latex and vanilla cream, and, finally, at the end of the first hour, like a mix of red wine and a non-syrupy version of cherry cordial infused with cedar and a subtle trace of rubbery smokiness. I had to bring my nose quite close to my arm at times to notice the nuances, especially given how quickly some of the smaller notes melt into the background.

Painting by EbiEmporium on Redbubble.

Everything starts to change at the start of the second hour. The early streaks of creaminess that ran through Qom Chilom’s base now rise up fully from the base and take over the whole scent, adding some necessary richness to counteract the early sheerness. Actually, the latter aspect feels fractionally better now, as if the perfume has deepened to go along with its new, and truly lovely, smoothness. At the same time, the cherry cough drop undertones pop up much less frequently, and are very muted when they do. Now, the fruit feels primarily like a deepened wine or tart cherry cordial. The oud feels even cleaner and smoother than before, while the vanilla has turned into a silky mousse. The patchouli is absolutely nonexistent on my skin, while the almonds are long gone and the jammy raspberry has largely melted into the base.

“Tree Bark II” art at Houzz.com

As a whole, the two main notes driving Qom Chilom at this point are the sour cherries and dry cedar. It all feels incredibly creamy and smooth, but simultaneously drier than some of these descriptions might lead you to believe. The subtle smokiness and rubber of the latex help to keep the vanilla and sweet raspberry in check. As for the cherries, they may be more like a dark, woody wine, but they still maintain a vestige of tartness which is very nice.

By the end of the 2nd hour, powder arrives on the scene, though it’s not the almond-vanilla heliotrope variety, nor the powdered makeup aspect of iris, either. It’s merely something lightly sweetened in nature. Tiny flickers of heliotrope dance in the background, while smokiness from the latex hovers about like a black mist. In the base, there is a subtle warmth and an ambered glow. As a whole, Qom Chilom is a bouquet of dry cedar and tart cherry wine, lightly dusted with a fine layer of delicious heliotrope, then flecked with touches of latex, vanilla, and oud, all resting upon a base with an undercurrent of sweetness and golden warmth.

Source: wallsave.com

About 3.5 hours into Qom Chilom’s development, the perfume subtly shifts yet again, and transitions into its third and final stage. Qom Chilom is now a skin scent on me, centered largely on powdered woodiness with cherries. The most noticeable and lovely aspect of the fragrance is the creamy texture which is almost like a note in its own right. I have read that teak is a very soft blond wood, so maybe that is the contributing factor, but the wood accord now feels as if it has been smoothed out into a fine, airy mousse. It no longer smells primarily of cedar. Instead, it now feels like a soft beigeness in a cocoon of abstract woodiness infused with dry vanilla and sweetened powder. Tiny bits of raspberry and cherry waft delicately at the corner, like garnish on a plate of woody cream. The oud is barely noticeable, but when it is, it feels very clean, almost sweet.

Source: 123rf.com

Qom Chilom turns softer and more abstract with every passing hour. By the end of the 5th hour, it is primarily woody creaminess with dryness and a dusting of barely sweetened powder. The other notes remain on the sidelines, popping up occasionally but Qom Chilom’s core essence is quite simple at this point. Near the middle of the 9th hour, the perfume feels like a mix of powdered woody dryness with baby softness, sweetness, and refined, clean warmth. In its final moments, Qom Chilom fades away as a slip of powdered, dry, sweet, woodiness.

For all my grumbling about Qom Chilom’s light weight and intimate projection, I give it full marks for longevity. In both tests, the perfume consistently lasted well over 12 hours on my perfume-consuming skin. Granted, it was a skin scent at the 3.5 hour mark, but Qom Chilom was always easy to detect up close if I brought my nose near my arm, up to the start of 9th hour.

Qom Chilom is too new for me to provide comparative reviews, and has no entry on Fragrantica at this time. In fact, at the time of this post, it’s not widely available outside of Harrods and Paris’ Printemps. That will change in a few days time when, I’ve been told, Germany’s First in Fragrance should receive several of the new SHL 777 fragrances, including the older 2013 perfume, O Hira. As noted at the start of this post, the complete SHL 777 line will be released in the U.S. in roughly 2 weeks time.

Qom Chilom. Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

I don’t have American pricing information but, in Europe, Qom Chilom’s retail price is €235 for a 50 ml bottle of pure parfum. (And the bottle is stunning, in my opinion!) At today’s rate of exchange, €235 comes to about $326, but I know from prior experiences with European exclusives that the eventual U.S. price is always much less than the currency conversion amount. So, I estimate the perfume will probably be in the $290 range, though that is purely a personal guess.

Is that a little high for 50 ml? Yes, it is. Then again, Qom Chilom is pure parfum extrait at roughly 24% concentration, and the bottle is stunning with its red lacquer, a domed cap that I believe has been hand-done, and a semi-precious stone in the front. So, I’ll tell you what I’ve said repeatedly in the case of Roja Dove’s much more expensive (but similarly sized) 50 ml bottles of parfum extrait: it’s going to come down to a personal, subjective valuation as to whether you think the price is worth it.

All I can tell you is that Qom Chilom shows the high quality of its materials, has refinement, and demonstrates a very skillful touch. At the end of the day, the perfume doesn’t feel very much like me, but that is a matter of personal taste resulting from the notes. It has nothing to do with how good or interesting the perfume is — and Qom Chilom is both those things. It is also exceedingly original, in my opinion.

So, if you’re intrigued or tempted, keep an eye out for Qom Chilom in the upcoming days and weeks. Hopefully, it will transport you back to ancient Persia in a cloud of cherried ashes and wooded creaminess.

Disclosure: Perfume sample courtesy of Stéphane Humbert Lucas. That did not influence this review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Qom Chilom is an Extrait or pure parfum that is only available in a 50 ml bottle and costs €235. The 777 line should be at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC by the end of April 2014. [Update 5/2/14 — Osswald has now received the 777 line. It sells Qom Chilom for $309.] Outside the U.S.: Currently, the Stéphane Humbert Lucas’ website is under construction, and doesn’t have an e-store. The best online resource is First in Fragrance which currently has about half of the SHL 777 line, and will soon be receiving the newer releases as well. Some of the fragrances like O Hira are not yet in stock, but should be in a few days. In London, you can find the entire collection at Harrod’s Black Room, while in Paris, they are exclusive to Printemps under the name 777. Zurich’s Osswald also carries the line, but I don’t think they have an e-store any more. The Swiss perfumery, Theodora, also has SHL 777, but no e-store. In the Middle East, Souq.com has about 6 of the earlier fragrances which it sells for AED 1,500. In the UAE, the SHL 777 line is available at Harvey Nichols and at Bloomingdales in the Dubai Mall. In Russia, SHL 777 is sold at Lenoma. Ukraine’s Sana Hunt Luxury store also carries the line, but they don’t have an e-store. Samples: None of the U.S. sample sites currently carry this fragrance, but Luckyscent and Osswald NYC will be your best option once the SHL 777 perfumes are released in America. Osswald used to have a great sample program where you could try any 10 fragrances in relatively large vials for a mere $20, with free shipping. However, that program is only available to U.S. customers, and, more importantly, it may have recently changed. Looking at the Sample section on the website now, there is no set deal, and pricing depends on the cost of the particular perfume in question. They range from $3 a vial up to $9 a vial for fragrances that cost over $300. You can call Osswald at (212) 625-3111 to enquire further as to the situation.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 Khôl de Bahreïn: Ambered Iris

Posted on March 5, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Photo: My own.

A golden, ambered sun peeks out from the clouds at the edge of a grey sea. Thickened, buttered waves of iris unfold like the most expensive suede, undulating under skies shot through with sweetened smoke. An iris flower floats on the surface, making a voyage from its cool, damp, earthy cellar towards the sun which warms it, turning it sweeter and sprinkling it with sweetened heliotrope. At times, the sun peaks out like golden eyes from behind the sheer veil of cool suede and warmed powdered sweetness. A giant orb of goldenness, speckled with ambergris, red resins, and candied delights. It shines upon the iris as it makes its journey and finally arrives at a distant shore of sweetness that cocoons it like the softest whisper of pink and white cashmere silk. These are the voyages of the Starship Iris, better known as Khôl de Bahreïn.

Stephane Humbert Lucas via CaFleureBon and Marieclaire.it.

Khôl de Bahreïn is a fragrance from a new niche perfume house, founded by a man who has been making perfumes for quite a long time. Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 is the new venture of Stéphane Humbert Lucas who was the in-house perfumer for Nez a Nez and SoOud. Mr. Lucas launched his new brand in 2013, along with 7 fragrances, all of which are inspired by the Middle East and their style of perfumery. Khôl de Bahreïn (which I’m going to henceforth write without all the accentuation and carets) was one of those scents.

There isn’t a ton of information out there about the perfume. Stéphane Humbert Lucas’s website is under construction, but his Middle Eastern distributor, Sagma, describes the scent as:

Source: Fragrantica

Blend of amber benzene.
Unguent with an intense trail.

Heavy perfume, unctuous, amber, reference to kohl and to the zenjar used in the region of Bahreïn.

First in Fragrance has more details, along with Khol de Bahrein’s notes:

Khôl de Bahreïn offers a blend of ambergris and resinous notes which create a balsamic-woody fragrance with an intense and lasting wake.

Top Note: Violet, Gourmand Notes, Resins
Heart Note: Iris, Sandalwood, Ambergris
Base Note: Musk, Balsamic Notes

Source: Soundcloud.com

Khol de Bahrein opens on my skin with a burst of sticky, dark resins that have a caramel, nutty aroma. Almost immediately, the iris appears on their heels. It feels like the most expensive, thick, orris butter imaginable, and has a smell that is simultaneously: slightly cool, earthy, buttery, deep, and warm, all at once. Something about it evokes the feeling of velvety petals — grey and black — along with thick, grey suede. The minute it arrives, the amber and resins take a step back to let the iris shine in the spotlight. Yet, subtle hints of benzoin sweetness lurk around the flower’s edges, as if candies are about to rain on earthy iris fields any moment now. A tiny wisp of smoke adds yet another paradoxical layer in this extremely unusual combination.

Five minutes in, the sweet elements seem to tire of their brief wait on the sidelines and flood center stage to crowd around the dark floral. I can’t really place the notes, as they are definitely not the “nougat” that I saw on one site’s ingredient list. “Caramel” doesn’t really fit exactly either, though it is closer. Perhaps, the best way to describe it is as vaguely sticky ambergris and toffee’d balsamic resins.

Yet, for all the sweetness of the accord, Khol de Bahrein doesn’t verge on the gourmand for me. First, the competing elements are very carefully balanced, but, second, and more importantly, the iris counteracts the candied resins with its earthy coolness. It is a very refined note that conjures up images of a single flower growing in the slightly damp earth of a darkened cellar. Yet, it’s neither icy nor crypt-like. There is nothing fusty, carrot-y, or dank about it, either. Just plenty of cool notes with heavy suede and creamy butter.

Something about the combination of iris with sticky resins feels very unique to me, though I grant you that I don’t have extensive knowledge of the iris category. In fact, I wholly lack the iris appreciation gene, but I spend the next few hours being utterly amazed by the note in Khol de Bahrein. It really feels like an actual “butter” version of the flower with a heavily creamed richness that I haven’t encountered in other iris scents. Not even in Nuances, the limited-edition, ridiculously expensive Armani Privé Les Editions Couture iris soliflore that supposedly had the richest, most expensive, concentrated iris as its focus.

Photo: ticklemeimsexy.deviantart.com http://ticklemeimsexy.deviantart.com/art/Purple-and-Yellow-Iris-195229153

On my skin, in the opening period, the iris butter pretty much trumps everything. Violets are listed Khol de Bahrein’s notes, but I generally didn’t detect them. However, they did appear briefly the very first time I wore the perfume when I only applied a few dabs of Khol de Bahrein. It was a dewy, earthy, pastel, delicate note, but it was short-lived. When I applied a greater quantity of Khol de Bahrein, it certainly couldn’t seem to stand up to the strength of the other accords.

What was interesting about that first test was something else that happened. From the first instant, there was an utterly addictive, sweet, powdered amber. I’m not a particular fan of iris, and I’m also not enthused by powderiness either, but, I tell you, I simply could not stop sniffing my wrists. I felt almost crazed at times by the draw of Khol de Bahrein, and I’ve finally figured out what was the lure: it smelled like an ambered form of heliotrope.

Photo: Crystal Venters via Dreamtime.com

Now, heliotrope is not listed on Khol de Bahrein’s notes, but something in one of those resins (undoubtedly a benzoin-based one) really recreates the smell of heliotrope to a T. And I’m a sucker for the note. Wholly addicted. I love its vaguely floral, powdered sweetness which always visually translates in my mind as a comforting pink and white cocoon. In fact, Fragrantica‘s great explanation of the note brings up its “characteristic, comforting scent.” Heliotrope has an powdery odor profile which can range from a vanilla meringue, to almond marzipan, tonka vanilla, and more. As Fragrantica put it,

The characteristic comforting scent of heliotrope has been proven to induce feelings of relaxation and comfort, a pampering atmosphere that finds itself very suited to languorous oriental fragrances and delicious “gourmands”.

I’m spending so much time on this because, in my opinion, that aroma is one of the secret keys to Khol de Bahrein’s beauty. In my first test, using very little of the perfume, Khol de Bahrein immediately wafted the most delicious, tasty, heliotrope amber confectionary aroma with just the perfect balance of sweetness and powder. It reminded me of a tonka-covered amber orb that glowed like candlelight in a cozy, warm, vanilla cocoon.

Source: nature.desktopnexus.com/

Khol de Bahrein gets to the exact same point eventually with the larger dosage, but there is a lengthy iris butter period that you have to get through first. Since, as noted above, I’m not a particular fan of iris scents, I don’t find it deeply compelling, but it’s very hard to deny the quality of the note. I’m actually quite riveted by the sheer opulence and richness of the flower. I repeatedly thought to myself that it felt like the sort of thing that Roja Dove would do, and I mean that as a compliment.

Thirty minutes in, that golden amber tantalizes me with its nearness and elusiveness. It lingers just out of reach on the horizon, like a gauzy veil of caramel that has been thinly lacquered onto a glowing orb of musky, vaguely salty, deep ambergris which is then lightly dusted with vanillic benzoin powder. Slowly, slowly, the amber sun starts to warm up the cool iris waters, softening their damp, aloof, earthiness. The flower turns more powdered, as if it were shaking off white pollen in the sunlight, but the predominant feel is of thick orris butter.

The amber’s promise lies hidden not only behind that note but also behind a new arrival on the scene: smokiness. It’s very subtle at first, but it’s definitely there. To my nose, it doesn’t smell like black frankincense but, rather, like sweet myrrh (opoponax). It’s a surprisingly sharp note, but also sweetened and vaguely nutty in undertone.

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

As a whole, Khol de Bahrein smells from afar like heavily sweetened iris, warm powder, sweet and incense lightly flecked by caramel resins and goldenness. The perfume is really potent up close, and very heavy in feel, with initially good sillage that wafts about 2-3 inches above the skin. By the end of the first hour, the sillage drops further, and Khol de Bahrein turns into a beautiful, seamless blend of ambered iris with subtle traces of sweetened iris powder and sweetened smoke. Yet, none of it feels gourmand. The perfume screams refinement and luxuriousness to me, not dessert or candy.

Photo: Grover Schrayer on Flicker. (Website link embedded within.)

Khol de Bahrein is largely linear in nature with the main changes over time being the order and concentration of the notes, along with the perfume’s overall warmth and texture. The iris continues to lose its cool edge and that feeling of thick orris butter. It turns more and more into pure suede, at first thickly plush and heavy, then lighter as it sinks into the base. Khol de Bahrein’s sillage drops to just above the skin at the 90 minute mark. Around the same time, the amber sun finally comes out from behind the grey clouds, and the perfume now feels like vaguely irisy, powdered amber, instead of iris that is merely tangentially ambered. Something about Khol de Bahrein’s new golden aura strongly brought to mind Histoires de Parfums‘ billowy Ambre 114. I think anyone who enjoys the latter’s ambered softness, while also loving rich iris butter, would definitely love the combination of the two notes in Khol de Bahrein.

As the perfume continues to realign itself, that addictive part that I talked about earlier creeps closer and closer. About 2.5 hours in, the heliotrope impression finally arrives on the scene. Again, the perfume list does not mention heliotrope at all, but something in the benzoin resin alluded to by the Sagma distributor definitely recreates that smell. Khol de Bahrein is now sweetened, almost vanillic powdered amber with touches of sweetened suede that is lightly flecked by an equally sweet incense. It’s a bit like Ambre 114 with incense, but with every passing moment, a much stronger comparison would be to Guerlain‘s Cuir Beluga.

Source: qcorrell.com

By the end of the 3rd hour, Khol de Bahrein is a dead ringer for Cuir Beluga on my skin, only with a touch of nebulous, abstract, incensey smoke. It has lost its ambered focus, and turned into pure “heliotrope” with sweetened suede. Khol de Bahrein doesn’t have heliotrope’s almond or marzipan nuances, but reflects instead its cozy, comforting, vanilla meringue facets. The amber now manifests itself largely as a sort of warmth which works really well with the textural softness of the “heliotrope” (or whatever resin is mimicking it). As a whole, the perfume feels like the cuddliest, cashmere blanket. Since heliotrope always visually translates in my mind to pink and white hues, the perfume now does the same.

I find it all utterly addictive, but I wish it weren’t so soft and discreet. The same problem that I had with Cuir Beluga is manifesting itself here, with a scent that lies right on the skin. That said, Khol de Bahrein is much stronger and more intense in its notes when sniffed up close. In fact, whenever I thought it had turned into a skin scent, I was surprised to detect little tendrils in the air about me. In particular, whenever I moved my arm or walked about, I could smell that vanilla meringue suede as an elusive whisper trailing in the air. It’s not my favorite way to smell a perfume, but Khol de Bahrein’s sheer weight and soft sillage turn out to be quite misleading in terms of the perfume’s strength.

Khol de Bahrein feels like undulating waves in more than one way. First, there was the iris butter that lapped about the shores. Then, as the iris retreated from its cool earthiness, the grey suede moved in. Later, the amber, and then, the “heliotrope”-like, benzoin meringue powder. Shortly after the start of the 6th hour, the waves change again, and the perfume turns drier. There are fluctuating levels of smokiness. Or, rather, the smokiness reappears again in a much stronger way, now that the heliotrope-like powdered sweetness has ebbed. Khol de Bahrein suddenly feels like a much drier, darker, somewhat smoky version of Cuir Beluga. It is also a true skin at this point, and its subtleties are much harder to detect.

Source: hdwallpapers4desktop.com

The subtle smokiness and incense don’t last long, however. Perhaps an hour at most. Then, Khol de Bahrein returns to its main core of powdered sweetness. The impression of iris suede as an underlying base vanishes completely. The perfume lingers as the silkiest, thinnest, gauziest breath of sweet benzoin on the skin for several more hours, until it finally dies away entirely about 12.5 hours from the start.

Frankly, I was amazed that it lasted so long, because it really is such a discreet, intimate scent for a good portion of its lifespan on my skin. Khol de Bahrein feels like the sort of fragrance that many people would think had only good longevity, not an excellent one, because they wouldn’t be walking around with their nose on their arm. However, I’m sure that spraying and the use of a large amount would help matters, as the perfume really is quite concentrated when smelled up close.

Source: hdwallpapers4desktop.com

I think Khol de Bahrein is a really lovely, luxurious, very expensive-smelling fragrance, and I say that as someone with little personal appreciation for iris. I do think, however, that it skews feminine. My reasoning is that I don’t see the vast majority of men really being into powdered iris as the dominant focus for their fragrance. I admit, it’s a wholly subjective, personal interpretation, and I certainly know some men who adore Cuir Beluga, as well as many iris-centered fragrances. I’m sure a few would thoroughly enjoy a more iris-y, oriental, less gourmand, and, at times, more smoky take on Cuir Beluga. For the vast majority of men, though, I think Khol de Bahrein might feel a little feminine. It’s really going to come down to your feelings on both iris and powdery notes, not to mention skin chemistry.

One man who absolutely loves Khol de Bahrein is Mark Behnke who wrote about the perfume while he was the Managing Editor of CaFleureBon. Mr. Behnke first smelled the new Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 line at the Milan Esxence show in 2013, and Khol de Bahrein was the one which really piqued his interest. He liked it right from the start, but once he managed to test it fully and properly, he seems to have fallen quite in love. He actually called Khol de Bahrein one of the best perfumes of 2013:

after having worn it quite a bit I know it to be one of the best perfumes of this year and the best perfume of M. Lucas’ career, so far.

The name Khol de Bahrein refers to the dark eye makeup often seen in the Middle East and North Africa. Elizabeth Taylor sported kohl rimmed eyes for her portrayal of Cleopatra. Also they are often the only part of a Muslim woman you can see when she is out and about. The darkness around the eyes causing them to feel like they almost float within the hijab. M. Lucas has created a fragrance framed in darkness with the depth of a human eye in the middle. Khol de Bahrein is as mesmerizing as a hypnotist’s stare; you will find yourself lost in its spell.

The photo Mr. Behnke used to illustrate Khol de Bahrein. Source: derbund.ch

The metaphorical eyes of Khol de Bahrein are as lavender as Liz Taylor’s were. The opening uses violet at the core but is surrounded with a resinous frame of dark incense. The one thing I appreciate about all of the Stephane Humbert Lucas 777 fragrances is there is no gentle step down to intensity. No flare of citrus or bergamot; instead it as bracing as stepping into a cold shower, it catches your attention. I love violet and the interplay of resins and violet are wonderfully woven. Then the purple of the iris deepened by the note of orris. Lush and opulent it is made buoyant with the addition of a creamy sandalwood and briny ambergris. This really feels like the real stuff on the ambergris, no ambrox here. The final touch of blackness comes from amber, balasamic notes, and musk. There is a feel of humanity in the last accord. The eyes may be all you see but they are worth getting lost within.

Khol de Bahrein has ridiculous almost 24-hour longevity and above average sillage. The sillage is surprising for something at extrait strength.

I hope this piques the interest of those of you who have never heard of M. Lucas. If you’re looking for a new perfumer to explore I can recommend nobody any higher. As one who has come to enjoy his style let me reiterate; Khol de Bahrein is the best perfume of M. Lucas’ career and one of the best new perfumes of 2013.

Mr. Behnke’s review is the only one I could find for Khol de Bahrein. The perfume has no comments on its Fragrantica page. There are also no reviews posted on Khol de Bahrein’s entry at Parfumo (a European sort of Fragrantica). However, there are a lot of votes for the perfume at Parfumo that I think you might find interesting, as they pertain to perceptions of overall quality, sillage, and longevity:

Scent: 80% (12 Ratings)

Longevity: 88% (12 Ratings)

Sillage: 67% (13 Ratings)

An overall 80% favorability rating is really quite good, though I’m apparently not alone in my feelings about the sillage.

Khol de Bahrein comes with some drawbacks, primarily in terms of accessibility. This is a perfume that is a European and Middle Eastern exclusive, though American readers can test it easily by ordering a sample from Surrender to Chance. It’s not even widely available within Europe itself, with only a handful of distributors for the line. First in Fragrance is your best bet, and, thankfully, they ship worldwide.

The other issue is the price, though I think that can easily be justified when put into context. Khol de Bahrein costs €148 for a small 50 ml bottle. At the current rate of exchange, that comes to roughly $203, which is a teensy bit high for the size. However, Khol de Bahrein is a fragrance that its Middle Eastern distributor, the Sagma corporation, states is pure parfum extrait with 24% concentration.

Source: Sagma Corp.

Plus, there is that bottle. Judging by the photos, it looks gorgeous and I must say, I rather lust for it. Pure gold lettering and a gold metal cap with a Swarovski crystal. First in Fragrance has the full details on the very elaborate packaging:

Khôl de Bahreïn is presented in a transparent flacon with genuine gold lettering, gold cap and a small-faceted peach-coloured Swarovski crystal set on the stylized crown.

The 777 Metal cap
A raised honeycomb pressed against a dome reminiscent of two architectures (Ottoman and Russian) where the sharp point brings to mind the summit, the sacred. The triple 7 is continued on the ring of the cap, it signifies: Spirituality, protection, luck. The figure 7 is the author’s fetish. The 777 logo is also engraved within the heart of the honeycomb. The raised facets represent work, determination and well-being. The significant weight of the cap imparts respect and strength. The cap is hand-milled, anodised and varnished.

777 Coffret by Stéphane Humbert Lucas
The box has been created using a double-coated black leather effect paper decorated with hot-stamped letters and logo. The 777 theme is taken up on the interior of the flap, followed by a short poem written by the author.

Source: Fragrantica

So, to some extent, a small chunk of that €148/$203 price tag must stem from the packaging, but you shouldn’t forget about the Extrait concentration. Or the opulence of that iris butter which, frankly, probably costs more than any Swarovski crystal. When you consider that Tom Ford’s flimsy, anemic Atelier d’Orient eau de parfums are priced at $210 for the same size (but much simpler looking) bottle, Khol de Bahrein almost seems like a steal. And I won’t even bring up Armani’s suffocating, claustrophobic, painfully dull iris soliflore, Nuances, in its Privé Couture line. (It’s £500, if you’re interested.)

Is Khol de Bahrein a complicated, revolutionary, edgy scent? No. It’s not trying to be. It wants to be a refined, luxurious statement that reflects a Middle Eastern sensibility. As someone who has actually lived in the region, I found Khol de Bahrein to be as Middle Eastern as Guerlain — which is to say, not at all. However, it definitely reflects a French sensibility and the feel of French haute perfumerie. A highly refined scent with very expensive, pure ingredients that are blended seamlessly to create the feel of pampered luxuriousness. Plus, it happens to have cozily delicious parts on top of it all. If I were ever to wear an iris scent, it would probably be Khol de Bahrein. Really lovely!

[UPDATE 4/14/14 — Samples of the entire collection, including the new 2014 releases, were sent to me, and I’m going through them, one by one. If you’re interested in learning more about the line, you can read about the spectacular O Hira and the new 2014 releases, Qom Chilom (Morello cherries, latex, oud, cedar, heliotrope), Oud 777 (a total smoke monster with Cambodian Oud and leather), and the immortelle gourmand, Une Nuit à Doha. The rest of the original 2013 releases will be reviewed as well. All the fragrances are expected to be released in the U.S. in a few weeks. They will be carried by Luckyscent and Osswald NYC.]

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Khol de Bahrein is an Extrait or pure parfum that comes only in a stunning 50 ml bottle that costs €148. I haven’t found any U.S. distributors for the scent. Stéphane Humbert Lucas’ website is under construction, and doesn’t have an e-store. Outside the U.S.: you can order Khol de Bahrein from First in Fragrance, though shipping will be delayed until after March 7th. They also offer a sample, and global shipping. Zurich’s Osswald also carries the line and lists Khol de Bahrein on its website, but I don’t think they have an e-store any more. The Swiss perfumery, Theodora, also has the perfume, but no e-store. In the Middle East, there is a UAE distributor called Sagma Corp that carries the full line, but they don’t have an e-store. However, you can buy Khol de Bahrein from Souq.com for AED 1,500. In Russia, Khol de Bahrein is available at Lenoma. It is also listed on the ry7 website, but I’m unclear as to its availability. Ukraine’s Sana Hunt Luxury store also carries it, but they don’t have an e-store. Samples: I obtained my sample from Surrender to Chance which sells Khol de Bahrein starting at $4.75 for a 1/2 ml vial.