Amouage Attars Even Further Limited?

Posted on March 27, 2014 by Kafkaesque

As many of you know, Amouage pulled its line of attars from circulation in the West last year, but continued to offer them in Amouage stores in the Gulf States. There is a chance that situation might have changed and that the attars will be even further restricted in terms of availability. [Update: That situation has now happened with a total cessation of all attar production at the Amouage factory in Muscat. The possible legal reasons why are discussed in this post here from April 7th.]

Source: adjiumi.it

Yesterday, Wednesday night, I was privately informed by a reader that all the attars were pulled from the store in Dubai. Ruby gave me permission to share what she learnt and to quote her. First, you should know that she is a big Amouage customer, and someone who knows both the store and the staff quite well. She wrote to me:

I buy a lot of special orders from Amouage and I was asking about Lyric ltd edition 100 ml what was the stock the shop still had… and I meantioned I was going to buy Ajwad and tiaf rose and the last sandalwood that was at the shop. That is how I came to know, yesterday evening. It was done suddenly with no forwarning to staff.

THEY PULLED “ALL” the ATTARS off the shelves from ALL the amouage shops. Something about when they decided not to go by ifra they agreed not to sell outside Gulf Countries. But people were sellliing on Ebay and what ever. Anyhow they decided with out forwarning to staff to pull all the Attars. Oman will continue to carry and sell at discretion to whom. They have not yet implemented a final conclusion but they say the Ifra standards were not good.

The explanation was weak. I heard because people are selling them on Ebay and other places and false amouage attar etc. Also that the non IFRA attars were being bought and sold in Europe and so on. I said every company has a problem with knock offs and such. Also what does that have to do with the majority of attars that are IFRA ok’de. : ( No comment. Also They are looking to focus more on western style fragrance and expanding to 26 countries …

Last I discovered Harvey Nichols and Bloomingdales in Dubai has stock still.. Only about 4 bottles in Harvey Nichols and Bloomingdales about the same quantiy. The department stores have only Homage and Tribute. Harvey Nichols also has Asrar.

I don’t like to post rumours, but perfume houses never put out official releases when they discontinue a scent, and they certainly don’t when they change their plans drastically in terms of availability. The only way one ever hears of these things is from sales associates who tell valued customers.

Ruby is one of those, but I also trust her completely as she has never steered me wrong in terms of her information on any of the Arabian or Middle Eastern brands. She is also enough of a die-hard, hardcore Amouage customer that the boutique would tell her if the three attars she wished to purchase were unavailable merely on a temporary basis. Instead, they told her that they had been ordered to pull everything from the shelves. [Update 3/30 — The news has been confirmed by the manager of the Amouage Dubai boutique in an email to another reader, as talked about below in the comment section. Several other people have received confirmation as well. In the comments, you will see that one person has already been told by the main Oman store that the attars have been reserved for their “regular customers” there.]

[UPDATE 4/7/14 — Another friend of mine reached out to a contact in Oman who went to the Amouage factory. ALL PRODUCTION ON THE ATTARS HAS CEASED ENTIRELY. No more attars are being made, period.]

Source: Alla Violetta boutique. (It is sold out of all the attars).

So, if all of this turns out to be a permanent situation, what does that mean for you? A large number of you in the West currently obtain decants or full bottles of the attars from splits or reputable sellers in the Gulf States. I myself recently ordered samples from a friend (and one of my readers, Dubaiscents) who is hosting splits of almost the entire Amouage attar line in the Facebook Fragrance Friends groups. I know there was a Basenotes split a short while ago, though I don’t know if it filled up and if any attars are still left. One reason why I am posting about this situation is so those of you who have been mulling over a purchase can make up your mind before it’s too late. That doesn’t apply only to people in such groups, but also to those who want to buy full bottles for themselves. There are still online vendors in the Middle East who carry the attars, as well as one or two European stores throughout Europe. (Most just have Homage and Tribute, but Russia’s ry7 perfume site has a much broader selection.)

Unfortunately, it’s a question of supply and demand. Those bottles already in private hands can only go so far, and what happens once they are completely divided up? How many bottles can there be on sites like Universal Fragrances or ASF-Dubaishop? Demand far outweighs the already limited supply. If it is true that only the Oman flagship Amouage store will offer the attars — and perhaps only to select customers at their discretion — that provides one recourse, but how many people visit Oman frequently?

Which brings me to the issue of eBay. First, if this news is confirmed (or as “confirmed” as such things ever are), then I have no doubt that prices will soar even more from eBay sellers with a precious quantity left on their hands. Second, if it is true that eBay played a role in Amouage’s decision, then I find myself baffled. People will sell Amouage on eBay whether an item is in stock, discontinued, or in extremely limited quantities. However, if Amouage’s attars are only available in one store in the entire world, at their discretion, then both the eBay market and the possibility of fraud will skyrocket. How does this help with any concerns regarding authenticity?

Source: via profumeriapepos.eu

As for IFRA, I’m even more perplexed. Ruby says only 4 of the attars had ingredients that were potentially subject to IFRA regulation, but, as she noted, so what? Even if they all were, what does IFRA or the EU laws have to do with perfumes sold in the Gulf States? There is no jurisdiction, so how can it possibly matter? If the argument is a circular loop back to eBay, well, the last time I checked, neither IFRA nor EU laws on what companies can put into a perfume have any bearing on individuals selling items that they have previously acquired.

[Update 3/30 — It appears that the Emirate Gulf States will be adopting international standards (e.g., IFRA) in a few months. That is the explanation for this situation. You can read my findings on the EMSA‘s ECAS goal of standardization via international standards for global competitiveness in the comment section below. Or go to the updated post from April 7th.]

I reached out this morning to Amouage’s Creative Director, Christopher Chong, on Twitter to see if he could shed light on the situation or confirm it. He said he had no answer for me, because it is a management decision. The implication is that the company is still deliberating on the situation and that a final decision has not yet been reached. That confirms what the Amouage sales assistant told Ruby: “They have not yet implemented a final conclusion[.]” Nonetheless, since they ordered that all the attars be pulled immediately and without warning from the shelves of their stores, I think it is pretty clear which way they are leaning.

[UPDATE 4/7/14 — It seems clear from the EMSA/ECAS situation that all perfumes within the Emirates will probably be subject to IFRA/EU standards soon, and, as a result, Amouage decided it was better to have the attars be outside UAE jurisdiction in Oman. However, the news I received today is that they have ceased ALL production of the attars in their Oman factory. If the concern was not to weaken, alter, or reformulate the attars within UAE jurisdiction but keep them pure, I don’t understand why they have stopped producing all attars as a whole even in Oman. It has seemed as though the plan were to sell the attars to their long-time, established Omani customers, at Amouage’s discretion, but a complete cessation to production of any kind makes that impossible. From what I’ve heard, existing stock even in Oman and even for long-time Omani clients is virtually nil. Let’s hope this factory issue is a temporary issue while Amouage re-groups and decides what its future course of action may be.]

For those of you who have an Amouage attar on your wish list but who don’t want to wait to see what unfolds, here are some links to online retailers that still have quite a few in stock:

ASF-Dubaishop (which always offers the lower Dubai price, rather than the higher Western one);

Universal Fragrances (you will have to go through the list to find the attars, but they also have Amouage’s room sprays, amongst their wide selection);

Russia’s ry7.

I personally have never ordered from any of these sites, but I’ve heard good things about Universal Fragrances. I have linked to them for almost a year now, and people who have purchased items from them have always been pleased. Transit times can be quite slow on occasion (2 weeks) since they are located in Kuwait, but the shipping price is very reasonable.

I doubt we’ll ever see a press release or an official company statement on the issue of the attars, regardless of what their final decision may be. We may never know what exactly prompted this latest and rather drastic move. Frankly, I find it all quite mystifying, particularly given that the oils are best-sellers amongst Amouage’s Gulf/UAE clientele. Even if Amouage wants to expand in the West, or to shift away from “Franco Arabian perfume” (as Ruby puts it), why not keep items that are already limited to their home base?

What are your thoughts on the situation?

Amouage Opus VIII: Optical Illusions

Posted on March 16, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Janus.

Juxtaposed contradictions that tease you with masculinity and femininity, gourmand sweetness and desert aridity, lightness and dark. Feminine florals with swaggering machismo. Janus with two faces in one. Two different fragrances that lie side-by-side, or almost on top of each other like an optical illusion. I would say that all of those things are the essence of Opus VIII, except this is a fragrance that is quite a shape-shifter and you never know quite know what you’re going to get. At the end of the day, the latest creation from Amouage is a scent that is so prismatic, it throws out different notes like light hitting crystal. I think it is rather genius.

Opus VIII is a brand new eau de parfum that is part of Amouage’s Library Collection. Perfumers Pierre Negrin and Richard Herpin worked under the direction of Christopher Chong to create a scent that is expressly meant to be an olfactory version of a Trompe l’Oeil, which an optical illusion involving layers that expand space and depth.

Opus VIII via Fragrantica.

According to the official Amouage press release quoted by Fragrantica, there were other goals in mind, too:

Amouage Creative Director, Christopher Chong, masterfully composed the fragrance to linger amongst the parallels of truth and perception. Crafted with the perfume connoisseur in mind, irrespective of age or gender, the woody, floral fragrance comprises of the finest ingredients sourced from around the world. Jasmine Sambac from India serenely fuses with Ylang Ylang from the Comoros and Orange Flower from Morocco to reveal a golden aura in the top notes. Saffron, Ginger and Incense smoke in the contradictory heart conjures an abstract and intriguing profundity. A surreal wave of luxury passes through the structure of the fragrance with the dark intensity of Benzoin, Balsam, Bay and Vetiver.”

According to that press release, the notes in Opus VIII include:

Top: Jasmine, Ylang Ylang, Orange Flower.
Heart: Frankincense, Saffron, Ginger, Vetiver, Gaiac Wood.
Base: Balsam, Benzoin, Jamaican Bay.

West Indian Bay tree or Pimenta Racemosa tree. Source: spanisia.com

I’d like to take a brief moment to explain “Jamaican Bay,” a note which Fragrantica also calls West Indian Bay in its official entry for Opus VIII. According to my digging on Google, West Indian Bay is Pimenta racemosa or Pimenta berry, a tree in the Myrtle family. Its aroma is said to be”rich and pungent” with “hints of allspice, menthol and cinnamon.” Another site states that the “fragrant oil superficially resembles clove oil, another tree in the myrtle family.” In short, don’t be misled by the term “Jamaican Bay” into thinking that Opus VIII smells like Jamaican Bay Rum, or any rum for that matter. By the same token, don’t confuse the association with the myrtle family or with bay leaves to think that the note in Opus VIII will smell like any of typical Mediterranean varieties of those ingredients.

It’s extremely difficult for me to know where to begin in discussing how Opus VIII manifests itself on my skin. The simple reason is the prismatic nature of the scent that I referenced up above. I’ve tested the fragrance about 5 times by now, using different quantities, and no two tests are completely alike. Opus VIII is a shape-shifter, throwing out different notes each time. The most noticeable thing is just how critical quantity seems to be. Depending on how much you apply, the notes manifest themselves quite differently in terms of prominence, potency, and order. Sometimes, you get entirely new elements, or things that are not even included on the list. As a whole, Opus VIII is a bit like entering into a house of mirrors, where you never know what is going to reflect back at you.

Source: The Consumerist Blog.

The only common thread between all my tests is that Opus VIII is a woody floral centered around jasmine that reflects utterly contradictory facets, usually all at the same time. The rest… well, it all depends. So, I’ll start with one of the versions of Opus VIII on my skin, and intersperse observations throughout about the other tests and their differences. I hope you’ll be patient with me, because this is quite a complicated fragrance once you look past the ostensibly simple veneer of a “jasmine woody musk.”

Source: a1.ro

Opus VIII opens on my skin with ginger dusted white flowers, an incredibly desiccated aroma-chemical, a slightly herbal nuance that is green in nature, and the bewildering presence of a citrus note. I have no explanation for the latter, but on a number of occasions while wearing of Opus VIII, I smelled various degrees of bergamot, lemon custard, lemon meringue, and even, at one point, a sort of Key Lime pie aroma. There is absolutely nothing listed in the official notes about anything citric in Opus VIII, so I rather feel like a crazy person, but that’s what I detect. As you will soon see, it won’t be the first time that Opus VIII makes me feel as though I were imagining things….

Orange Blossom. Photo: GardenPictures via Zuoda.net

Nonetheless, the driving force behind Opus VIII on my skin is, and always will be, the white flowers. In the first few seconds, they are an abstract, amorphous accord without any distinct shape or delineation, creating merely the impression of something light, airy, and utterly translucent. That quickly changes and, within moments, they morph into orange blossoms coated with jasmine sweetness. Saffron is lightly sprinkled on top like red pollen, right next to the ginger.

The odd thing, though, is another spice accord. It’s like the strangest combination of something almost like cardamom with a hint of dry dustiness that almost resembles cocoa, only not quite for either one. It doesn’t smell like All-Spice, which is something I’m extremely familiar with and use in cooking. Still, it has to be the “allspice” character of the Jamaican Bay that has perhaps been altered by the saffron to become sweeter in nature.

Alex Dunstan in a photo by Hedi Slimane, 2009. Source: hedislimane.com/fashiondiary

The flowers fascinate me. They feel like a set of contradictions lying side by side: Janus white and black; a swaggering, macho, dusty aridity next to syrupy, feminine sweetness; and, most of all, an aloof coolness countering rich warmth. Those flowers are definitely distant, remote, and cool in their gauzy, billowing translucency. And, yet, they lie on a base of sweet warmth. It’s like Julius Caesar versus Cleopatra, with a touch of the cozy sweetness of a warm kitchen.

Yes, I said “kitchen.” There is a buttery undertone to that dusty, fiery saffron that lends itself to the unexpected impression of sweetened, lightly floured bread. (I did mention that Opus VIII sometimes made me feel like a crazy person, right?) Perhaps it is the vanilla which lurks in the base, mixed with the dustiness of the Jamaican Bay and saffron. Or, perhaps, it’s one of those elements in conjunction with the guaiac wood. Whatever the source, there is almost a wheaty, warm baked bread undertone to Opus VIII’s floral top layer, and it appeared in two different tests.

10 minutes in, Opus VIII’s bouquet turns richer and sweeter. The orange blossoms bloom, releasing a narcotic headiness that is surprisingly weightless in feel. They have a rich depth, but the flowers never evoke heated, warm, heaving flesh or languid courtesans seeking to seduce. Frankly, there is too much of a masculine edge to them, undoubtedly from the aromachemical in the base with its desiccated, parched nature. The latter helps to keep the orange blossoms’ indolic nature firmly in check, at least at first. In the opening stage, there are no rubbery, mentholated, minty, black, or skanky facets to the flowers. Yet, they are not green either, for the growing prominence of the jasmine lends a definite sweetness to Opus VIII’s bouquet. The whole thing feels like a very carefully planned balancing act.

Nonetheless, Opus VIII has a noticeable tinge of greenness lurking at its edges. This time around, the note has an aromatic touch that felt simultaneously woody, leafy, a bit herbal, and almost like a distant cousin to eucalyptus. It’s a lovely touch that is complemented by the bergamot nuance wafting about in the background. (I know, I know, none of these things are listed in the notes! Believe me, I find it as strange as you probably do.)

Source: hdw.eweb4.com

However, on another occasion, the green note was a completely different story. Call me insane, but I smelled green honeydew melon with a touch of cucumbers. There was a watery liquidity that didn’t smell precisely aquatic, but it was definitely a streak of green. Calone? I don’t know. I suspect Melonal much more, or some version of a green melon synthetic.

Opus VIII was well on its way to making me question my sanity (and my nose). Then, on one of the occasions when I wore it, I asked someone to give my arm a sniff. They immediately said “cucumber!” Not jasmine, not orange blossom (which is what I myself was detecting as the primary note at the time), but “cucumber.” It was their immediate first impression. I rather wish I could have given them my arm to sniff on the occasion when I was wafting warm, wheaty, floured bread.

Source: kuchniaplus.pl

Whatever the particular oddities of the green and/or liquidy note, Opus VIII’s opening always involves some form of strong vanilla custard on my skin. I think I read somewhere that Opus VIII’s gourmand notes are meant to turn up at the end of the perfume’s development, but not on me. In the main test that I’m writing about, the vanilla starts its rise to the surface after about 20 minutes. On other occasions, the perfume began to waft a vanilla custard, lemon custard, or lemon meringue note much sooner. In all the cases, the vanilla is rich, smooth, deep, and, at the same time, airy and sheer. In this main test, it combines with the saffron, Jamaican Bay, that bread impression, and the slowly weakening ginger element to create something akin to ginger shortbread.

“Inkt,” photo by Michael David Adams. Source: fashionising.com

All of this is happening side-by-side with the orange blossoms coated with jasmine syrup. These polar opposites abound simultaneously in Opus VIII, almost as if the perfume had split down the middle with the two faces of Janus facing each other in the mirror. Two shapes, a masculine and a feminine side, growing out of the same core. Yet, Opus VIII never feels schizophrenic. For one thing, both halves are blended beautifully into a single whole. More importantly, Opus VIII feels very prismatic, reflecting different facets at different times, like light refracting off a crystal throughout the day.

“Inkt 5,” photo by Michael David Adams. Source: fashionising.com (website link embedded within)

Which brings me back, again, to my other tests of Opus VIII. The very first time I wore the scent, I only applied a small quantity, a single spray which would be the equivalent of 2 small smears from a vial. On that occasion, I was greeted by a rather alarming aromachemical note of great desiccation. It was forceful, and left a tickle in the back of my throat. The physical reaction may have been minor, but the opening salvo was strong enough to be far from my personal cup of tea.

Even when the gauzy jasmine unfolded and delicately merged with the vanilla, that synthetic twang remained. It was a very dusty, parched figure which sapped a lot of the warmth and depth from the scent. In fact, the flowers in Opus VIII on that occasion felt a little like a tiny oasis amidst a vast desert wasteland. The perfume did improve, and the notes ended up in greater harmony, but I was still unenthused. For the most part, Opus VIII felt merely like white florals thoroughly imbued with a very arid aromachemical, atop an abstract woody base that was just barely flecked by something vaguely ambered.

For my second test of Opus VIII, I applied a greater quantity, and the result was fundamentally different. Sharply so, in fact. I used 2 big sprays from the decant, amounting to 3 good smears from a vial, or a little over 1/4 of a 1 ml. And Opus VIII bloomed. The horrid desiccation was subsumed in a richer, deeper mix. In fact, it was merely a light vein streaking through the base, and hardly a significant player in the bouquet as a whole. I actually noticed the exact same situation with Slumberhouse‘s new Zahd, where a greater quantity hid the arid Trisamber aromachemical.

“Static – Window to the Soul (Jasmine)” (Detail) 2013, by Tom Jackson and Craig Evans. Source: Wall Street International Magazine.

Here, too, the parched, dusty element is immediately integrated into the rest of the fragrance if you double the dose. The aroma-chemical (which I suspect is of some ambered variety) reveals itself at brief intervals in a sharp, individual manner, but, for the most part, it merely works indirectly from the sidelines to keep the sweeter elements in balance. It also adds to that masculine edge in Opus VIII, and gives the jasmine its swaggering attitude. A friend of mine, Carlos, may actually have the very best description I’ve ever seen for the very unusual character of the florals that ensues. If I remember correctly, he called it “jasmine with an erection,” and, honestly, that blunt categorization is completely accurate. It also supports the duality or polarity of Opus VIII.

In my third, fourth, and fifth tests of Opus VIII, I tripled the quantity to 3 big sprays, amounting to over 1/3 of a 1 ml vial, and the result was even greater richness and depth, with additional, further reduction of the aromachemical note. The orange blossom showed up in two of those tests, which hadn’t happened previously, as did the ylang-ylang. Once, there was a distinct herbal undertone in the first two hours as well, almost as if there were a real myrtle tree with its distinct aromatic kinship to eucalyptus. The saffron popped up at the higher dose, too. In contrast, the ginger did not always appear, at least not in a strongly prominent manner. There were other variations each time, too, like the cucumber, melon, lemon meringue, and bread undertones, but at no time was the aromachemical dryness a problem the way it was at the smallest dose.

In short, if or when you try Opus VIII, please try to keep in mind that the quantity you use might be very critical. Spraying a small amount may amplify different elements or create a different version of the scent. In addition, since aerosolisation increases a fragrance’s potency, if you’re dabbing from a vial, you may want to keep this words even more in mind, and apply a greater amount than what you would normally use.

I’m bringing up all these differences now, as opposed to the end of the review, because Opus VIII’s greatest changes usually occur in the first few hours, no matter how much of the perfume you apply. It’s the opening phase which is the most prismatic and complex on my skin, not so much the rest which can sometimes be quite linear for hours on end.

“Phantasms of the Living” (Detail) 2013, by Tom Jackson and Craig Evans. Source: Wall Street International Magazine.

In my main test that I’m writing about, one of the loveliest parts of Opus VIII occurs about 45 minutes into its development. The jasmine emerges fully from behind the white veil of orange blossoms. It’s incredibly silky, creamy, and smooth. There is a black heart to the flowers, but the dirty, indolic core is — like everything else in Opus VIII — firmly balanced. Tiny veins of a leathery darkness begin to streak through the flowers, gradually connecting the jasmine to the orange blossoms. Slightly smoky nuances appear, along with a small pop of mentholated rubberiness that so typical to very indolic flowers. Neither aspect is overpowering, and they certainly don’t distract from the growing creaminess of the floral bouquet.

The creaminess is helped by other shifts in the scent. The ginger and saffron sink into the base. Thanks to Opus VIII’s prismatic nature, they pop up once in a while, but they generally just add an indirect warmth and very subtle dusted spiciness to the flowers. The Jamaican Bay/Allspice note similarly plays a little vanishing-reappearing act, but it’s largely a very muted element on my skin. The “bread” or ginger shortcake impression fades away entirely, but the guaiac wood rises to the surface to take its place at the end of the first hour. I’ve come to realise that the note is a tricky one on my skin, as it often turns sour, stale, sharply acrid, or some other rather difficult manifestation. Here, however, it is merely dusty and dry.

Photo: Vickie Lewis. Source: Allposters.com

I keep smelling bergamot in Opus VIII. It’s not the lemon meringue of one test, or even the Key Lime pie tartness of another, but there is definitely a citric element (or two) that always appears in some form. It works beautifully with the vanilla in the base and with the ylang-ylang. The latter wakes up like Sleeping Beauty after about an hour, and puts on a rich, custardy, banana yellow dress to join the white flowers on center stage. In the wings, the dry, woody, spiced, and lightly green elements all look on. The aromachemical note swings each velvety, lush flower around in a heady embrace, their petaled skirts billowing in an airy cloud around them. In the same way, Opus VIII projects about 2-3 inches above the skin at the end of the first hour, feeling weightless but always strong, deep, and rich.

Slowly, very slowly, the woody, herbal, dry and green facets grow more prominent. They are joined by an abstract impression of dry “amber” that might merely be another side to the aromachemical at play. The overall combination serves to cut through the jasmine’s slightly syrupy sweetness, and to overpower a lot of the vanilla custard. About 90 minutes in, Opus VIII smells like a very dry jasmine and ylang-ylang nestled in guaiac wood that has been sprinkled with an abstract amber, then flecked by the occasional hint of greenness (melon? cucumber? Calone?), a herbal note, and that dry aromachemical. Around the same time, Opus VIII also turns softer, and its sillage drops.

At the start of the 3rd hour, Opus VIII wears close to the skin, hovering just an inch above it in an increasingly sheer, weightless blend of jasmine and ylang-ylang with woody notes and an aromachemical dryness. It remains that way for quite a while, largely unchanged except for the prismatic reflections of the secondary and tertiary elements that pop up once in a while.

“Static – Hallucination” by Tom Jackson and Craig Evans. Source: Wall Street Journal International Magazine.

At the higher dosages, Opus VIII usually turns into a skin scent somewhere between the 5.5 and 6.75 hour mark. The scent turns into a blur of white flowers, just barely dominated by jasmine. The lemon custard accord reappears to dance lightly around. Its slightly gourmand aspect is juxtaposed against Opus VIII’s continued streaks of woodiness, dryness, and that parched, sometimes peppery aromachemical element. In the distance, there is a hint of smokiness, though it is extremely muted and muffled.

As I noted earlier, most of Opus VIII’s major twists and turns take place in the first two or three hours. After that, the perfume isn’t particularly complicated, in my opinion. It’s a simple dry, woody jasmine, by and large, especially if smelled from afar and particularly after the start of the 6th hour. Opus VIII may waft fractionally different versions, depending on how much of the scent you apply, but the broad brush strokes are largely the same in the remaining hours. The only differences are slight fluctuations in the prominence or strength of the supporting players, especially the ylang-ylang.

“Phantasms of the Living” (Detail), by Tom Jackson and Craig Evans. Source: Wall Street International Magazine.

On my skin, time simply renders Opus VIII more abstract, woody, translucent, and dry. On occasion, there is the suggestion of something vaguely ambered in nature, but it’s incredibly muted. In its final hours, the fragrance is a gauzy smear of dry woodiness with the hint of florality about it.

All in all, Opus VIII consistently lasts over 10.75 hours on my perfume consuming skin, starting with the smallest application of 1 spray. The time frame is pushed to a little under 14 hours if I apply 3 big sprays. The sillage is generally soft after the first 90 minutes, and the perfume hovers just above the skin but it remains there for hours and hours. I was consistently surprised by how long it took Opus VIII to turn into a true skin scent.

“Optical Illusion,” painting by Ghita Iustinian at just-in-art.com (Website link embedded within.)

Opus VIII’s mercurial, complicated nature fascinates me, in part because it actually accomplishes Christopher Chong’s goal of creating an optical illusion. All too often, one reads PR blurbs after trying a fragrance, shakes one’s head, and mutters, “hogwash.” All right, maybe that’s just me. The point is that press releases often seem to involve a lot of wishful thinking in terms of a fragrance’s nature or how it actually develops. In this case, I think both the Trompe l’Oeil mission and the “contradictory heart” assessment really hit the nail on Opus VIII’s head.

I, for one, love the optical illusion, but then, I love really complicated fragrances that lead you on a twisted journey — the more confusing, bewildering, and morphing, the better. If I want a simple, straightforward, conventional scent that doesn’t make me think or that I can spray on just to go to the supermarket, I can turn to any number of the brands that I frequently slam in this blog for being about as interesting a squashed gnat on a windshield. Simple, uncomplicated conventionality is not why people pay Amouage’s prices, especially in the Opus line.

“Optical Illusion,” painting by Ghita Iustinian at just-in-art.com http://just-in-art.com/shop/bipolarity/

The newest addition to the Library Collection bears all the hallmarks of an Amouage fragrance, but I think there are also differences this time around. I have only tried a few in this line, but Opus VIII seems softer and sweeter than the others. It is not as heavy as Opus VI and Opus VII, and definitely not as strongly masculine as the latter. I’ve noticed that the two Opus fragrances I’ve tried are typically much drier than scents in the regular Amouage line, so Opus VIII fits in that respect. Yet, it has a gourmand undertone that feels like something new for the collection, judging by my admittedly narrow exposure to the lot. Opus VIII also feels contradictory and polarized, whereas Opus VI and VII are quite straightforward. Plus, those two scents were not shape-shifters on my skin at all. Opus VIII, in contrast, sometimes made me feel quite mad in terms of the unexpected, odd nuances that I detected, not to mention how drastically the perfume seemed to change from one wearing to the next.

I happen to love that constant mystery, but I don’t know if others may find Opus VIII to be a little too much of a chameleon. In fact, The Non-Blonde found Opus VIII to be extremely “disorienting.” Her generally positive review reads, in part, as follows:

The thing is that Amouage Opus VIII is really about perception. It’s a “what exactly am I smelling?” thing. As well as a “where amI?“, because the perfume takes you by surprise and leaves you a bit disoriented in a large and well-lit space, with a ceiling so high you can almost imagine it’s not there. The light is so bright that for the longest time you cannot make the details of your surroundings (were you abducted by aliens? is there gravity around you?) until you manage to focus on form and texture, recognizing colors and movement, and all of a sudden you’re in a museum, standing in front of an artwork that starts to take shape right there.

Have I mentioned it’s disorienting? It really is.

Orange Blossom. Photo: GardenPictures via Zuoda.net

Interestingly, both The Non-Blonde’s husband and a friend thought that Opus VIII had a strong, but more refined, similarity to Seville à L’Aube. She herself didn’t see it, and nor do I. (Thank God, because I’m in the minority who really dislikes Seville à L’Aube.) For her, Opus VIII was as prismatic as it was for me, though she uses the term a “game of perceptions”:

What I’m getting is a slightly dirty marriage between jasmine and orange blossom. Oddly enough, it doesn’t make me think of a hot summer night, but of that aforementioned space in the museum, where the light is artificial and the windows open into an indoors courtyard. The outside is inside– again that game of perceptions. But it’s more than just about these slightly weird flowers. Musette wrote in her Posse review that she smells an aquatic/calone note, and I know exactly what she’s talking about, because I was instantly reminded of the opening in Musc Tonkin (Parfum d’Empire). It’s that note I called “turd on the water”, and find disturbingly appealing. The Husband, naturally, disagrees (both about Musc Tonkin and about Opus VIII). He’s taken by the refinement and smooth edges of the transition from heady florals to a very suave woody-balsamic base.

This is where the artwork emerges and reveals itself out of (not so) thin air: light and shade, wood and marble, curves and straight edges. It’s an abstract work of modern art, yet as the hours pass (and Opus VIII lingers for the better part of the day and night), the perfume becomes incredibly intimate and personal. Sniffing between dress and skin, it’s a balsamic fantasy where glimmering resins (how is that even a thing? but it is), burn ever so slowly. And passionately.

I can tell you that over the last week I’ve spent every moment I possibly could wearing Opus VIII. It’s fascinating on an intellectual level and satisfying on the “I want to smell really really really good” front.

Speaking of the Perfume Posse review, I’m glad to know that Musette detected a calone undertone, because now I feel slightly less crazy about my cucumber and melons. (Now, if only I could find an explanation for the other oddities that appeared on my skin, like the bergamot, or that bread-like nuance that occasionally verged into ginger buttered shortbread territory. I suppose I shall have to chalk the latter up to some combination of the woody guaiac and the buttered saffron with spices.)

Source: 123rf.com

I thoroughly enjoyed Opus VIII at the higher doses which brought out its custardy sweetness and warmth, but, at the end of the day, it is a scent that is a little too dry for me personally. I like my white flowers to operate at Wagnerian levels, radiating out a lush, narcotic, voluptuous opulence that evokes quivering, heaving bosoms on languid courtesans. Here, the orange blossom isn’t a substantial part of Opus VIII on my skin (and didn’t even show up a few times that I wore the scent), while the jasmine feels a little more Julius Caesar than Cleopatra. A Julius Caesar who is on a military campaign through the dry woods and desert of North Africa. (So, perhaps, Rommel, more than Caesar?)

However, it is precisely because those flowers have a macho swagger that I think Opus VIII will work on men who typically fear that “big white flowers” are too feminine for them to pull off. The polarity I’ve described in the review, the gourmand elements, Opus VIII’s dryness and woodiness — those are all elements which make the scent eminently unisex, in my opinion. I actually think the perfume may seem a little masculine for women who prefer their florals on the very sweet or conventional side, though it’s all going to depend strongly on skin chemistry and on what aspects of Opus VIII are highlighted on their skin. (Judging by my experience, small doses or light smears will not help in that regard, since they will only bring out the perfume’s drier elements.)

Rorschach Bean by Alex L’aventurier on Flickerhivemind.com

Regardless of gender, however, I think a lot of you will find Opus VIII to be a fascinating journey into a house of mirrors, one that reflects back different elements in each glass and on each occasion. It is not a reductive scent, but the trompe de l’oeil optical illusion that it was intended to be. The technical skill and amount of work which must have gone into creating that constantly morphing prism are truly impressive. A brilliant job, without doubt.

Disclosure: My decant of Opus VIII was courtesy of Amouage and Christopher Chong. That did not influence this review, I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Opus VIII is an eau de parfum, and is the first in the Library Collection to be offered in a small 50 ml size, in addition to the usual 100 ml bottle. I believe all the other Library Opus scents will now be offered in the 50 ml bottle as well. I don’t know the price for the small size, but the 100 ml/3.4 oz bottle of Opus VIII will cost $365. At this time, Opus VIII is not yet shown on the Amouage website, but I’m sure it will soon be listed in their Library Opus section. By the end of March, all the usual retailers should have received the fragrance, including Luckyscent, MinNewYork, Parfums Raffy, First in Fragrance, Jovoy, and the like. I will try to remember to update this section at that time.

Amouage Epic (Woman): Turandot at The Forbidden City

Posted on February 6, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Turandot opera. Source: parter.ua

The legends of the ancient Silk Road that wove its way from the Middle East to China, Puccini’s Turandot princess, the grandeur of the Forbidden City and the Dragon Empress’ Summer Palace, a veil of frankincense, and a dry desert wind that swirls spices around the lushness of a velvet red rose — those are a few of the things at the heart of Epic for Women from Amouage. Oh, and pickles as well. Yes, I said pickles….

Original poster for Turandot. Source: Wikipedia.

Epic Woman (hereinafter just “Epic”) is an eau de parfum that was released in 2009. It was created by Daniel Maurel (who also did Lyric Woman for Amouage) under the direction of Christopher Chong. The inspiration was Puccini’s Turandot opera which is set in China, but which was based on an ancient tale involving a Persian princess and a deadly riddle. China had once banned the opera, but welcomed it with open arms in 1998 when it permitted a massive $15 million film production of the opera to be set in the 500-year old Forbidden City under the direction of the showman, Zhang Yimou (who later did the Beijing Olympics), with the opera conducted by the famed Zubin Mehta. I own the DVD, and the production is one of the most spectacular, extravagant, unbelievably opulent things you can imagine, so I sat up a little when I heard about the Turandot connection to Amouage’s Epic.

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Amouage Beloved Man (Special Limited Edition)

Posted on January 13, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Lemon chiffon mousse with smoky dryness and woods. I don’t think I’ve ever summed up an Amouage fragrance in one short sentence, but there is a first time for everything. An even shorter synopsis might be “elemi creaminess.” That is the essence of Beloved Man, a wholly unisex fragrance that is quite lovely but extremely simple. In many ways, it feels like the anti-Amouage, or an Amouage for those who normally struggle with the perfume house’s complicated, complex creations.

Source: CaFleureBon

Beloved Man (hereinafter just “Beloved“) was released in 2013 as either a limited edition or limited distribution eau de parfum that is only available in Amouage boutiques, and a handful of department stores or online vendors. Since the fragrance is no longer listed on Amouage’s own website, it’s hard to know how they describe the scent. The PR copy quoted by First in Fragrance and also summarized by sites like CaFleureBon states:

The special edition Beloved for Men by Amouage is a woody Oriental fragrance with spicy top notes accentuated by an opulent heart of floral notes. Created in Grasse under the guidance of Amouage’s Creative Director Christopher Chong, he explains “that everyone has a remembrance of a loved one and the fragrance is a nod to the 1980 movie “Somewhere in Time” starring Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour. This intimate fragrance with its selection of rich woods and resins in the base enrapture the wearer in a comforting sensation of warmth that these treasured memories bring”.

Beloved was created by Bernard Ellena, though Fragrantica mistakenly credits Alexandra Carlin and Emilie (Bevierre) Coppermann. Regardless, everyone agrees that Beloved’s notes are:

orange, grapefruit, elemi, geranium, jasmine, orris, saffron, cedar wood, guaiac wood, leather, patchouli, musk, and vetiver.

Canarium Commune tree. Source: gallery.trip.sk

Elemi is a main part of Beloved on my skin, so I’m going to take a minute to go over what it is. According to The Perfume Shrine‘s wonderfully detailed explanation, elemi has a long history. It was used by ancient Egyptians in embalming, and its remnants have been found in sarcophogii. Nowadays, “elemi” apparently refers to the harvested secretions from the Canarium Commune tree in the Phillipines, and its smell can best be summed up as: lemony, clean freshness that is also peppered and smoky. Elemi shares some characteristics with frankincense, but it can also take on a green, piney aroma like that of fresh pine needles. Elemi oil can be deep, clean and citrusy in profile, while the resin version can be peppered, woody, and a little bit spicy. Like the two faces of Janus, Beloved reflects both sides of the elemi coin on my skin.

Source: hdwpapers.com

Beloved opens with a crisp, cool, chilled lemon aroma infused with elemi smokiness, as well as what also smells like actual frankincense. It is followed by a dry, faintly leathered aromachemical, then pepper, a hint of clean soapiness, and the tart, sweet freshness of a grapefruit. There are glimpses of something creamy and warm underneath, as well a hint of sweetness from patchouli. It’s all rather light in feel, and evokes very yellowed, Italianate images, as if Beloved were made for a warm summer’s night in Capri.

Lemon Mousse Parfait by Mary Bergfeld on One Perfect Bite blogspot. (Link to website with recipe embedded within photo.)

As a whole, Beloved’s opening is a mix of opposites: crisp, chilled citruses with warm, creamy sweetness; dark smokiness with light, fresh cleanness; and, later, dryness with almost custardy smooth richness. It takes hardly any time for Beloved’s citruses to lose their crisp, aromatic zestiness and to turn warmer, richer, deeper, as if hanging off a tree in the warm summer sun. The aromachemical tinge departs within minutes, and the leather nuance fades to a blip on the sidelines.

What is left is primarily an extremely creamy citrus scent that is as smooth as custard, but as airy as a mousse. The faintest trace of smokiness from the elemi is diffused throughout, adding a chiaroscuro effect of darkness to dapple the yellow warmth. Beloved never seems like a smoky or incense fragrance, though. That aspect of the elemi is too muffled on my skin; it merely works indirectly from the sidelines to add subtle touches to the wood’s fresher, lemony characteristics.

10 minutes in, Beloved starts to shift. The increasing warmth takes on the faintest trace of saffron and an abstract floralacy. I don’t smell iris, jasmine, or geranium in any individual way, though something vaguely “iris-like” seems strongest. By the same token, there is no vetiver on my skin at all, and the leather never reappeared again after its initial blip. What there is, however, is a nondescript, nebulous woodiness that darts in and out of the creamy lemon mousse in the top notes. There is also the faintest trace of a musky sweetness.

Source: Polyvore.com

There really isn’t a hell of a lot more to the core essence of Beloved on my skin. There are only variations in the strength of the elemi’s woody, smoky, and dry sides over the course of the next few hours, along with fluctuating degrees of ISO E-like aromachemical pepperiness. As a whole, though, Beloved is a seamless blend of the two faces of elemi, and the fragrance’s main characteristic for a good portion of its opening hours is creaminess. It’s absolutely beautiful in that way, feeling as rich, smooth, and effortless as the silkiest creation from a chef in a restaurant devoted to lemony desserts.

It takes less than an hour for Beloved to lose every distinct, clearly delineated trace of something other than lemon mousse with dry, woody smokiness. The abstract floral element vanishes, and the saffron turns into a vague suggestion of something vaguely spicy that hovers at the edges. Beloved’s sillage drops 75 minutes in. It had opened with moderate projection, but the fragrance now hovers 2 inches, at best, above the skin. It feels very gauzy, though simultaneously, very creamy and smooth. The sillage becomes increasingly discreet, while the perfume itself grows more subtle, abstract and hazy in its notes. I’m very impressed by how beautifully balanced it is. For a mousse-y, lemon cream trifle, it has a wonderful balance of dryness and woodiness that prevent Beloved from ever verging on a gourmand or dessert scent. And don’t mistake me, it isn’t one by any means, but the creaminess is terrific.

Source: burkedecor.com

By the end of the third hour, Beloved is basically locked into its profile for the remainder of its lifespan: creamy woodiness that is infused with dryness, muted hints of smokiness, and something vaguely citrusy in nature. The ISO E Super peppered touch is speckled throughout, but it is subtle and primarily in the background. As a whole, Beloved feels almost more like a texture than a set of notes, as the latter are mostly amorphous, blurry, and hard to pick out. The fragrance is wispy, light, and a total skin scent by this point as well, though you can detect it easily for another 6 hours if you smell it up close. Beloved lingers on as a gauzy, discreet whisper until it finally dies away as a hint of dry creaminess. All in all, Beloved lasted 12.75 hours on my skin.

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

As I’ll discuss shortly, I don’t think my experience with Beloved Man was representative or the norm, beyond the basic commonality of citruses and woodiness. I haven’t seen anyone else describe the scent as citric creaminess, but I can only tell you how it was on my skin. Lest it was not clear by now, I really liked the lemon chiffon aspect of Beloved. As a whole, I find the perfume to be a well-balanced, easy, uncomplicated fragrance that is very enjoyable as a tame, extremely safe, very basic, approachable Amouage. I also think it is thoroughly and completely unisex.

In fact, the way Beloved Man was on my skin reminded me of Amouage‘s beautiful Ubar for Women, a fragrance that had an equally beautiful lemon custard facet to it. Ubar is a stunner that is much more complex, nuanced, floral, and rich (not to mention nuclear in projection), but Beloved Man felt like a riff on one of Ubar’s prettiest features. In essence, a drier, woodier, smokier, simpler and lighter version of Ubar’s lemon custard. I see no reason at all why women who prefer woodier scents couldn’t wear Beloved. In all cases, Beloved would work really well as a discrete fragrance that is practical and versatile for every day use. You could wear it to the office, but it also feels like an elegant, rich take on citruses that is suited for the summer.

Yet, for all that, Beloved is also linear, simplistic, and lacking much flair or ooomph. And it really needs some profound distinctiveness for the price that Amouage is asking. As a “special edition” or limited-edition fragrance, Beloved seems to have the retail cost of $425. That is a lot of money for an unobtrusive citrus scent with some smoke and woodiness! You might argue that it is an Amouage, but the problem is that Beloved seems like an anti-Amouage to a large extent. Yes, its simplicity has some definite benefits in terms of ease and versatility, but do you want to pay $425 or €340 for it? I wouldn’t.

Speaking of price, it seems to vary all over the place. I’ve never encountered a fragrance where each retailer seems to set a different figure on the same bottle. It’s not listed on the Amouage website at this time, so I have no idea what price they once gave for it. CaFleureBon mentions $425, but I’ve also read $450 and one Fragrantica commentator (probably hyperbolically) said $500. I’ve found Beloved selling for $360 in the U.S., and as low as £265 or €320 in Europe, but I repeat again: woody, citrus mousse!

As you may gather, I’m quite torn on Beloved. If I’m to be honest, it was rather disappointing for an Amouage. It has little to do with the price, but with the fact that I expect more from them. If Beloved were issued by Maison Francis Kurkdjian as a counterbalance to his tendency to create very commercial, safe, often fresh and clean scents (with the fantastic, rich, opulent Absolue Pour Le Soir as being the lone exception to the rule), then I would undoubtedly praise Beloved. It would still be simplistic, safe, and lacking much flair, but, generally speaking, I no longer expect much more than that from MFK.

However, I do expect something different from Amouage which I think is one of the best, most innovative, interesting perfume houses around. Its creations stand out and are admired because they’re complicated, complex, nuanced, and different. Should one judge Beloved in a vacuum, or by the standard of the house? Well, perhaps by both, but I suppose it depends on price as well, which brings us back full circle to that $425. I find it mind-boggling, simply mind-boggling.

Amusingly enough, a commentator on Fragrantica has a preemptive response to my criticisms, presumably because he has heard numerous other people saying the same thing. “Johnnybr0801” argues:

The more I use it, the more I love it!! 🙂 Don’t hate this because of the “lack of uniqueness” or simply because of the price tag! Yes, it is overpriced, as this is a limited edition! I don’t say that this automatically validates the price tag , however I have to tell that whenever I smell an Amouage frag, I always feel like I would pay whatever price they ask for!
Not because Im a fan of the house, but the quality, the creative process, the ingredients, etc. Everything speaks value here! I think they are one of the only houses with a clear concept what they want, and what they want to tell with their fragrances. No bullshit here. You get what you paid for. Period.
This little pricy bastard meant to light up those moments in your life when you feel like you wanna remember forever for that moment. It could be a date, a girl, a man, whatever. It still can be an everyday scent, but I feel like in heaven wearing this every time I put on! This is true ART!!!

Well, I’m a fan of the house, too, and I agree that its fragrances are of superior quality, but that doesn’t mean that Beloved is a specific case of “true ART!!!” Blind worship is not my thing, and I don’t do it for any perfume brand. I simply cannot fathom what he’s experiencing with Beloved that makes him think it is unique enough to light up his life or to remember a special occasion forever. All the more power to him, though.

What was interesting in reading the largely critical reviews on Fragrantica was seeing the different ways Beloved can manifest itself on one’s skin. To wit:

This is a light fragrance that smells a bit like baby powder when applied but man o man have I receive so many compliments in just the two times I’ve worn it this far. It also lasts a while on my skin but does not seem to project that far.

At the start I’m smelling the grapefruit and geranium then
I’m mainly picking up a soft sweet powdery peppery spice with jasmine, musk with a hint of leather. [¶] I don’t know what to make of this scent as all the notes seem to come at you all at once.

its the sweatest [sweetest?] and softest manly smell you ever can wear, deep mix and hard to describe, you cant describe it as spicy or woody, or even floral, its nicely mixed to a level where nothing truely dominate.

a gentleman perfume for men, with burst of citrus smells, then woodsy pencil shaving smell[.]

Though Beloved has some admirers, most assessments are quite disparaging. One person wrote that Beloved was “a concoction of nothingness not worth its price.” Another said: Beloved is “[u]nworthy of the Amouage name, tested it twice and found it so unremarkable and forgettable[.]” A handful find Beloved to be so “generic” that they couldn’t even be bothered to describe what they smelled, while many others compare it to a whole slew of commercial, department store fragrances. There are several statements to the effect of, “Oh man this is somehow what Paco Rabanne’s 1 Million tries to be.” Other perfumes mentioned are: original, vintage Gucci Homme; Dior Homme Sport 2012; and Escada‘s Casual Friday.

The blogger, Persolaise, brings up elements of other fragrances as well in a review that calls Beloved “less than spectacular”:

It’s not often I’m relieved to discover that a perfume is less than spectacular. I’ve got so many ‘must buy’ Amouages on my list, that … perversely, I am grateful that Beloved Man won’t tempt me to part with my cash. When compared to last year’s Beloved Woman – a far-reaching chypre composed by Bernard Ellena – it feels like something of a let-down. But taken on its own terms, it’s a solid, competent, ambery-wood masculine.

Fans of Guerlain‘s Heritage and Cartier‘s Declaration will recognise several elements of those scents here, but Beloved Man adds an ‘exotic’ twist, mainly through the use of pepper (always warm; never sneeze-inducing) and a strange, grapefruit-inflected, melting plastic note, not unlike that displayed by Interlude Woman. In combination with cardamom, the aforementioned amber and a disappointingly prominent dose of abrasive wood materials, this curious facet unsettles the wearer and diminishes the romantic effect implied by the scent’s name. But it settles down before too long and makes room for an innocuous, musky drydown. [Emphasis and bolding of names added by me.]

As you can see, his synthetic woody blend is quite different from my own experience. In fact, I seem to be the only one who had an elemi-centric cocktail of mousse-y citruses with smoke and dry woodiness.

Yet, regardless of the different manifestations of Beloved — from baby powder to sweet floral woodiness, leathered woods, or “grapefruit-inflected melting plastic” with “abrasive woods” — there seems to be a common theme in many of these assessments: disappointment. (I’ve even seen “disappointing” as a headline on a YouTube vlog review!) I think it boils down to two things: Beloved feels like quite the anti-Amouage; and it’s bloody expensive for such simplicity. I expect more than just high-quality from Amouage, especially for $425. Beloved’s citrus-woody mousse falls short of the mark, alas.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Beloved Man is an eau de parfum that only comes in a 100 ml/3.4 oz size. It is a limited distribution scent, and isn’t listed on Amouage’s website. I can’t figure out the retail price, and I’ve seen numbers that vary all over the place: $360, $425, $450, £265, £285, €320, €325, or €340. What I’ve read on CaFleureBon is that “Beloved Man is sold exclusively in Amouage standalone stores and a select number of department stores such as Bergdorf-Goodman in New York City and retails for $425.00.” However, I don’t see it listed on the Bergdorf website anymore. Perhaps it is merely an in-store item? In the U.S.: I found Beloved for $360 on Amazon U.S. from a vendor listed as “Amouage,” but the page also puts “Rare Perfume” as the seller name on the right. Outside the U.S.: In Canada, I found Beloved at The Perfume Shoppe for what appears to be US $425. In Europe, I found Beloved Man at Essenza Nobile for €320, at Premiere Avenue and First in Fragrance for €325, at the Netherland’s ParfuMaria for €330, at Italy’s Al Sacro Cuore for €335, and at Jovoy Paris for €340. I know both FiF and Essenza Nobile sell samples, and ship world-wide, as does Premiere Avenue. In the U.K., Beloved is available at Selfridge’s for £285. It’s slightly cheaper at Fascination Perfumery at £265. Harrod’s and Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie normally carry all the Amouage scents, but Beloved was not listed in Harrod’s Amouage for Men page. In Australia, David Jones sells Beloved for AUD$490, while Libertine sells it for AUD$495. In Russia, you can find it at Original Parfum. Samples: you can try Beloved from Surrender to Chance which sells vials starting at $5.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.