Jovoy Paris Private Label: Mad Max’s Smoked Vetiver Leather

Mad Max 2.

Mad Max 2.

Mad Max in black leather, burning up the roads. A bomb blast that left bubbling, tarry, rubbery asphalt. The burning, black tire bonfires used as smoke signals in Black Hawk Down. Vetiver on steroids, then nuked with napalm. Peppermints and candy canes at Christmas. Peaty single-malt Scotch, and aged cognac. The quiet, firm, confident masculinity of Gary Cooper or Rhett Butler which hides a sensitive heart. And, beatnik patchouli from the 1960s “Summer of Love.”

Private Label. Source: Bloom Perfumery.

Private Label. Source: Bloom Perfumery.

Those incongruous, contradictory thoughts are what come to mind when I wear Jovoy Paris‘ fragrance, Private Label. Most hardcore perfumistas have heard of Jovoy, a Paris boutique that is a mecca for buying the most high-end, exclusive, or rare fragrances. What many people don’t know is that Jovoy was once a perfume house going back to the Roaring Twenties, and “known for selling perfumes for the ‘gentlemen’s nieces’, a polite way Parisian dandies described buying gifts for their mistresses[.]” The house declined in the bleak years of the Depression, and ended completely during WWII, but it was resurrected in 2006 by Francois Hénin who launched a new range of fragrances.

In 2012, Private Label joined their ranks. It is an eau de parfum created by Cécile Zarokian, and Aedes says that it was “commissioned for a Jovoy client looking for a strong, oriental fragrance that is masculine, woody and ‘oud-free’.” Private Label is actually Francois Hénin’s personal favorite, his “ideal oriental scent.” He says, “This is the archetypal parfum de silage: it leaves a distinct trail while remaining consistent over time.” Luckyscent lists its notes as follows:

Papyrus, vetiver, leather, patchouli, sandalwood, Cistus labdanum



Each and every time I smell Private Label from afar, my immediate first impression is peppermints. To be precise: twisted, deranged, napalm-smoked, nuclear, apocalyptic, smoked peppermints in the middle of the snowiest pine forest somewhere in Siberia. It’s an impression that I can’t shake off, and it’s one I generally like.

The problem, however, is when I smell Private Label up close, as the result is distinctly less enchanting. In a nutshell, Private Label has a consistent structural backbone of burnt rubber and bubbling tar from a hot, melting asphalt road. The note is there in Private Label’s development from start to finish, varying only in its prominence, order of appearance, or forcefulness. It is always mentholated and camphorous, with a subtext of eucalyptus and peppermints, but also of sharp smoke and burnt rubber. Whenever I think that it has been tamed by patchouli, whenever I think that Private Label has been softened with labdanum amber and a big splash of aged cognac, I’ll smell another part of my arm, and that rubbery, Mad Max, medicinal, burnt napalm smell will suddenly pop back up.

Birch Tar pitch via Wikicommons.

Birch Tar pitch via Wikicommons.

Private Label lists “leather” in its notes and, yes, the fragrance is often summarized as a vetiver-leather fragrance. To me, however, that description doesn’t tell the whole story. On my skin, Private Label isn’t a leather fragrance so much as it is birch tar one. There is a huge difference to my mind. Huge. Birch tar is a resinous extract that has been traditionally used to coat and treat rawhide and, as such, the camphorous, pine-y, phenolic, sometimes sulphurous ingredient is often used in perfumery to replicate the aroma of a certain type of black “leather.”

Cade oil from a juniper tree. Source:

Cade oil from a juniper tree. Source:

The Perfume Shrine states that “[r]endering a leather note in perfumery is a challenge for the perfumer[,]” and that what is “actually used” to create that olfactory impression are vegetal or synthetic ingredients which can include birch tar, juniper cade and quinoline. To my nose, Jovoy Private Label reflects multiple facets of each of these notes which really dominate the fragrance’s overall bouquet for much of its evolution. I could tell you that Private Label smells of “leather” and smoke, but those general terms have the potential to give you a very misleading impression of this utterly uncompromising, aggressively intense, very hardcore scent.

So, let’s take a look at The Perfume Shrine’s explanation of what the key notes actually smell like:

Birch: Betula Alba, the tree known as birch [….] Traditionally used in tanneries in Russia, Finland and Northern Europe in general, its bark produces birch tar and resin, an intensely wintergreen and tar-like odour, which has been used in Cuir de Russie type of scents in the distant past. 

Juniper and cade oil:
Juniper trees produce dark viscuous oil (cade) upon getting burned which possesses a smoky aroma that reminds one of campfires in the forests. Also used in Cuir de Russie type of scents in the past along with birch. […]

The major revolution in the production of leathery notes in perfumery came in the 1880s with the apparition of quinolines, a family of aromachemicals with a pungent leather and smoke odour that was used in the production of the modern Cuir de Russie scents appearing at the beginning of the 20th century such as Chanel’s (1924) as well as in Caron’s Tabac Blond (1919), Lanvin’s Scandal (1933) and, most importantly, Piguet’s Bandit (1944). […][¶]

isobutyl quinoline … possesses a fiercely potent odour profile described as earthy, rooty, and nutty, echoing certain facets of oakmoss and vetiver and blending very well with both. Isobutyl quinoline also has ambery, woody, tobacco-like undertones: a really rich aromachemical!

Scene from Mad Max 2 via

Scene from Mad Max 2 via

I suspect all three things are used in Jovoy’s Private Label when it summarily mentions mere “leather.” The perfume is a vetiver scent in many ways, but it is vetiver transformed into one living in Mad Max’s world, a scent that the Road Warrior would wear with its uncompromising smoke, tar, asphalt, and rubber facets. If any of you love the toughness of Robert Piguet‘s vintage Bandit and the birch tar smoke of Andy Tauer‘s Lonestar Memories, but want both taken up a notch and infused with smoked vetiver, then Jovoy’s Private Label is for you.

Photo: Narinder Nanu via

Photo: Narinder Nanu via

Private Label opens on my skin with a forceful blast of mentholated tar, medicinal astringent, chewy patchouli, smoky vetiver, and piney juniper-cade smoke. The patchouli has hints of aged cognac underlying it, but its more dominant nuance is an earthy, almost medicinal, slightly mentholated note that evokes a black, 1960s “head shop,” hippie scent. Private Label most definitely has leather seeping all throughout, infusing all the other notes, but as explained above, this is really birch tar and cade “leather.” It smells like campfire bonfires, smoked rubber, diesel fuel, and a tarmac set aflame until the asphalt is hot, almost bubbling, and smoking. I rarely think that notes have a heated temperature, but the “leather” in Private Label starts off feeling as though the piney, sulphurous resin has been set on fire.

Tar pit bubbles. Source: Los Angeles' La Brea tar and asphalt pits.

Tar pit bubbles. Source: Los Angeles’ La Brea tar and asphalt pits.

One reviewer for the fragrance had a very different impression of both the note and Private Label’s opening blast. For Freddie of Smelly Thoughts, the leather made him think of a rubber dildo. No, he said that, really!

Private Label opens with a harsh, nail-varnish leather. A raw, earthy, smoky vetiver comes in quickly and together – the combination is pretty foul. It smells black and rubbery (yes, dildo was the first word that came into my head then too), with squeaky vinyl (stop!!!), and underneath, a resinous amber (lots of labdanum), a bit of incense and other bitter greens that just make it worse and worse.

I can see why he’d think that way, but I don’t hate it the way he does, and a large reason why may be due to the peppermints. On my skin, the patchouli’s underlying sweetness interacts with the mentholated, chilled accord to create a definite, very strong impression of hard-boiled, peppermint sweets. Christmas candy canes, perhaps, except these have been burnt and are emitting a sweet-bitter smokiness that is infused with eucalyptus. It’s an interesting aroma, and makes Private Label quite an arresting fragrance. From afar.

Photo: Larry Workman. Source:

Photo: Larry Workman. Source:

Ten minutes in, Private Label starts the slow (very, very slow) process towards softness and mellowness. The labdanum starts to move in the base, the aged cognac and sweet peppermint elements increase, and Private Label loses some of that bubbling asphalt feel. It’s a fractional change, though, as the perfume’s primary scent is that of the darkest, smokiest vetiver mixed with the very tarriest, smokiest, eucalyptus, cade rubber. It is simultaneously bone-dry, and sticky with chewy patchouli earthiness and the minty sweetness.

As time passes, the amber and vetiver elements becomes more dominant, and the birch-cade tar recedes, but it takes a lot of time and the rubber element never fully vanishes. What is interesting to me is the contrast between the mentholated, sweet peppermint, candy canes in the top layer, and the aged cognac in the bottom. In some ways, there is almost a peaty, single malt Scotch vibe to Private Label.



Around the second hour, when the juniper tar has receded to glower menacingly and threateningly from the sidelines, the other notes create a lovely winter bouquet from afar. I think of pine forests in the snow, candy canes on Christmas trees, aged cognac in a snifter beside a leather armchair by a warm, amber fire, and a chimney that is lightly smoking. It’s a visual that shatters whenever that resinous, burning,tar pops back up, skipping around different parts of my arm to show up at different times, and always taking me back to Mad Max in an apocalyptic world where the men are clothed in black, rubbery leather and the sole plant left on earth is a vetiver bush turned mutant through a napalm bomb.

Peat, in bricks, and used in a fire. Source:

Peat, in bricks, and used in a fire. Source:

The core essence of Private Label doesn’t change for hours on end. All that happens is a fluctuation in the prominence of certain notes, and a dropping of the fragrance’s sillage. After 60-minutes, Private Label hovers about 3 inches above my skin; by the end of the fourth hour, it is a skin scent, though it remains extremely potent when sniffed up close. The prominence of the smoke elements varies, with the birch tar seeming softer and more manageable for a brief period around the second hour. Then, suddenly, at the start of the third hour, Private Label somehow seems even smokier! Though the mentholated notes are much less, the vetiver has overtaken the birch tar as the dominant element, and my word, is it dark! I’ve never encountered vetiver that is quite so smoked. This is not smooth vetiver like in Chanel’s Sycomore, but some sort of mutant hybrid created in a peaty bonfire.



The vetiver continues to dominate the rest of Private Label’s development. By the end of the fourth hour, the perfume is a peppermint-eucalyptus vetiver over a soft amber infused with patchouli, cognac, leather, menthol, and the tiniest hint of sandalwood. It is soft in sillage, but still sharp and hard in actual scent. By the start of the seventh hour, Private Label is a peppermint vetiver over amber. The burnt rubber element continues to pop up here and there, hiding behind the other notes on some parts of my arm, while smelling of full-on acrid smoke and melting asphalt on a few tiny patches. In Private Label’s very final moments, the fragrance is merely a blur of woody sweetness with lingering traces of sharpness, rubber and smoke. All in all, it consistently lasted over 12 hours on my skin, with soft sillage but sharp notes.

I’m very torn on Private Label. The whole thing is a medley that, at times, fascinates and intrigues. At other times, however, it bewilders with a bit of cacophony, and those occasions tend to trump the more positive ones. From afar, it can be really pretty, but do you want a fragrance that you sometimes don’t dare to smell close up lest you singe your nostrils? I’m also not sure how versatile the perfume is, because it feels like a definite mood scent. Would anyone want to wear Private Label outside the snowy months of winter? Still, the seasonal issue doesn’t seem to matter so much as the gender one.

I generally believe that all fragrances are unisex in nature, but I think Private Label definitely skews more masculine. I suspect a number of women would recoil sharply at the fragrance, finding it medicinal, “chemical” (to quote one disgusted woman who smelled it on my arm), pungently aggressive, and unpleasantly rubbery. Hell, even some men do, judging by the reaction of Freddie from Smelly Thoughts. And he’s a chap with very avant-garde, extreme tastes!

However, I think that there is a narrow group of people who may very much enjoy Private Label: men and women who adore vetiver, but who also love birch tar, smoky fragrances, mentholated eucalyptus blends, and black leather notes. For me, it’s as though Andy Tauer’s Lonestar Memories and Naomi Goodsir‘s Bois d’Ascece had a swingers’ orgy with bucketfuls of tarry cade, a very hippie Woodstock patchouli, Santa Claus’ peppermint-eucalyptus muscle rub, Olivier Durbano‘s Black Tourmaline, and Serge LutensFille en Aiguilles. Nine months later, the baby that resulted was Private Label.

Gary Cooper. Source:

Gary Cooper. Source:

If that sounds like an odd fragrance that is far too harsh, I should add that I also see softness lurking in Private Blend’s heart. On the right man and the right skin, Private Blend would be a smoking hot fragrance, oozing sex appeal. It is a scent that exudes tough, confident masculinity but with glimpses of an underlying softness and sensitivity. The smoky rubber side might seem appropriate for Christian Bale’s Dark Knight, but I can’t help but also see Gary Cooper or Clark Gable’s Rhett Butler wearing Private Label. Peppermints, tough leather, smoky woods, aged cognac, and amber seem like an incredibly sexy combination. If I close my eyes, I can actually conjure up the man who would wear this, and envision sniffing the scent wafting from his neck. It would be damn hot.

Gary Cooper, "A Man's Man" via

Gary Cooper, “A Man’s Man” via

On Fragrantica, guys seem to love Private Label, calling it a fragrance that is unapologetically masculine, or perfect for a true vetiver lover. Take one commentator, “Alfarom,” who writes:

Probably my favorite among this line…at least so far.

A no-compromise, extremely woody-earthy, peatchouli-vetiver concoction enriched by warm leathery undertones (castoreum?) and dry sandalwood facets. What’s not to like? Absolutely assertive and straight forward. It has an overall “familiar” vibe which I can’t currently put my finger on but the general feel of the composition, is of something “pushed to the limits”.

If you like unapologetic, masculine, dark-&-dry fragrances, you have to try this.

Outstanding projection and extremely good lasting power.

Others echo his words and general impression:

  • probably one of the most true to life vetiver fragrances out there. the leather creates something dark and smoky that is balanced by a good dose of sandalwood.
  • One Of The Best Fragrances Money Can Buy, Fullstop
  • As if a sandalwood/Champaca/patchouli incense stick has been liquefied. Resinous, smokey and altogether as perfectly done as any fragrance can get. There is a hint of sweetness that makes me reminisce of another fragrance, but I can’t put my finger on which one it is. Guaic wood isn’t mentioned but it seems to make an appearance.
  • A very sexy, dry and smoky vetiver. This is a fragrance for true vetiver lovers. Very well balanced and a truly finished product. Excellent sillage and longevity. This one is a 10 out of 10 for me.

I think Private Label is too potentially difficult a scent to buy blindly (not that I ever recommend that in general!), and it’s certainly not for me, but I do think it would be a great fragrance for a very narrow group of people. If you love deeply smoky juniper cade, mentholated birch tar, rubbered black leather, chewy patchouli, and peaty, smoked vetiver, you should give Private Label a sniff. When I say that it would be “smokin’ hot,” I mean it in all senses of the phrase, good and bad….

Disclosure: I obtained my sample from Jovoy itself, but it was while I was in the store, browsing as a customer. My sample was not given to me for the purposes of a review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own. 

Cost & Availability: Private Label is an eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml/3.4 oz bottle that costs $180, €120, or  £100. It is available directly from Jovoy Paris which also offers a smaller 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle for €80. In the U.S.: it is available at
MinNYLuckyscentAedes, and Aaron’s Apothecary. Outside the U.S.: In the UK, Private Label is available in both sizes from Bloom Perfumery, with the smaller 1.7 oz bottle retailing for £70. Samples are also available for purchase. The larger 100 ml size is also sold at Roullier White for £100, with a sample similarly available for purchase. Other retailers include Harvey Nichols and Liberty London. In France, the perfume is obviously available from Jovoy, but you can also buy Jovoy fragrances from Soleil d’Or. In the Netherlands, all the Jovoy line of perfumes are sold at ParfumMaria. In Italy, you can find them at Vittoria Profumi and Sacro Cuoro Profumi for €120. In Croatia, the line is sold at Flores in Zagreb, but their website is currently undergoing construction. In Russia, Jovoy is sold at iPerfume. For Germany and the rest of Europe, the entire Jovoy line is available at First in Fragrance in Germany (which also ships worldwide and sells samples), but the price is €5 higher at €125 a bottle. Same story with Germany’s Meinduft, though the latter does offer the smaller bottles at €85. Samples: I obtained my sample while at Jovoy itself, but a number of the retailers listed above also offer vials of the fragrance for purchase.

Lys Epona: Celtic Warriors of Spring

Source: Pinterest.

Source: Pinterest.

From her great height atop the cliffs, she could gaze at her realm and the fields of yellow, green and gold below her. The Celtic princess was astride a large white stallion, garbed in a softly burnished, slightly musky, brown leather cuirass, and draped with white lilies. Her skirt was made of hay, wheat and grass; her skin was coated in ambered oil; and her long hair braided with daffodils that matched the flowers in her horse’s mane. Behind her were her clansmen, giant warriors silent in leather and white flowers. As they rode down to pay homage to the shrine of Epona, the scent of their horses, leather, and lilies mingled in the air, floating like tendrils over the fields of daffodils, grass, wheat, and dry hay. It is the fragrance of Lys Epona.

Lys Epona via the Jovoy website.

Lys Epona via the Jovoy website.

Lys Epona is a new 2013 eau de parfum that is available exclusively at Jovoy Paris. I stumbled upon it while browsing the store and, as you can read in my profile on Jovoy, it blew me away. I had been utterly overwhelmed by all the treasures in the store, and had experienced olfactory fatigue up to that point, but Lys Epona made me sit up and take notice. Jovoy was kind enough to give me a sample to test its duration on my perfume-eating skin, and I still love it as much as I did initially, though its intimate sillage is a great problem for me personally.

While most reports credit Lys Epona and its creation to François Hénin, Jovoy’s owner, in collaboration with the perfume nose, Amelie Bourgeois of Flair, there is actually a third person involved who is much more significant to the tale. A very passionate Parisian perfumista — who prefers to be known only as Annabelle — is responsible for the very idea behind the fragrance. In fact, the perfume is really part of her new brand, Lys Epona, and not a part of Jovoy’s personal line of fragrances at all.

Source: Le Figaro.

Source: Le Figaro.

The source of Annabelle’s inspiration explains a lot about the fragrance. As she told me in an email and also recounts on her site, Lys Epona, the whole thing began one day in Paris when she was walking near the stables of Le Garde Républicaine, or the Republican Guard, France’s elite mounted cavalry and honour unit. As the smells of horses, leather, hay, and a touch of urine hit her nose, a lady passed by her carrying an enormous bouquet of lilies. The aromas blended together into a magnificent whole which took away her breath. As Annabelle later wrote to me, it was “[l]ike a dance between an Hussar and a Courtisan!”


France’s Republican Guard. Source:

Garde Republicaine. Photo:

Garde Républicaine. Photo:

The unusual combination stayed in her head. Annabelle loves perfume, particularly vintage ones, but also niche fragrances, and had been a frequent visitor to Jovoy Paris from its very inception back in 2010. So, one day, she told its owner, François Hénin, about the incident, and he asked her if she wanted to try turning her idea into an actual perfume. He put her in touch with Amelie Bourgeois, a “nose” at Flair, and the two worked on perfecting her vision of the dance between leather, horses and lilies.

The result, Lys Epona, was originally meant to be a personal, one-time perfume for its creator, but a twist of fate involving some vintage bottles eventually led to a 100-bottle distribution released under Jovoy’s sponsorship or patronage. (More on those vintage bottles later.) Annabelle later began her blog site, Lys Epona, as a means of talking about the fragrance without stealing from its thunder by coming out as its official creator, but the sponsorship ties that began the collaboration have accidentally ended up giving Jovoy the credit in some people’s eyes. I made the same mistake myself until Annabelle clarified the situation for me in an email, so I wanted to set the record straight.

So, you may ask, what precisely is in it? Jovoy’s French-language page for Lys Epona has many more details than the English version which I had looked at originally, but it still doesn’t include the perfume’s full list of notes. Thanks to Fragrantica (which also accidentally credits the perfume to Jovoy), it seems Lys Epona has:

top notes of bergamot, lily and ravensara; middle notes of narcissus [daffodils], jasmine, ylang-ylang, wheat, hay and lily; and base notes of musk, labdanum, tobacco and cedar.

Ravensara. Source:

Ravensara. Source:

Ravensara is not something that I’m at all familiar with, but its aroma turns out to be a significant part of Lys Epona’s beginning. According to my research, it is a member of the Laurel family and its seeds are what we consider to be nutmeg. Ravensara’s aroma, however, is a somewhat medicinal, camphorous one with definite fruity overtones.

Lys Epona always opens on my skin in the same way, but its subsequent development was never precisely the same on each of the four occasions that I tested it. The first time I tested the fragrance, it opened with a burst of freshly crisp citruses, followed by dry hay, leather, and green notes that almost seem like oakmoss at times. There is a plush greenness to the notes that is far more than mere grassiness and really verges on a slightly dry, mossy feel. A few minutes later, the white lilies burst on the scene. While their almost dewy sweetness is potent, it never overwhelms the citric, chypre-like leather start. All around you, the leather swirls in a soft cloud of burnished, aged richness. There is a definite animalic edge in the opening minutes that makes me wonder if Lys Epona has a good dose of civet in it.



Three minutes later, a slightly mentholated note appears, followed by what I would swear were orange blossoms. In two of my four tests, the orange blossoms seemed quite noticeable to me, taking on a Serge Lutens-like mentholated aspect from its indoles. I realise now that it has to be the combination of the ravensara (with its supposed camphoraceous notes that have a fruity edge) with the white floral blast from the lilies. That “mentholated orange blossom” cocktail ended up being the primary floral note in Lys Epona’s start for the first hour but, oddly enough, my other two tests of Lys Epona never created that impression. Instead, what was much more noticeable was the hay which appeared right alongside the leather and lily.

Epona by "Brian." Original source or site unknown.

Epona by “Brian.” Original source or site unknown.

All my tests, however, led to one overall impression of Lys Epona in its opening phase: the Celtic warriors of spring. Each and every time, Lys Epona evoked the image of a countryside filled with dry haystacks, and lightly imbued with the green of rolling, grassy hills and forest moss. There was always the jangle of a horse’s leather reins and its slightly musky smell as you rode through the verdant fields of daffodils to a garden of lush, heady, white flowers. And, on all occasions, the fresh citric start that felt almost chypre and fougère-like with the green and hay overtones dissipated rapidly. What was left behind as the primary essence of the scent was an almost masculine, outdoorsy and leather-influenced take on indolic white florals, that was also sweetly feminine at the same time.

Clip from "Wrath of the Titans." Source:

Clip from “Wrath of the Titans.” Source:

Lys Epona is lush, sexy, strong, but also somewhat rugged. This isn’t a lusty courtesan’s white florals that she would wear while languidly reclining on a chaise lounge, nor the delicate flowers of an ethereal, weeping maiden. No sexpot bombshells, or prissily powdered old ladies would fit the scent either. No, this is more a strong Amazonian’s white florals, a beautiful warrior whose well-worn leather armour is covered by wreaths of lilies, and who lives in an outdoors world surrounded by the very essence of nature. It is most definitely the scent of Epona, the protector of horses who was also revered by pagan Celtic tribes as the goddess of fertility, strength and abundance, and whose two symbols are usually horses and wheat.

For the first half of its life, Lys Epona is primarily a perfectly modulated, beautifully blended swirl of lilies and leather that come together in bouquet beribboned with hay, grass, daffodils, and the most infinitesimal touch of animalic horsiness. At its heart and deepest depths, however, Lys Epona has labdanum amber which stirs from its waking sleep as early as thirty minutes into the perfume’s development. Just a hint, just a whisper, but its warmth is enough to consistently diffuse the chilled, mentholated, almost pepperminty undertones to the ravensara. In most of my trials, as the amber slowly, fractionally, made its way to the surface, the leather retreated in equal measure to the sidelines. At the same time, there are undercurrents of green that have the sweetness of freshly mowed grass in summer, and which swirl alongside the amber and the dry hay that lie just below the surface.



On top are the white lilies, shining like beacons of purity and freshness in all their glory. Their scent is never heavily indolic, never cloyingly sweet. This is not the lily of Serge LutensUn Lys, nor the lily of some recent creations like Le Labo‘s Lys 41 or Tom Ford‘s Shanghai Lily. It’s a flower that is simultaneously sweet, dewy, watery, almost a little fruity (thanks to the ravensara) but also a little dry (thanks to the hay).

What’s interesting to me is how the lily can change its role in the perfume’s development from one day to the next and, more importantly, in its accompanying nuances. In my first test, as well as when I blindly sprayed it in Jovoy, Lys Epona seemed a scent that was dominated initially by orange blossoms with the lilies taking a back seat until the start of the second hour. In my second test, the lily was much more dominant from the start, then later joined by jasmine around the middle of the third hour. In my third and fourth tests, the lily was present again from the start, but its strength waxed and waned like a wave hitting the beach. It was also primarily backed by daffodils, instead of the other floral notes.

The leather is very much the same way. In my second and fourth tests, it was very pronounced through much of Lys Epona’s first three hours, and even occasionally dominated the lily. At other times, however, it receded to the sidelines after the first forty minutes, remaining as a constant second layer but never dominating. In all instances, its animalic opening was quickly tamed, and it felt like a very smooth, rounded note.

All of this should make one thing very clear: Lys Epona is what I call a very “prismatic scent.” It throws off different notes at different times like rays of light bouncing off crystals hit by the sun. I suspect different elements would dominate at different stages and upon different wearings. It’s the sign of a beautifully crafted perfume that is blended perfectly and whose great depths are in perfect harmony. Nonetheless, it would probably be more useful to you if I gave you a traditional rundown of its development, even if the analysis covers how it appeared on only one occasion. So, let’s take my third test of Lys Epona and go from there.

Lys Epona opened with its usual burst of fresh, crisp but juicy bergamot. Soon thereafter, there was the animalic leather with its slightly urinous, civet-like undertones, musk, and a hint of sweet florals. At first, the latter is a haze in which daffodils (or narcissus) is only vaguely distinguishable. Minutes later, there are the slow stirrings of lily, which are soon overtaken by a slightly camphorous, mentholated note heralding the arrival of the ravensara. There is an underlying fruitiness which, when combine with the citruses and white florals, again gives off the impression of orange blossoms. This time, however, it’s incredibly fleeting, and the hint of Tiger’s Balm medicated, mentholated salve is much more apparent. It swirls with the jangle of a leather saddle, the musk, the daffodil and lilies, creating a truly unique take on indolic flowers.



Fifteen minutes in, the hay, wheat, and grass elements arrive. When combined with the daffodils, they create a freshness that really feels like spring. At the same time, something about the combination of the ravensara and the grass once again evokes soft, plush oakmoss for me. However, the lilies now bloom in full force, as if they’d been awakened by the sun, and their almost watery, dewy sweetness counteracts that passing impression of a chypre. The hay also starts to shine, pushing aside the bergamot and citric notes to the side. At the same time, the civet-like urinous undertone fades away, as the leather takes on an almost burnished, rounded feel.

Epona, with her horse and her wheat. Created by Janet Chui. Source:

Epona, with her horse and her wheat. Created by Janet Chui. Source:

By the end of the first hour, the leather and the lily are dancing a tango, sensuously interwoven together, while the hay, grass, ravensara and daffodils clap from the sidelines. Far away, at the periphery, in the shadows, the labdanum amber wakes up at the noise and raises its head. Moment by moment, it draws closer to the stage, until it fully pushes aside the ravensara with its mentholated edge, and shines the light of its warmth onto the other players.

Things change further at the middle of the second hour. Lys Epona’s lily focus is now infused with jasmine, amber, hay, and the slow rumblings of tobacco in the base. From time to time, a juicy, citric sweetness pops back up, but the sweet spring-like aroma of daffodils is much more constant. The leather is now completely off center-stage, hidden behind the flowers, and the daffodil/narcissus in particular. Yet, it is subtly complemented by the somewhat nutty, leathery characteristics of labdanum. This is a leather that is now no longer animalic and musky, but rather just a suggestion. The labdanum is the same way for it lacks its slightly dirty, almost masculine essence at this stage. Instead, its aroma is more of regular, slightly sweetened, soft amber.

Photo: Henry Hargreaves Photography. "Smoke and Lily" series. Source:

Photo: Henry Hargreaves Photography. “Smoke and Lily” series. Source:

It takes a while for the labdanum to appear in all its beautiful glory. (Labdanum is my absolute favorite kind of amber precisely because of its unique aroma.) At the end of the third hour, Lys Epona turns into a scent that is primarily golden amber in focus, where the labdanum has turned the lily’s whiteness into a burnished bronze. The fragrance is a gorgeous glow of molten nuttiness and amber, infused with touches of lily, labdanum’s honeyed nuance, and musk. Flickers of leather, hay, grass, tobacco and an abstract woodiness dance all around. Lys Epona remains that way largely until its very final stage when it’s merely a blur of amber with minute traces of tobacco and hay. The lily has mostly faded away, as has the leather. At the very end, only the golden amber is left, like a sunset fading on the Celts.

Lys Epona is wonderfully original and extremely beautiful, but it also has some problems for me on a personal level. I repeatedly struggled with the sillage and longevity. Now, I have perfume-eating skin, but I rarely have a problem with sillage. And Lys Epona has very soft sillage! Obviously, projection is a very personal matter, but I can give you only my personal reaction, which is that Lys Epona becomes too soft too quickly. Each and every time, on all four tests, Lys Epona became an intimate scent after a mere one hour. One hour! It’s far, far too soon, in my opinion. Soft sillage that hovers only an inch or so above your skin is acceptable after a few hours and, in my ideal world, would be best after about 6-8 hours, but one hour?!

Spraying versus dabbing is not the answer, either. In general, aerosolisation adds to a perfume’s strength and longevity, but all my tests involved sprays from the small atomizer that Jovoy kindly made for me. So, while the perfume itself comes in a dab bottle (if memory serves me correctly), I was using the method that best amplifies a perfume’s projection. And that method gave me a mere hour or 75 minutes of a moderate perfume cloud! For people like myself who prefer a little more of a power to their fragrances, I think Lys Epona’s rapidly dropping sillage might be a little disappointing.

I should also add that increased quantity did not make much of a difference. I applied an average of 4 squirts from my 2 ml spray vial each time. During my fourth test, it almost felt as though the perfume were evaporating from my skin, as it became less potent and noticeable within a mere 15 minutes. Was the air conditioning too high, and the temperature too cold for Lys Epona to really bloom? To counter the possibility, I added two additional sprays, for a total of 6 sampler sprays (or what might be 3 big sprays from an actual bottle, depending on the size of its hole). No difference. Lys Epona was a lovely, albeit very soft, cloud for just 60 minutes, and then dropped in force. At all times, it was airy in weight and feel, never thick or opaque, and its final stages coated the skin like a gauzy whisper. Personally, I wish it had been a little less airy and sheer, but Lys Epona is not meant to be a baroque, molten, heavy scent.

In addition to the sillage issue, the longevity wasn’t great on my skin either, but that is obviously much more of a personal outcome due to my wonky skin chemistry. On average, Lys Epona lasted between 6.5 hours and 7.75 hours, depending on the quantity that I used. I may have perfume-consuming skin, but I’ve certainly found a number of brands and fragrances that have lasted 12+ hours on me, even up to 16 hours in small, lingering spots, and often with a significantly smaller quantity of liquid than I used here. The fact that Lys Epona is not exactly cheap (€225), is only 65 ml (just over 2.1 oz), and would require a lot of sprays for the perfume to really last on me means that I would go through that bottle quite quickly. For me, it’s a concern, and the primary reason why I won’t consider buying Lys Epona for myself.

In my exchanges with the absolutely lovely, incredibly sweet, outgoing and very vibrant Annabelle, I mentioned the sillage and longevity issues. She was surprised to hear that I thought Lys Epona was very soft. Apparently, her friend tells her that she can’t spray Lys Epona when they’re going to be in the small confines of a car because it’s too strong. But sillage is a very subjective, personal matter, so it really depends on how one defines “strong” and the yardsticks used therein. Annabelle mentioned that she was not fond of the ’80s powerhouse scents, after one too many bad experiences being cloistered at 7 a.m. in the elevator with a neighbor who sprayed on too much. Now, me, in comparison, I hope to die being covered and drenched in vintage ’70s Opium, and I love Amouage scents, so obviously I have a very different interpretation of the perfect sillage.

What was interesting to me is something else that Annabelle mentioned as a specific goal for the perfume’s structure. She wanted a very strong, powerful opening, almost like a sort of Lutens-like “Lys Criminelle.” Yet, she intentionally sought to make that opening later turn into something soft and intimate for symbolic reasons, as if the “lily and horse, after a race, finally tamed each other.” I admire that intellectually, and think it’s rather a brilliant piece of olfactory meaning. I also think she fully accomplished her goal, because the two notes did tame each other in each of my tests.

John Collier, "Queen Guinevere's Maying" (1900). Source: Wikipedia.

John Collier, “Queen Guinevere’s Maying” (1900). Source: Wikipedia.

At the end of the day, issues of sillage and longevity are all a matter of personal preference. Some people absolutely hate perfumes that are too strong, with Amouage-like intensity and forcefulness. They specifically seek more unobtrusive fragrances that are like a suggestive, personal whisper, or that might be something they could wear to work without bothering colleagues. Lys Epona would definitely qualify. I also think that it would work perfectly on both a man and a woman. It is rugged and outdoorsy with its spring-like touches and leather, but it is also beautifully feminine and elegant.

In short, nothing I’ve said here about the sillage or airiness should change the main bottom line: Lys Epona is a gorgeous scent that is incredibly original, creative, different, and elegant. The radiating prisms of its notes, its beautifully evocative nature, its depths, and its very classique, old-school sophistication are a stunning achievement for a first time perfume creator, and Annabelle’s passionate love for perfumery shows in every drop. Amelie Bourgeois’ talents (and supposed love for horses) also show, so both of them deserve much praise in my opinion. If you end up buying Lys Epona, I think you will have a truly original creation on your hands which will stand out in your collection. I haven’t quite come across anything like it.

Lys Epona also happens to be a very lovely looking perfume in terms of its packaging. From the moment I held the bottle in my hands, I felt as though I had a rare, vintage treasure of great character. From the black-and-gold, scrolled letters on the label, to the Lalique-like, clouded crystal stopper, Lys Epona is beautiful. For me, its look not only conjures up images of the golden age of perfumery, but also serves as a wonderful parallel to the scent itself whose sophisticated, complex, very nuanced structure give it a very classique feel.

Lys Epona. Photo courtesy of Annabelle.

Lys Epona. Photo courtesy of Annabelle.

There is another story behind the Lys Epona bottles, and I think the tale is significant because it explains the limited nature of the perfume’s production. As noted up above, Lys Epona was originally intended to be a one-time thing made only for Annabelle in a labour of love. As Annabelle explained to me in an email, things changed one day when François Hénin called her and asked her to come to Jovoy, as he had a little surprise for her. There, he gave her something in a very yellowed, dirty newspaper. It was an old bottle. But there was more.

That very first, original bottle wrapped in paper. Source:

That very first, original bottle wrapped in paper. Source:

A friend of Mr. Henin’s could sell them a whole box of real vintage bottles from the Brosse glass factory and dating back to the 1930s! There were only 108 of them, and due to their age, some were not in a state that could be offered to customers, but there were at least 100 good, genuinely antique bottles. (You can see the original, untouched bottles in a post on that subject on Annabelle’s site.) As a final coincidence and sign, the newspaper that the first bottle was put in was a page from 1934 that talked about a horse race. It was all too perfect, especially for Annabelle who loves vintage perfumes. So, they decided to make a limited, one-time distribution with those 100 antique bottles.

The very aged nature of the bottles means that there is a tiny, remote chance that they won’t all be completely, utterly perfect. I have a blog friend who ordered Lys Epona blindly, and who was disappointed to see two red dots or marks on the crystal stopper. Jovoy dealt with the situation in a professional manner and replaced the bottle, but I think my friend might have been a little less disappointed if he had known the origins and backstory for those bottles. They certainly have a unique touch and character, much like any antique, and their potential flaw simply adds to their charm in my opinion. So, if you get one that is less than perfect, remember that it is one of a very rare set that is over 80 years old!

All in all, I definitely recommend giving Lys Epona a sniff if you love lilies and/or leather. Those of you in the States can actually order a sample from Surrender to Chance to test it out, but buying it won’t be quite as easy since Jovoy does not ship outside the E.U. However, they are very fond of any “EU cousins” that you may have, so perhaps you can see if a friend will help out in terms of lending their shipping address. There is also a personal shopper option that I explain further in the Details section below. I should add that I don’t know how many bottles of Lys Epona remain, especially as it was released a few months ago, but I’ve seen enough internet interest in the scent for me to urge you to hurry if you’re serious about it. I think it’s more than just a lily scent, more than a leather, or the fraction of its parts. I think it’s an evocative journey back in time. It’s up to you whether you’re taken to a world of Celtic warriors surrounded by nature, or to that of Napoleonic cavalry officers wooing languid courtesans draped with lilies. 

Note: my sample of Lys Epona was provided to me by Jovoy Paris, but they didn’t know I was going to do a review of the fragrance. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

Cost & Availability: Lys Epona is an eau de parfum that is exclusive to Jovoy Paris. It comes in a 65 ml/ 2.1 oz size, is limited in quantity, and costs €225. Jovoy does not ship to the U.S. unfortunately, but are happy to mail to any “EU cousins” (as they amusingly put it, right down to the quotes) that you may have.
Samples: In the U.S., samples are available from Surrender to Chance which sells Lys Epona starting at $9.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.
Personal Shopper Options: One option for you to consider if you’re a U.S. resident who is interested in buying Lys Epona is to use a personal shopper who goes to France every month. Shop France Inc is run by Suzan, a very reputable, extremely professional, personal shopper who has been used by a number of perfumistas. She will go to France, and buy you fragrances (or other luxury items like Hermès scarves, etc.) that are otherwise hard to find at a reasonable price. Shop France Inc. normally charges a 10% commission on top of the item’s price with 50% being required as a down payment. If you have specific questions, you can contact her at As a side note, I have no affiliation with her, and receive nothing as a result of mentioning her.

Jovoy Paris: Aladdin’s Cave of Luxury Perfumes



If you had one day to shop for perfumes in Paris, and wanted to experience the absolute widest possible range of niche perfumes, there is really only one place to go: Jovoy Paris. It’s a surfeit of riches and treasures that is located in the Rue de Castiglione, about a block away from the Place Vendome (as well as some of the chic-est parts of Rue St. Honoré).

Jovoy6In fact, the vastness of their range makes it a one-stop shopping destination that a true perfume lover absolutely has to visit. Sure, you could always go to the beauty sections of the large departments stores like Printemps and Les Galleries Lafayettes, but you wouldn’t be exposed to the very highest end of the niche perfume world, nor to some of the smaller, rarer, more unusual or high-quality perfume treasures. Instead of focusing on brands like By Kilian, Jovoy has things like Roja DovePuredistance, LM Parfums, Neela Vermeire, and many other fantastic brands that it — and it alone — carries in Paris.

Jovoy5I dragged my exhausted self to Jovoy almost at the tail end of my trip, and with the warning of one Paris perfumista ringing in my head that Jovoy has almost too much stuff. It’s true. It absolutely does. But what a sensory delight from start to finish! Even on the most initial, concrete levels of visuals, Jovoy is lovely. The walls are decorated in a chic Chinese red and the furniture is black. I’m quite biased, I must admit, as that is the pairing for my library/office, and black is my favorite colour (non-colour?) in general. Still, Jovoy is a study in chic sleekness and elegance from a mere decor perspective.

My photos cannot do it justice, and, once again, I have to repeat what I’ve said elsewhere: my camera chose Paris to start dying, though I now wonder if it’s perhaps just my batteries that may be the problem, despite nightly charging. Either way, my little, conveniently pocket-sized Canon seemed to be having a tantrum in photographing a lot of perfume bottles in a large number of stores (but, oddly, not a single problem at all in photographing French cheeses somehow……). From blurriness, to strange lighting, to actual zig-zag lightning strikes in neon colours, the perfume images were often wholly unusable. The ones that weren’t still aren’t fantastic. The situation seemed worst of all in Jovoy, so I can only apologise to you and to Jovoy for the quality of some of these. I include them only to give you a sense of the sheer enormity of the brands they carry, as well as a feel of that day.

Parfums de Marly

Parfums de Marly

So, you’ve entered the chic, sleek, minimalistic Asian-influenced environs of Jovoy, and then you see the range of the brands they carry — and your mind is effectively blown. Where do you start? How do you cover everything? None of the pictures I had seen of Jovoy had adequately conveyed the extent of all the unusual brands here. There is SO MUCH stuff! Even the tiniest of shelves has one full range crammed in; every bottle of Parfums de Marly in a tight row, one after another. And that’s only one of the tiny shelves! Jovoy is a wonderful problem for a perfumista to have, but it does also require a few practical considerations before you go.

First, if I may suggest, you should put aside at least a solid two hours — at a bare minimum — for a visit to Jovoy; and if you’re a hard-core perfume addict who hasn’t had much concrete access to testing many, less-accessible lines in person, then perhaps more like four hours. At a minimum. That was approximately the amount of time that I spent in the store, and I tell you without any hyperbole at all that I may have sniffed or tested only a mere fraction of their stock. Maybe 10%. I could have spent six hours in Jovoy, and probably still wouldn’t have had the chance to get through everything. Plus, even if you could get through it all, you would have such olfactory fatigue by the end that I’m not sure you could really process it all. I certainly couldn’t. Again, all of this is a wonderful problem to have. I’m merely warning you that you will have a sensory overload from the sheer range of perfume brands that they have, and that you should plan accordingly.

Jovoy4Second, I think you really need to dress carefully for Jovoy — and I’m not talking about the quality or expensiveness of your attire. I highly doubt that they give a damn. But, you need to wear clothing that will give you the easiest amount of access to as much of your skin as is socially acceptable to be shown in public without getting arrested. And wear layers, because you will run of skin real estate — extraordinarily quickly given the amounts of perfume brands they carry — so you may need fabric upon which to test some of the perfumes that really catch your attention. Even after all that, you’re still likely to be screwed for all the reasons listed up above. There still will be stuff that you don’t get to test or try, that you loved on paper, or that the perfume strips simply didn’t adequately convey.

Perhaps some of my personal difficulty stems from the fact that I have never been able to get a really good sense of a perfume from a mere strip of paper. It’s easy to know which ones you can immediately discount and ignore, but that’s the absolute lowest threshold and bar. What about the ones you think you may like, but are unsure? Or the ones that you really like, but are not sure you absolutely love as much as some of the others? What happens when, towards the end and almost on your way out the door, you stumble across something that takes your breath away on paper, but you have no idea how it will be on your skin (or how long it will last) because you can’t strip to your underwear to find more space on which to test it? As I said, Jovoy has too much stuff — and most of it is amazing.

Roja Dove, exclusively at Jovoy Paris.

Roja Dove, exclusively at Jovoy Paris.

So, now, onto my actual experiences at Jovoy. I walked in without much of a plan except, first and foremost, to try Roja Dove‘s famous perfumes, then perhaps Von Eusersdorff‘s Patchouli. One thing that I liked about shopping at Jovoy is that they left you in peace and quiet to explore, without pestering you, though there were always assistants close-by to help you immediately if you asked. That is really my ideal way of shopping; to perambulate and see what intrigues me, pick up a bottle here or there to spray on a paper strip, and then go from there.

Another wonderful thing about Jovoy is that paper strips are conveniently and discretely placed next to each and every single brand display. No hunting around for mouiellettes, and, even better, no hunting around for a pen with which to write down the name of the sprayed perfume. No, Jovoy thoughtfully places pencils immediately on hand and throughout the store for you to use in remembering which strip contained which perfume. It a practice that that I wish more perfume stores would follow because, for most of my trip, I had started sticking pens in the back pocket of my jeans, in my leather jacket, and even behind my ear at one point. (I would often come home with over 15-20 paper strips a day, winnowed down from about 50+ things that I’d sniffed or sprayed on paper, and I tell you, you need an easily accessible pen or you’ll be lost!)

Jovoy Roja Dove 3 - B

The minute I walked in, I was greeted by a smile from one assistant, but I knew exactly where I was heading. My eye went straight to the lit, highlighted Roja Dove display at the far end. Even before I’d left for Paris, a blog friend had told me about the supposed gloriousness of Roja Dove’s Diaghilev chypre, and its old-style luxuriousness, opulence, and elegance. I also knew, however, that it was €990 for a small bottle, which translates to more than $1330. Some luxury perfume brands have stratospheric prices, but the Roja Dove ones are in another galactic solar system entirely. I know he’s considered one of the most famous, legendary noses in the world, but bloody hell!

Still, it’s free to sniff, right? So I did, and I liked Diaghilev. But I wasn’t blown away, and certainly not enough to try it on my skin. (Besides, what was the point at €990?!) So, what should I try? There were so many bottles, all gleaming in the light with a vast number having lids heavy with crystals. To my relief, there was a wonderful, thin, hard-bound book to the side that described each scent and its notes, and I used it to get an idea of where I should start. Honestly though, even after reading the book, I was still at sea — what with his pure absolute Extraits of florals like gardenia and lilac, his regular line of eau de parfums, and their pure parfum versions. Making matters even more complicated is that the exact same perfume comes in a Men’s and Women’s version.

Jovoy Roja Dove 1 - CI liked description and notes listed for Dove’s leather chypre, Fetish, so I tried both gender versions in Parfum concentration. (It comes in an Eau de Parfum as well, but I couldn’t deal with trying three variations of the same perfume!) According to Fragrantica, the notes for Fetish for Men are: bergamot, lemon, lime, fig, jasmine, neroli, violet, cardamom, cinnamon, elemi, oakmoss, patchouli, pepper, vetiver, ambergris, benzoin, castoreum, labdanum, leather, musk and vanilla. Phew, that’s quite something, especially by today’s standards where all too many fragrances have between 3-6 notes. (Hello, Jean-Claude Ellena! Hello, Montale!) The Fetish for Women is more floral and is perhaps even lovelier, though I have to give both a good test to make up my mind as to which one I prefer. The women’s Fetish includes: rose, ylang-ylang, jasmine, tuberose, galbanum, cinnamon, cloves, cedar, oakmoss, patchouli, vetiver, castoreum and musk. They’re both pretty — and pretty costly, too, at €395 for 50 ml, but at least they are pure parfums.

Another one I liked was Roja Dove’s Innuendo, which I believe I smelled in pure Parfum version as well. The notes, according to Fragrantica, include: bergamot, lemon, orange, lemon verbena, jasmine, may rose, violet, ylang-ylang, patchouli, sandalwood, labdanum, musk, orris root and tonka bean. Lordie, was that pretty! I was significantly less moved, however, by the Roja Dove’s Extrait fragrances which are soliflores in nature, like Vetiver, Gardenia, Neroli and the like. One of them was okay, though I can’t recall now if it was the Gardenia or Lilac, and, to be frank, some of that whole Roja Dove experience is a bit of a blur now. I didn’t try every single one of the absolutes, primarily due to being completely overwhelmed, but generally, I wasn’t hugely moved by those I did sniff. I most certainly was NOT moved enough for the price of the bottle, which is around €325!

The soliflore Extraits in their pure white bottle in the back.

The soliflore Extraits in their pure white bottle in the back.

I also wasn’t passionate about the two Roja Dove ouds I tried, Aoud and Amber Oud. They were fine, though I didn’t think either one was extraordinarily special, and one had far too much saffron for me. As a perfume blogger, I’ve reached critical saffron-oud overload, which is a shame as the spice used to be one of my favorite notes. Clearly, it’s not the perfume’s fault, and is a matter of personal tastes. One thing was unquestionable, however, and that was the gorgeousness of the cranberry-red juice for the Amber Oud. Really lovely.

After Roja Dove, I went next to one of the bookcases in the center with its wide variety of different brands. I was thrilled to see Parfums de Marly, a line about which I’d heard much talk. It is now available in the US at OsswaldNYC, but I don’t live in New York and have no immediate access, so to get to try it leisurely here was exciting. I intentionally eschewed the perfumes that seems to get the most fuss, Herod, because when a company actually and officially lists ISO E Supercrappy (™ Sultan Pasha) amongst its notes, I know it’s best for me to steer very clear indeed. (Seriously, can you imagine how high the percentage of that olfactory carrion vulture must be for Parfums de Marly to have to list it officially?!) All the other bottles appealed to me, but I didn’t know where to start. There were also no notes listed anywhere, and I didn’t want to ask someone because I preferred to be left alone.

Parfums de Marly on the top shelf. Isabey on the bottom. Far right is Von Eusersdorff

Parfums de Marly on the top shelf with Safanad as the second glass bottle from the right side of the frame. Isabey perfumes are on the bottom shelf. Far right is Von Eusersdorff on both top and bottom.

So, at random, I just picked up one of the smaller, clear, non-opaque or coloured bottles that was to the far right, and sprayed a little. WOW! Glorious, simply glorious. I couldn’t find a name on the bottle (which I thought was quite odd), so I asked one of the sales ladies who was equally perplexed. Finally, on the bottom and in tiny font, we saw the name. The perfume turned out to be Safanad which according to Fragrantica is a 2013 Floral Woody Musk whose include: orange, pear, orange blossom, ylang-ylang, iris, amber, sandalwood and vanilla. Really gorgeous. It’s an eau de parfum that comes in an 75 ml bottle and costs €159.



I ambled around further after that, smiling at the chic Puredistance display in one corner, admiring the wall of Amouage elsewhere, and trying to figure out who on earth made the perfumes that were in some very fancy, glittering orbs and locked behind glass. It turns out, it was a line called House of Sillage.

Jovoy House of Sillage 2

House of Sillage

House of Sillage in the cabinest, and more Amouage lined up on top.

Then, I stood gulping in abject awe at the Baccarat-and-gold bottles of Grossmith‘s original, historical line under glass. I had previously tested and reviewed Grossmith’s Phul-Nana, which is a simply gorgeous, opulently Victorian, lusty and spicy orange blossom, neroli, tuberose, ylang-ylang and woody fragrance. At the time of its release, back in the 1880s, it had been the Chanel No. 5 of its day, and I loved its faithfully translated modern version. In that review, I’d written about the famous Baccarat bottles which were created with the help of various Middle Eastern royal families and whose price tag is astronomically high, so to now see them in person…. I was thrilled! It is just as well that they were locked behind glass, because I would probably have stroked them with lust like a crazy person.

Grossmith's baccarat flacons of the original trio in the line. I'm so sorry about the poor photo quality!

Grossmith’s baccarat flacons of the original trio in the line. I’m so sorry about the poor photo quality!

Later on, I had the chance to smell a Grossmith scent which I had previously eschewed testing because I had heard that it was very powdery — and I don’t do powder! It was Shem-el-Nessim, which Fragrantica classifies as a Floral Woody Musk with notes that include: bergamot, neroli, geranium, jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang, iris, musk, patchouli, cedar, sandalwood, heliotrope and vanilla. Good heavens, is that a beautiful perfume! And what sillage it had, too! I was fortunate to obtain a sample, and I’m definitely going to do a full review down the road, but I have to say now, it was truly an opulently luxurious scent in the very best of the old-time tradition from the golden age of perfumery. I’m really glad that Roja Dove helped Grossmith to recreate its ancient classics, because I think the perfume world is far better for it. Now, if only they were more easily accessible….

Eventually, I made my way to the far right wall where I came across Jovoy‘s own line of perfumes. As always, my problem was knowing where to start, and I already had about 13 paper strips in my hand at this point. (And those are the ones that I had not discarded!) I tried Gardez-Moi which was a lovely white flower bomb, but then what? I went by colour, knowing that the darker the juice, the more likely it would be a woody, spicy or oriental fragrance which is my personal, preferred category. I started with Psychedelique because of the name, and it turned out to be an intriguing patchouli.

Von Eusersdorff.

Von Eusersdorff.

Previously, however, I’d tried another patchouli — Classic Patchouli from Von Eusersdorff — which had come highly recommended by another blogger, Susie of Scent Epiphany. I was unsure about both of them, not because they weren’t excellent (they were), but because I’m on the hunt for a very particular patchouli scent. Perhaps more to the point, I simply didn’t dare put two different ones on my skin, lest patchouli’s generally forceful characteristics overwhelm everything else that I may want to try down the road.

Then, my eye was caught by Jovoy‘s Private Label fragrance with its dark, cognac-coloured liquid. It was a woody oriental which smelled of vetiver, amber, leather and, oddly enough, a sort of chilly peppermint that was exactly like that in the American candy, York Peppermint Pattie. I was intrigued by how it conjured up warm winter comfort from its initial whiff, and thought it definitely required further testing. I didn’t try any more from the line and, now, in hindsight, I wish now that I had been clear-headed enough to sniff Jovoy’s Rouge Assassin. Alas, Jovoy had scrambled my brain, so I completely blanked out, and sadly missed my chance.

There were so many bottles within each line, and so many paper strips in my hand, that I decided it was time to seek help. I made my way to a very tall, youngish chap with dark hair who seemed to be the manager. It turned out that he was one of them, but also, the brother-in-law of François Hénin, Jovoy’s owner. Mr. Hénin wasn’t there that day, but Léon took good care of me, even before he found out I was a perfume blogger. Prior to that point, he seemed initially a bit mystified by my rather endless series of questions about the specific notes in different perfumes (and he blinked at my intense, forceful hostility to the ISO E Super that I detected in one fragrance), but he caught onto my tastes quite quickly and steered me to a few things I liked.

Generally, though, he politely and courteously followed my lead in pursuing the specific fragrances I was curious about. By now, I had about 18 paper strips in my hand that I had narrowed down to about 7 that I wanted to try on my actual skin. We went through those 7, but he also pointed me to a few other things. It was actually thanks to Léon that I tried the fantastically diva-ish, seductive Grossmith Shem-el-Nessim, when I would have otherwise discounted it from talk that I had heard about its ostensibly powdery nature. (It wasn’t on my skin, though I haven’t yet had the chance to do a full, thorough test of it.) Léon also pointed me to specific Amouage scents that he thought would appeal to my tastes, and to Puredistance M which, unbeknownst to him, is actually one of my favorite perfumes. (It was around this time that I had to explain that I was familiar with many fragrances in question because I was a perfume blogger, had reviewed them, and/or owned them.)

I hesitated to ask for samples because of the number of things that I was really intrigued by, but Léon was more than generous. I’m extremely grateful to him and to Jovoy, because the simple reality of my skin’s wonkiness is that I need samples to get a sense of a perfume. I can’t really get proper idea of a perfume from paper strips, there is only so much space for spraying perfumes, and, most importantly of all, I have absolutely voracious perfume-eating skin.

In short, it is completely impossible for me to buy a perfume without a sample to test its layers, its sillage and how long it may last. I was disappointed, for example, that the gorgeous Parfums de Marly Safanad had already faded substantially in projection before I had even left the store! The Roja Dove Fetish leather perfume also seemed much more intimate on the skin, though I think some of that may have been olfactory fatigue. While the Grossmith Shem-el-Nessim went strong for hours, there were a number of scents that I had really liked but had no space to try on my skin at all. So, samples were essential.

And samples, I got — without a murmur or raised eyebrow. From Roja Dove, to Safanad, two fragrances from Jovoy’s own line, and a few others. I had heard from one blogger that Jovoy was “stingy” in giving samples, even upon the purchase of a fragrance, but that was not my experience at all. As Léon was calmly spritzing things into vials, I espied the new Histoires de Parfum fragrance, 1899, devoted to Ernest Hemingway, at one end of the counter. I like Histoires de Parfum quite a bit as a brand, but rather loathe Ernest Hemingway for his personal life and character, and I have never been particularly impressed by his writing with the (perhaps understandable) exception of A Moveable Feast which focuses, in part, on Paris. Still, Histoires de Parfums was going to take on Hemingway, and put his essence in a bottle?! This I had to try! I wasn’t impressed by my initial sniff, but as we’ve already discussed, paper strips can go fly a kite in terms of usefulness and true accuracy! So, we shall see how it actually turns out. 

Nasomatto and Boadicea the Victorious.

Nasomatto and Boadicea the Victorious.

Léon kindly gave me permission to take photographs for the blog. I was on my way out of Jovoy when I began taking pictures, but I came across so many cool things that I had to start sniffing all over again! There were things that I had initially missed, like Xerjoff‘s new collection, Join The Club. The few I tried from it were merely average, in my opinion, though I didn’t give the full range a thorough sniffing. (There were so many of them!) Then, I admired the endless, pretty, and sometimes bejewelled, bottles of M. Micallef, and seemingly all or most of the Boadicea the Victorious line. My God, so many of the latter! I didn’t pick up a single one because I didn’t know where to start! I was also a bit at sea when it came to the large Fueguia 1833 line from South America. I’d heard much about it, but I was starting to experience olfactory fatigue to match my physical one. So I gave two bottles some half-hearted sniffs, then gave up and returned to my photographs.

All around, there were bottles from perfume houses that I knew and/or had previously reviewed. To name a few: FrapinLubin, Juliette Has A Gun, Aedes de Venustas, Nobile 1942, David JourquinHeeley, M. MicallefTauer Perfumes, Vero Profumo, Ys.Uzac, and a blast from the past in the form of Jacques Fath and Revillion

M. Micallef

M. Micallef

M. Micallef.

Bottles from Rancé, I think.

I was in the midst of full olfactory (and visual) overload when I saw lines that I’d heard other perfumistas talk about, but had never had the chance to try: Isabey, Andrea Maack, Humiecki & Graef, Czech & Speake, Majda BekkaliJuls et Mad, SoOudE. Coudray, Miller Harris, Evody, Sospiro, Ann Gérard, Brécourt, Undergreen, and… good lord, there were so MANY

Finally, there were perfume brands that I’d never heard of at all, leaving me blinking at their bottles like a deranged owl. To name just a few: Steve McQueen (?!), House of Sillage, Philly & Phil, Eight & BobAmorvero Profumo, Arty Fragrance by Elisabeth de Feydeau (a French historian whose line is inspired by the palace and life at Versailles), Arte ProfumiLostmarc’h (yes, it’s apparently spelled that way, and no, that is not a typo), Testa Maura, Hors La MondeMendittorosa, and Alexandre J. Can you see why Jovoy requires at least a whole day’s exploration to really have a chance to cover even a small portion of their stock? Below are some thumbnails that you can expand to see a bit more of the Jovoy selection, but even these photos are hardly the complete story. 

Speaking of Alexandre J., the latter’s bottles actually stopped me dead in my tracks. In the middle of my photographing, I suddenly saw gleaming mother of pearl! A solid, massively heavy, hefty bottle of white mother of pearl, and then a truly spectacular grey-black one. I took some photos of the accompanying book that explained a little of the supposedly unusual technique, process, and quite original look of the perfumes, but I really couldn’t get a good sense of the exact notes. The white one was for women, that much was clear from the book, and the grey-black one was the men’s version with somewhat different notes, but what were they exactly? The book didn’t say, at least not from what I saw.

I had to go get Léon, who merely grinned at me at this point and asked if I’d like to have an expresso. I laugh at the memory of it, because it was so clear (to both of us) that I was going to be there for the long haul, and that there was no way I was going to be able to drag myself out of Jovoy for a few more hours. While he left to kindly make me an expresso, I noticed a some more brands that caught my eye including a bottle in a steam trunk called Lys Epona. I picked up the stopper, dabbed it on a paper strip, and blinked. Good God, that was fantastic!

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Léon had returned at this point with my much-needed dose of concentrated caffeine, and I asked him about both brands. Alexandre J. seems to be a French designer who apparently seems to be interested in history, art, and luxury craftsmanship. The perfumes that had caught my eye were called Legacy, White and Black. Each of those 100 ml mother of pearl bottles took over 200 hours to make, polish, enamel and inlay, and it was all done by hand. That explains the €495 price tag which translates at the current exchange rate to around $677. I wasn’t impressed by the white one which seemed to be an incredibly light, bland, unoriginal fruity-floral, but the darker woody-musk aroma of the grey-black one was okay. However, I didn’t think either one was original, different or luxurious enough in smell for me to really bother.

Lys Epona via the Jovoy website.

Lys Epona via the Jovoy website.

More to the point, I was still haunted by the beauty of Lys Epona. I had found one tiny, miniscule square of untainted, virgin skin on which to dab a little, and I was transfixed by the aroma wafting over me. So, upon his return, I dragged poor Léon to the large, rather old, classic steamer trunk in whose top shelf the old-fashioned (in a fantastic way!) bottle of Lys Epona with its almost Lalique-looking top lay nestled. “What is that??!” I demanded.

Léon explained that it had been created by Amelie Bourgeois (who had also created Jovoy’s much praised Rouge Assassin) in conjunction with François Hénin of Jovoy. The scent is considered to be part of Jovoy’s own perfume line, and is exclusive to the store. I have the impression that there are only a hundred bottles made, due to a comment made by Surrender to Chance on their website, but I’m not certain on that point and I don’t recall Léon saying that it was limited in nature. 

Jovoy’s website categorizes Lys Epona as a “leather” eau de parfum whose notes include lily. There is nothing else really mentioned other than the fact that it is an eau de parfum that comes in a 65 ml size, and that it costs €225. Fragrantica says its notes are: bergamot, lily, ravensara, narcissus, jasmine, ylang-ylang, wheat, hay, lily, musk, labdanum, tobacco and cedar. I thought it was spectacular with a floral richness and headiness that really evoked the classic style of the golden age of perfumery, and I am incredibly grateful to Léon for giving me a sample. I will review it as soon as possible, probably next week, because its potentially limited nature has got me rather going. If Lys Epona works on my skin, and lasts, it’s going to be something to consider sooner rather than later.

After Lys Epona, Léon and I walked around the rest of the store and discussed the various brands. I asked him about Amouage‘s new Fate, and was surprised to hear that it was far from being a big seller at Jovoy. I would have thought that the blogosphere and perfumista mass frenzy over Fate Man and Woman (especially Woman which I loved), along with those gorgeous iridescent bottles, would have made people rush to buy it. Apparently not. I can’t recall which Amouage is Jovoy’s biggest seller, but I vaguely remember that Beloved does very well, and I think Interlude as well. Still, I might be mistaken on the details, given both the hecticness of that visit and my exhausted state of sleep-deprivation on that trip as a whole. 

While walking around with Léon, I came across a number of perfumes that I had previously reviewed. There was the new Ashoka from Neela Vermeire, and we both agreed on how great the line is as whole. I told Léon my thoughts on Nasomatto‘s sexy Black Afgano, and how it seemed to me to be a super-concentrated version of YSL‘s famous M7 in vintage form. We came across Agonist; I grimaced a little at the sight of The Infidels which, I told him, smelled exactly like Tutti Frutti or Juicy Fruit chewing gum to me. There were many more fragrances I knew well, but I had to smile at all the bottles of LM Parfums lined up, including the new-limited edition Chemise Blanche. I had met with Laurent Mazzone, the brand’s founder, just five days before for tea at the Hotel Costes, and I had gotten to try Chemise Blanche as well as LM Parfums’ upcoming releases

Then, I came to a rather sharp, skidding halt at the sight of Comptoir Sud Pacifique‘s silver aluminum bottles near the front of the store with its wall of expensive candles. I might be a slight snob, but I don’t think the brand really fits in Jovoy, even if it’s CSP’s ostensibly “haute” niche collection with an average price of around €115. It certainly seems a slightly odd stable mate to go with the Amouage, Puredistance, Xerjoff, Neela Vermeire, Vero Profumo, Clive Christian and other lines represented in the store. (My suggestion: carry Profumum Roma‘s fabulous perfumes instead!)

Despite that last list of very respected, expensive perfumes, I would like to stress that there is something for every budget at Jovoy. There are some affordable, high-quality lines available in the store that I really like, from Parfum d’Empire to Histoires de Parfums. (The small bottles of Parfum d’Empire generally start around €66, or about $75-$80.) Jovoy also carries a perfume house that was a new discovery for me on the trip, and which I fell for very hard: Jardin d’Ecrivains. I had first come across the perfume line at Marie-Antoinette, the only other store in Paris to carry the line, and had bought one of the fragrances. It had been an enormous struggle to decide which one I had liked best because they’re all really special, unique, or just simply gorgeous! They’re also extremely reasonably priced at €85 for the large 100 size, high quality and concentration (eau de parfum). So, yes, Jovoy carries Clive Christian which prides itself on being the most expensive perfume in the world and which explicitly uses that phrase as their official (and, hence, very obnoxious and nouveau riche) company motto. But, at the same time, Jovoy also offers brands with bottles in the €66 to €87 price range. Still, I would be lying to you if I said that there are a ton of things at that lower end of the price scale, but there are some.

It was getting late at this point, and I had to meet some friends, so I reluctantly dragged myself out of Jovoy. I was scheduled to leave Paris in two days, and Jovoy was closed the next day, on Sunday, so I was even more grateful to be armed with some samples to help me make up my mind. It’s going to take me a while to go through them all for the purposes of a full, detailed review, but I know I can always turn to Jovoy. Unfortunately, I don’t think they ship to the U.S., but they do to most of Europe. (I’ve already got a mental list of Paris friends who can stop by to pick up what I may need and send it on to me themselves, or whose European addresses I can use for shipping.) If you’re in Europe, I’ve generally heard very positive things about Jovoy’s customer service, so if there is a brand that I’ve mentioned that you’ve been tempted by in the past, or if there is something I review that isn’t easily accessible in your city, you should absolutely check out the Jovoy website

They say that the Louvre can’t be seen in any real or substantive way in just one day, and I’m going to have to add Jovoy to that list. Those who live in Paris are lucky. Those who visit are going to need to give themselves ample time to sniff. Chances are, you’ll find far more things to love than any (regular) person could ever afford. In fact, if you can easily walk out of Jovoy with only one bottle or only one thing on your wish-list, then you’re a far stronger person than I am. Short of having an unlimited budget, there will always be some treasure that beckons to you with a siren song of seduction.

One has to really applaud François Hénin for curating such an astonishing, tempting collection of such high-quality. When I think that he started Jovoy a mere three years ago in 2010, and then see all that he has done, including getting the exclusive rights to carry Roja Dove’s perfumes, I have to give a very huge, very sincere Bravo to him! He’s created such an incredibly large range of tempting, luxury perfumes that Jovoy really is more like Aladdin’s Cave. Now, I just need to find a genie to grant me all my perfume wishes.

Note: All photos are my own, unless otherwise stated.
Address: 4 Rue de Castiglione, 75001 Paris, France. Be careful if you see the address of 29 rue Danielle Casanova listed on some sites, because that is the old address. They moved and the only location now is in the Rue Castiglione, about a block away from the Rue St. Honoré and two blocks away from the Place Vendome. Metro Stop: Tuilleries, Metro Line 1. Jovoy is also accessible, though a longer walk in my opinion, from the Opera, Madeleine and Pyramides metro stops. Phone: +33 1 40 20 06 19 or, if in Paris, 01-40-20-06-19. Hours: Monday-Saturday, 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. Website: Jovoy Paris.

Perfume Review: Jovoy Paris La Liturgie des Heures

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

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

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

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

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

Jovoy Paris La Liturgie des Heures

Jovoy Paris La Liturgie des Heures

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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