David Jourquin Cuir Tabac: Cozy Patchouli, or “Where’s Waldo?”

Posted on September 2, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Source: womenworld.com.ua

According to legend and stories swirled in the mist of history, patchouli was introduced to the West by traders who used the plant’s oil or its dark, green leaves to protecting their precious cargo of silk. The plant’s naturally medicinal, sometimes mentholated or antiseptic notes would ward off insects and other marauders. When the silk hit the streets of Europe, fine ladies were enchanted by the lingering sweet smell of patchouli and demanded more of it. One version of the tale credits Napoleon with the introduction of the scent, by way of shawls that he’d brought back from Egypt and which were redolent of the plant’s sweet, earthy aroma. Today, however, the smell of true, dark patchouli has fallen into disrepute as a result of negative associations with the 1970s and “filthy hippies,” and it’s not widely used in perfumery. Yet, patchouli happens to be one my favorite notes (in its dark, chewy incarnation), so when I heard that Cuir Tabac from David Jourquin contained five different types of it, I sat up and ordered a sample right away.

Cuir Tabac via Luckyscent.

David Jourquin is a French perfumer, though I’m unclear on what his exact background may be or if he was in fashion before. He has two fragrances, both riffs on the same overall theme and with slightly similar notes, but one is intended to be a “day” scent and one is meant for “night.” Cuir Tabac is the “evening” scent, while Cuir Mandarine is the day one. Both fragrances were released in 2011, are eau de parfum in concentration, and are packaged quite solidly in leather, stitched with the David Jourquin signature. As First in Fragrance puts it, “[a] chiseled jewel, sealed with wood from the walnut tree, sheathed in finely sewn Spanish leather, with a window that reveals the rare, golden hewed liquid.”

The Jourquin fragrances are inspired, in part, by the olfactory memories of his mother with her leather jacket, his visits to Guadeloupe with his father, and the impact of trips to Morocco with his step-father. Luckyscent explains a little more about the specific inspiration and scent for Cuir Tabac:

For Cuir Tabac, the nighttime version of his pair of Cuir fragrances, David Jourquin drew heavily on his childhood memories of visiting the bustling marketplace of Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe with his father. By blending the sweet and pungent scents of the market with his powerfully evocative signature leather and tobacco notes, Jourquin has created something remarkable: an enveloping, warm, and edgeless fragrance that truly feels like a memory.

The Pointe-à-Pitre market. Source: guadeloupetraditions.free.fr

The David Jourquin website describes Cuir Tabac and its notes as follows:

The heady and insolent patchouli heightens the deep and profound tobacco, cigar and musk notes overturning the senses in a soft murmur of fine eternal lavenders.

Mixed with fine lavenders as top notes.
Brown tobacco, cigar and musk as middle notes.
Five patchoulis from five Indian regions as bottom notes.

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

Cuir Tabac opens on my skin with every possible manifestation of patchouli imaginable. It’s dark, chewy, resinous, sweet, musky, earthy, and smoky. It’s black, but it’s also got green bits to it which result in a brief, 15-minute period of mentholated, slightly medicinal, bitter tonalities. At the same time, the patchouli is also extremely golden and pale, manifesting an incredibly creamy touch that smells a lot like milky café au lait. There are nutty undertones that are a little like roasted almonds, but there is also a faint whisper of chocolate lurking about. The whole thing is neatly wrapped up in a very quiet, subdued smokiness. It’s far from being as black as I’d like, and it lacks the weight or rich, baroque depths of the note in Profumum‘s Patchouly. Instead, it’s a lot closer to the patchouli in Serge Lutens‘ Borneo 1834 in the opening moments, mixed in with some of the creaminess of Chanel‘s Coromandel.

Artist: adrymeijer on DeviantArt. (Website link embedded within photo.)

In less than a minute, other elements appear. First, and most prominent, is lavender which feels dry, pungent, herbaceous, and exactly like that in dried lavender sachets from Provence that I loathe so much. Thankfully, its abrasive sharpness is quickly mellowed out by the infusion of the patchouli, but it still has an edge to it that this lavender-phobe finds a little off-putting. Frankly, I’m not sure I can recall the last time I smelled a lavender-patchouli pairing, let alone one that is quite so singular and unadulterated in its focus. It’s an odd duo, and, yet, not wholly unappealing. What actually bothers me significantly more is the lurking, whip-sawing, crocodile’s tail of something synthetic that flickers around the dark waters of the base. I don’t know what it is, but it burns my nose with its razor sharpness, and continues to bother me throughout much of Cuir Tabac’s lifespan.

The third guest at the party is amber. Cuir Tabac’s perfume notes may not list amber, but there is a definite golden haze in the base that is sweet, musky, and resinous. Perhaps it’s merely another facet to the patchouli, but it seems much more resinous than just that. The whole fragrance sits atop a somewhat molten base that, at this point, is lightly tinged with a hint of creamy, almost vanillic, sweetness.

Source: www.hispanicallyspeakingnews.com -

Source: hispanicallyspeakingnews.com –

Five minutes in, the first glimmer of tobacco appears, smelling just like a fresh, unlit, Cuban cigar. If you’ve ever walked into a humidifier cigar room, you know the aroma here, though it’s very muted and subtle at first. The note also has sweet, golden, almost leathered, and floral underpinnings, and they don’t stem from the other accords so much as from the tobacco itself. Lurking about is a subtle smokiness that feels more like incense than tobacco smoke, but it may be a by-product of one of those five patchouli types.

If you’re wondering where is the leather in all this, you’re not alone. For a fragrance that is called Tobacco Leather, Cuir Tabac doesn’t actually feel like a leather fragrance at all. At no time do I ever get “leather” as a singularly dominant, individual, powerful force, at least not the leather that I’m used to. Instead, the fragrance sometimes carries the subtle feel of leather as a subset of the patchouli and resins, a manifestation of their characteristics, if you will. There are moments, much later on, when faint flickers of leather dance around the periphery, but if you’re expecting the sort of leather note that you’d find in Chanel‘s Cuir de Russie, Puredistance‘s M, Serge Lutens‘ Cuir Mauresque, Parfum d’Empire‘s Cuir Ottoman, or Montale‘s Aoud Cuir d’Arabie, then you’ll be sorely disappointed. Cuir Tabac is not a true or hardcore leather fragrance by any means, no matter what the name may say. Given that the leather is mostly more of an implied suggestion, I think a more accurate name for the fragrance might be Patchouli Tabac….

Fifteen minutes in, Cuir Tabac starts to shift a little. The patchouli’s medicinal undertones have faded, while its other features have grown stronger. Now, the patchouli has a far greater whiff of something that is slightly green and herbaceousness. Even more noticeable is the dancing, wafting aroma of nuts and cream. The patchouli has a strong element of toasted nuts, and it’s no longer just a subtle impression of almonds, but toasted hazelnuts as well. There is also a growing creaminess to the patchouli that we’ll get to momentarily. The patchouli isn’t the only one to change, however. The lavender starts to turn sweeter; it feels creamy, fluffy, and a little like lavender ice-cream.

“Caramel Kaleidoscope” by Toni Jackson on Fineartamerica.com

Near the close of the first hour, I’ve become convinced that Cuir Tabac’s list of notes is incomplete. The fragrance’s undertones are smoky at times, nutty at other times, and always resinous in feel. There is an increasingly vanillic aspect to the foundation, as if Siam Benzoin and/or Tonka Bean were used to add that creamy sweetness. It becomes more prominent as time goes on, especially once the lavender recedes in strength around the 50-minute mark. Cuir Tabac is now a lovely, multi-faced patchouli fragrance with nutty, creamy, sweet, musky, dark, and vanillic touches, followed by touches of lavender and the faintest hint of fresh cigars. Unfortunately, the base continues to have that synthetic note that feels as sharp as broken glass. I tested Cuir Tabac twice, just to be sure, and the aromachemical was there each time in differing degrees of prominence. At this point, I’m chalking it up to either an amber and/or musk synthetic accord.

I still don’t smell any dominant, hardcore leather, per se, but there is a growing impression of its feel flittering about the edges. At first, there was the subtle, muted whiff of something resembling new car seats in an extremely expensive vehicle, but the smell soon gave way to an impression of an old, comfy, sweetened leather, armchair.

St. James Hotel’s Library Bar, Paris.
Source: Oyster.com

Honestly, I think it’s probably the power of suggestion due to the fragrance’s overall feel. Cuir Tabac has definitely started to evoke the reading room and library in an old Mayfair gentlemen’s club with its wall of books, its comfy, well-worn, dark leather armchairs, and a warm fire. There is a butler passing around cognac snifters, accompanied by the finest Belgian chocolates, and a humidor of the most expensive Monte-Cristo cigars from Havana. For those who don’t feel like drinking, there is creamy café au lait, dusted by white cocoa powder and toasted nuts. And, somewhere in the background, someone is burning a tiny, itsy-bitsy bit of black incense.

It’s all very lovely, but, alas, it’s also an increasingly soft scent. With the exception of that sharp synthetic accord, the rest of Cuir Tabac starts to feel like a very well-blended blur. Less than 75-minutes in, the notes lose a lot of their edges and shape, and the sillage drops. Cuir Tabac is a warm, slightly nebulous glow of patchouli that is creamy, sweet, a little bit smoky, slightly leathered, very nutty, and just barely infused with lavender atop a musky, ambered base. The tobacco pops up once in a while to make itself noticeable, but it generally hovers at the periphery. The “leather” impression is similarly muted. Everything feels so swirled into the patchouli that it’s really hard to pull the other notes from the cloud which hovers an inch or two above my skin.

“Coffee and cream” Art Print by Shalisa Photography/ Sharon Lisa Clarke on FineartAmerica.com

As time passes, Cuir Tabac continues to change. At first, it’s turns into a creamy café au lait with patchouli fragrance that has a subtle whiff of lavender, synthetics, and tobacco. Then, at the start of the third hour, the tobacco returns to the fold and starts to tango with the patchouli. Now, it’s no longer uncut Cuban cigars, but sweetened pipe tobacco infused with patchouli. The latter is still simultaneously creamy and dark, but all the subtle leathered, nutty, and incense undertones have vanished.

The fragrance sits right on the skin, and feels increasingly thin, gauzy, and discreet. It’s frustrating trying to pull the notes out of the air, especially as some of them keep coming and going like ghosts. Just like the tobacco did earlier, it’s now the vanilla’s turn to play hide and go seek. The same story applies to the creamy and milky café au lait tonality. Clearly, the fragrance is very well-blended and reflects different facets on different occasions, but I wish it had more body, depth, and structure. Both times I wore it, the results were slightly different in terms of the small details, as well as in the order and prominence of all the notes except for the patchouli, but the nebulous feel of the fragrance was the same.

Source: de.123rf.com

About 4 hours in Cuir Tabac’s development, the fragrance settles down for its final stage. It is now a creamy, vanilla patchouli fragrance with subtle whiffs of sweetened, unlit pipe tobacco, along with the tiniest speck of smoke and musk. It is also now a complete skin scent, as sheer as gauze. Cuir Tabac remains unchanged until its final moments, a little under 11 hours from its start.

In some ways, it seems that Cuir Tabac dissolves in on itself, but you can also argue that it’s meant to be a soft glow that discreetly envelops you before it turns into something more personal. The latter interpretation seems to be supported by David Jourquin’s somewhat abstract attempts at philosophical, poetic stylings on his website, both in the section about him and the one devoted to his philosophy. The references to dark shyness, “a secret wake like a promise,” and “firm determination enveloped in infinite softness and warmth” seem to be as much about his fragrances as they are about him. Then, too, there is the part about how “[h]e is like his fragrance, sensitive, secret, calm and yet bubbling over, motivated by an intense passion.”

So, if Cuir Tabac is intentionally meant to be this secret, quiet, shy whisper of softness and warmth, then I can hardly criticize the perfumer for achieving his goal. I know a number of people who prefer wispy, gauzy, soft scents that remain close to the skin and are just a private message to themselves. If they like dark patchouli, then Cuir Tabac is tailor-made for them. However, even they might not think the perfume was worth it for the price and accessibility issue. Cuir Tabac is an eau de parfum that costs $235 or €168 for a 100 ml/ 3.4 oz bottle, and has only limited distribution. In the U.S., only Luckyscent carries it. I couldn’t find any vendors in Canada, the U.K., Oceania, and vast swathes of Europe, though it is carried by Germany’s First in Fragrance, and there are plenty of vendors in France and Russia. My point is, would someone want to risk a wispy, unobtrusive blur of a scent that is quite expensive and, for many perfumistas in different parts of the world, not easy to test out first?

Judging by the handful of reviews for Cuir Tabac on Fragrantica, the answer would be “no.” In fact, almost all the reviews say the same thing: that the fragrance is too discreet, “puny,” and sheer for the price tag. To wit:

God bless the individual that’s willing to spend hundreds of dollars on this fragrance. The problem with Cuir Tabac isn’t the scent. The bigger issue is that you’re gonna be playing the olfactory version of “Where’s Waldo”. This is more like a thin scent rather than a skin scent. The tobacco smells like a walk-on instead of the star in this concoction. The rest of the notes are puny and shows no interest in fighting back the tyranny of fleetingness. Definitely not a fragrance built for the playoffs.

Starts out with almost only dry strong patchouli and a hint of pipe tobacco, soon to transform into more like the smell of a warm – unlit – cigarette and a more subtle spicy note. [¶] Two hours later what’s left is a discrete patchouli note and a warm very present, yet not aggressive, amber-like touch. [¶] Beautiful scent but less isn’t always more and maybe this one would’ve been better off with more potency.

For the first hour, you get hints of sweet pipe tobacco, quickly overshadowed by a medicinal tone (probably the mix of lavender & patchouli). I typically enjoy both lav & patch, but something is awry with this particular mix. After the lav & patch fade, you get the sweet pipe tobacco that I remember my grand uncle (mother’s uncle) smoking, for hours to come. Is this stuff good? In a word, yes. Do I wanna smell like my 70+ year-old uncle? No. And I really don’t wanna pay $235 USD to 🙂

Where’s Waldo, via The Telegraph.

The “Where’s Waldo?” comment is brilliant, and my hat is off to “Roge” who used it! I think the reference definitely applies not because of the scent itself, on my skin at least, but because of how many of its notes just vanish like a ghost, only to occasionally reappear later, or how hard they are to pull out of the nebulous patchouli cloud. Lord knows, if one expects a true leather fragrance, Cuir Tabac will be “Where’s Waldo” indeed! If you will note, not a single one of those comments (or the remaining few on Fragrantica) mentions leather at all. Odd for a purported “Cuir” fragrance, wouldn’t you say? I’m relieved that it’s not just me. As for the tobacco, judging by those comments, it seems to have played hide-and-go seek with a few other people as well, since the reports are quite split on its prominence.

One thing that needs some elaboration, however, is the issue of Cuir Tabac’s longevity. The thin, unobtrusive nature of the scent and its low sillage clearly was a problem for two of the commentators quoted up above. However, if you look at the votes on Fragrantica, the majority voted for “very long lasting” (12+ hrs), followed by “long lasting” (7-12 hrs) in second place. In short, don’t let the fragrance’s wispy nature and weak sillage fool you.

An unrelated topic brought up by Fragrantica is the issue of similar scents. One commentator found absolutely no difference between Cuir Tabac and its sibling for the day, Cuir Mandarine. Another thought Cuir Tabac was too similar to the more affordable Thierry Mugler fragrance, A* Men Pure Havane. I haven’t tried the latter, but I’ve read that it’s a very honey-dominated fragrance, not a patchouli one. Still, if the similarities are true, then it makes Cuir Tabac seem even more pricy.

Ultimately, I think that Cuir Tabac is a very mixed bag. The creamy bits are lovely, as is the café au lait undertone that sometimes vaguely mimics a similar nuance in Chanel‘s Coromandel, and I always enjoy dark patchouli, even when mixed with lavender. Unfortunately, I had enough problems with the scent that, at that price range, I would far prefer to get Profumum’s glorious, smoky Patchouly soliflore with its incredible concentration, baroque richness, salty ambergris, and lack of razor-sharp synthetics. Still, if money is no object, if you prefer your patchouli to be gauzy, lightweight, and discreet, and if you also enjoy lavender, but don’t like leather or dominant tobacco notes, then Cuir Tabac may be for you. It’s an extremely narrow category of perfumista, but I’m sure you’re out there!

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Cuir Tabac is an eau de parfum that is available only in a 100 ml bottle and which costs $235 or €168. David Jourquin: you can purchase Cuir Tabac directly from David Jourquin for €168. Samples are also available for €3,50. In the U.S.: Cuir Tabac is sold at Luckyscent, along with a sample. Luckyscent seems to be the only U.S. distributor or vendor for the Jourquin line. Outside the U.S.: I can’t find Canadian or UK vendors for David Jourquin. In France, there seem to be many, especially in Paris. There, Cuir Tabac is sold at Jovoy, the Ritz hotel, and The Different Company, among others. Germany’s First in Fragrance also sells the perfume and ships worldwide. In Belgium, David Jourquin is apparently carried at Brussel’s Absolut’ly, but I can’t find the line on the store’s website. For all other locations, you can turn to the David Jourquin Store Locator which lists vendors from Russia and Saudi Arabia to Spain and the Ukraine. As a side note, the brand has a lot of vendors in France and Russia, but it seems to have a very limited European presence and even less so elsewhere. Your best bet may be with companies like Luckyscent, Jovoy, or First in Fragrance who ship worldwide. Samples: I obtained my sample from Surrender to Chance which sells Cuir Tabac starting at $3.59 for a 1/2 ml vial. You can also order a sample from Luckyscent.

Profumum Patchouly & Santalum

Posted on August 26, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Simplicity done in the richest, most concentrated way possible seems to be the signature of Profumum Roma. It is an Italian niche perfume house founded in 1996, and commonly called Profumum by most. (The name is also sometimes written as “Profvmvm,” but, making matters more complicated, the company puts it as “Pro Fvmvm” on their website, skipping the “Roma” part entirely). As regular readers will know, I’ve become utterly obsessed with Profumum’s fragrances, after trying their two great, incredibly rich ambers, Fiore d’Ambra and Ambra Aurea. I ended up falling hard for the latter with its gorgeous, rare, salty, expensive ambergris. In my opinion, it is the best, richest, and most luxurious amber fragrance around.

I think Profumum is a shamefully under-appreciated house, so I’ve become determined to go through their line and draw some attention to their fragrances. Last time, it was the turn of Acqua di Sale. Today, it’s time for Patchouly and Santalum, fragrances which focus, respectively, on patchouli and on sandalwood. One of them is absolutely lovely. The other, alas, was not, and is my first big disappointment from the line.

PATCHOULY:

Patchouli is one of my favorite notes when it is dark, chewy, and somewhat dirty. These days, however, the patchouli used in perfumery is usually the purple, fruited sort. I’m not a fan, to put it mildly, so it was with some trepidation that I approached Profumum’s soliflore. What I found was a callback to the past, an utterly glorious, hardcore, seriously dark patchouli that felt as rich as a thick, six-inch brownie infused with resins, caramel and nuttiness. A long time ago, when I was 14, my signature scent was a fragrance from the French jewellery house, Ylang Ylang. The eponymous fragrance was a visual feast of black, gold, and brown, redolent of black patchouli and incense, golden amber, and spicy brown sandalwood. For decades now, I’ve been searching for a scent to replicate that old favorite, only to fail again and again. Profumum’s Patchouly is not it, either, but the opening twenty minutes came so close, I could have cried.

Patchouly is an eau de parfum that was released in 2004. Profumum‘s website describes the fragrance and its notes very simply:

Remote regions of my unconscious are in turmoil.
I hardly hold the emotions that overcome me,
like memories of antique pleasures.

Patchouli, Amber, Sandal, Incense.

The description from Luckyscent also references memories and antiques and, in my opinion, is generally quite on point in its characterisation of the scent:

A devastatingly rich and earthy take on patchouli that fully exploits its profound and powerful nature. Amber helps bring out its irresistible, chewy sweetness that is just this side of narcotic, sandalwood accentuates its warm heart and incense wraps it all in a veil of intrigue. This is like opening a forgotten trunk found in the attic of an old manor, and discovering a bewitching mix of memories and treasures. The scent of warm, dry wood envelops you as a honeyed swirl of memories flit about like smoke. Deep and evocative.

“Fading Flower” by Hani Amir via Fotopedia.com

Patchouly opens on my skin with a blast of blackness. Dark, chewy, dirty, smoky patchouli with a bite of black incense. It’s followed by ambergris, an expensive, rare element that seems to be the signature base of so many of Profumum’s Orientals, and whose unique, special characteristics differ so widely from that of the usual “ambers” on the market. Here, the ambergris has a musky, salty, earthy, slightly mushy, and faintly sweaty aroma with a caramel undertone. It adds to the rich, resinous, chewiness of the patchouli.

The two notes create an earthy funk but, to me, it never smells of 1970s hippies and “head shops.” Actually, to be totally honest, I’ve never been quite sure what exactly the term entails. It’s often used to describe a certain kind of dark patchouli, but I’m too young or too square to know about the whole ’70s drug culture. Though I’ve been in modern, Bohemian, hippie, counter-culture shops that had patchouli, crystals, incense, tie-dye garments, and other things, this is not the same sort of smell that wafted about there. The patchouli here is dark, yes, but it’s far too infused with ambergris’ sweet and salty goldenness to be a true ’70s, dirty, skunky funk.

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

Though Patchouly is essentially a simple soliflore — a fragrance focusing on one primary element — there is more going on under the surface. A spicy undercurrent lurks about in those opening minutes, almost as if cloves, black pepper, and perhaps chili were added to the notes. I’ve found that Profumum’s notes are not always complete, so it’s quite possible there are spices tossed into the mix as well. Further down below in the base is a subtle touch of leatheriness, though it feels more like a subset of one of the resins than any actual leather. The whole thing adds up to a mix that is smoky, spicy, sweet, salty, earthy, and chewy, all at once.

The glorious, dark funk of the patchouli doesn’t last long. Unfortunately for me, ten minutes into the Patchouly’s development, the hardcore nature of the note is soon weakened and diffused by the increasingly prominent ambergris. It softens the beautiful chewiness of that black patchouli, infusing it with a salty, nutty, caramel, satiny richness.The smokiness of the incense recedes to the edges, as does much of the momentary spiciness of the opening. Thirty minutes in, the primary, dominant note in Patchouly is the salty, musky, caramel-sweet ambergris. The fragrance feels a lot like Profumum’s Ambra Aurea, only mixed with patchouli and a hint of incense.

Source: wallpaperswa.com

As time passes, the ambergris takes over completely. It’s a disappointment, but perhaps understandable. Patchouli doesn’t have the best reputation as a note, given that whole “head shop” thing of the past. Consequently, keeping it within the warm embrace of an amber cocoon prevents it from being too overwhelming for people, the majority of whom do not like a dark, dirty version of the note. Still, I personally would have preferred that both the patchouli and the incense not weaken quite so fast. I’m sure everyone else, however, will be thrilled by that.

At the 1.25 hour mark, Patchouly turns, soft, gauzy, and blurry around the edges. It is still extremely potent up close, but the fragrance is more diffused in weight and feel. It floats about like a golden-black veil about 3-4 inches above the skin, wafting a chewy, musky, caramel amber with streaks of patchouli. It’s still dense and earthy, but not quite in the same way or for the same reasons. And it’s far too golden, sweet and nutty to feel truly dark. By the start of the fourth hour, Patchouly is primarily an amber and musk fragrance, only lightly tinged with its eponymous note. The fragrance smells like sweet, warmed flesh that is a tiny bit musky from time in the sun or from exertion. Patchouly has essentially melted to create a “my skin but better” bouquet of musk atop a base of rich, satiny, caramel ambergris. It remains that way until the very end, almost 11.75 hours from the perfume’s start.

I think Patchouly is a beautiful fragrance, especially for those who are leery of true, hardcore patchouli scents and who prefer something softer or tamer. It is an incredibly rich, luxurious, long-lasting fragrance that I think is extremely sexy. However, the extremely close similarities to Ambra Aurea may make Patchouly feel a little redundant for anyone who owns the other Profumum fragrance. I happen to have a large decant of Ambra Aurea, and that is the only thing stopping me from yearning for an immediate bottle of Patchouly.

There aren’t a ton of blog reviews for Patchouly out there. Perfume-Smellin’ Things has a short paragraph on the scent which Marina also liked a lot:

An expansive, full-bodied patchouli scent with generous helpings of sweet amber, velvety sandalwood and a dry, dark incense note that, from the middle stage on, seems to overwhelm the aforementioned amber and wood and to rule the blend alongside patchouli. I liked this one a lot. I am not sure I will be buying a bottle, I am not that big a fan of patchouli and will never be able to finish a 100ml jug…I must also add that it layers wonderfully well with Fiori d’Ambra and Acqua e Zucchero, adding to them the depth and the va va voom that both are missing.

People seem to detect different notes underlying that patchouli. On Fragrantica, the note had a chocolate nuance on some people’s skin. Others talk about the ambergris, or note some vanilla in the base. For one blogger, Nathan Branch, the fragrance had a medicinal opening, though he thought the Profumum scent was the best of a number of patchouli fragrances that he tested:

Profumum Patchouly: leaps out of the gate as a no-nonsense, take no prisoners medicinal patchouli. Your average sweet and floral perfume lover will be startled by the high-pitched mint & mothball breath of Profumum Patchouly and flee to seek comfort and solace elsewhere. True patchouli aficionados, however, will be thrilled. Includes amber, sandalwood and incense ingredients (the incense is especially nice), but these are added sparingly and only show up much later in the game. […] In summation: Profumum Patchouly is the most genuinely patchouli-ish of the bunch, graced with a nice incense afterburn

If you’re tempted by the fragrance, but have lingering trauma from the ’70s, perhaps this Fragrantica review from “MsLeslie” will reassure you:

Ever since 1967, when I was a run-away teenager in the Haight Ashbury trying [and failing] to be a flower child, I have loathed the nasty, oily, musty smell of patchouly exuding from the bodies around me. And I have avidly avoided patchouly ever since.

Or at least I did until I received this amazingly gorgeous Patchouly from Profumum Roma in a grab-bag of samples from the Perfumed Court a few months ago.

THIS patchouly is irresistable! It is rich, deep, intense, complex, with a strong redeeming sweetness that balances out the musty quality.

This is a beautiful scent!

It really is! Absolutely lovely, and a must-sniff for anyone who loves real patchouli.

SANTALUM:

Sandalwood is one of my favorite notes, so I was incredibly excited to try Profumum’s eau de parfum tribute called Santalum. Released in 2003, Profumum describes the scent as follows:

Scented votive fumes rise to the sky.
Flower garlands, statues and columns everywhere.
Carpets and drapes have been prepared.
The warm and humid air diffuses
the scent of the sacred forest.
The ceremony has started…

Sandalwood absolute, Myrrh, Spices

Santalum was a disappointment from the start. Those of you who are regular readers have christened me a “sandalwood snob,” and while it is absolutely true, it is not the reason for my enormous irritation with the scent. Well, not the main one, at least. The problem, for me, is that Santalum is a synthetic, ISO E Super hot mess. The fragrance opens on my skin with a medicinal, oud-like undertone, followed by incense, hints of powdery sweetness, and spices. The wood is rich and creamy, sweet and smoky. It’s lightly dusted by cinnamon and a hint of cloves. Within minutes, the powdery element overtakes the oud-like overtone, but also weakens some of the fragrance’s smokiness. There is a strong resemblance to Crabtree & Evelyn‘s now discontinued, vintage, 1973 fragrance, Sandalwood.

ISO E Super. Source: Fragrantica

Then, the ISO E Super kicks in. At first, the synthetic only faintly resembles ISO E Super, and is merely a dry, woody aroma. In exactly 9 minutes, however, the note shows its true colours, and starts to make my head throb. Something else lurks in the base, too, a synthetic approximation of sandalwood that isn’t even that terrible, ersatz, fake Australian version that so many fragrances have come to rely upon these days. Santalum turns more powdery, though it is still creamy, lightly smoked, and faintly imbued with a quiet spiciness. At the end of the first hour, the fragrance is a vague approximation of “sandalwood” with large amounts of synthetics and ISO E Super, light dashes of cinnamon, hints of incense, and powderiness — all atop a slightly ambered base.

Source: the3dstudio.com

Santalum remains that way until its very end. The levels of cinnamon, powder, and incense fluctuate, weakening over time, but the strongly synthetic undertones are a constant. The only real change to the fragrance is in its feel. It takes less than 90 minutes for Santalum to turn sheer, airy, and very light in weight. It’s a surprise for a Profumum scent, given their usual richness, concentrated, dense feel. Still, to be fair, there are occasions when the fragrance wafts by in the air around you, and it is quite pretty, but it’s something that is much better smelled from a distance. By the end of the fourth hour, however, Santalum is a faded, blurry, abstract haze of creamy woods with a light undertone of synthetics, powder and cinnamon atop an ambered base. It only vaguely smells like “sandalwood,” and I’m talking about the ersatz kind, not even the real Mysore one. All in all, the fragrance lasted just over 8.75 hours, with generally soft sillage throughout.

By all accounts, Santalum has been reformulated from a dark, rich, woody, myrrh fragrance into something that is significantly lighter and more powdery. I have no idea if the fragrance was always such a synthetic bomb, but I do know that I’m not the only one who was disappointed with the existing version. On Fragrantica, the most recent review is from 2012 and states:

This is not the best use of sandalwood in perfume. I got a lot of camphor-like notes (oud?) in the opening and what I suspect is Austalian sandalwood, much different and greener than the wonderful Indian sandalwood,that is beautifully woody and resinous. then comes plastic, along with some powder. this smells similar to Crabtree and Evelyn’s sandalwood gift set, so if you like powder with your sandalwood, you may like this. Longevity was about 3 hours.

Other reviews from 2012 also reference the powderiness of Santalum, along with yet another comment about a “medicinal” nuance to the scent. As a whole, the comments reflect either qualified, hesitant “liking,” or actual disappointment. Older reviews, in contrast, are much more positive and talk extensively about the fragrance’s myrrh, incense, and amber. On Luckyscent, one commentator wrote:

I bought Santalum about a year ago and really enjoy the richness and warmth of its scent. I bought another bottle this year and was disappointed in the re-engineering done to the product. It’s dark ambery appearance has been replaced with a slightly off-color yellow. The product’s scent is lighter now and much of the richness of its former rendition is no longer present to my nose.

Clearly, something has changed — and not for the better. One doesn’t have to be a sandalwood snob to find the fragrance disappointing, but, even if you like powdery “sandalwood,” I think there are probably better versions out there for the price. In my opinion, the current version of Santalum isn’t worth it.

DETAILS:

PATCHOULY Cost & Availability: Patchouly is an Eau de Parfum that only comes in a large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle which costs $240 or €179. Profumum unfortunately doesn’t have an e-shop from which you can buy their fragrances directly. In the U.S.: Patchouly is available at Luckyscent, and OsswaldNYC. Outside the U.S.: In the UK, Profumum perfumes are sold at Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie in Harrods. Elsewhere, you can find Patchouly at Switzerland’s Osswald, Paris’ Printemps store, Premiere Avenue in France (which also ships worldwide, I believe), France’s Le Parfum et Le Chic (which sells it for €185), the Netherlands’ Celeste (which sells it for €180), and Russia’s Lenoma (which sells it for RU16,950). According to the Profumum website, their fragrances are carried in a large number of small stores from Copenhagen to the Netherlands, Poland, France, the rest of Europe, and, of course, Italy. You can use the Profumum Store Locator located on the left of the page linked to above. Samples: Surrender to Chance carries samples of Patchouly starting at $4.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. You can also order from Luckyscent.

SANTALUM Cost & Availability: Santalum is an Eau de Parfum that only comes in a large 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle which costs $240 or €179. Profumum unfortunately doesn’t have an e-shop from which you can buy their fragrances directly. In the U.S.: Santalum is available at Luckyscent, and OsswaldNYC. Outside the U.S.: In the UK, Profumum perfumes are sold at Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie in Harrods. Elsewhere, you can find Santalum at Switzerland’s Osswald, Paris’ Printemps store, Premiere Avenue in France (which also ships worldwide, I believe), Le Parfum et Le Chic (which sells it for €185), the Netherlands’ Celeste (which sells it for €180), and Russia’s Lenoma (which sells it for RU16,950). For all other locations from Copenhagen to the Netherlands, Poland, France, the rest of Europe, and, of course, Italy, you can use the Profumum Store Locator to find a vendor near you. Samples: Surrender to Chance doesn’t carry Santalum, but you can order from Luckyscent at the link listed above.

Perfume Review- Serge Lutens Borneo 1834

Posted on January 12, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Borneo 1834.
Source: Fragrantica

Serge Lutens wants to take you on journey to the heart of 19th century Borneo, an island on the equator, north of Java, and which now consists of Indonesia, Malaysia and Brunei. He wants to take you on the Dutch trading ships with their bales of raw silks and cocoa as they traversed the exotic seas on their way to the shops of Europe. And he does it via Borneo 1834, a perfume created with Lutens’ usual cohort in olfactory adventures, the famous nose Christopher Sheldrake. It was released in 2005 and, until 2010, was exclusive to Lutens’ Paris salon as part of the “non-export” line. At the moment, however, it is available worldwide via the Lutens website.

Fragrantica classifies Borneo 1834 as an “oriental woody” and lists its notes as:

patchouli, white flowers, cardamom, galbanum, french labdanum and cacao.

Bois de Jasmin, however, also adds in camphor and cannabis resin. The latter led me to some Google searches, with extremely amusing results, on what constitutes the exact smell of cannabis when in resin form. (My conclusion is that some people lead very… interesting… lives.)

On his website. Lutens explains his choice of name and the theory behind the scent:

Why did I pick 1834? That was the year Parisians discovered patchouli. In those days, it came wrapped in silk.

Imagine a woman of that time wearing a patchouli fragrance: she awaits her carriage, draped in her sable stole.

The famous perfume expert and critic, Luca Turin, provides even more explanation in his book, Perfumes: The A-Z Guide. In his four-star review of the fragrance, he says:

Patchouli Leaves

Apparently Lutens has determined that the first olfactory point of contact between Europe and the Far East took place there and then, in the form of the patchouli leaves used to wrap bales of silk. The patchouli was intended to keep moths away from the precious fabric (insects hate camphoraceous smells), but when the silk reached Western shores, elegant ladies wanted more of the smell. In other words, patchouli’s career in perfumery is a rise from bug repellent to luxury goods, a trajectory meteorically traced in the opposite direction by many contemporary fragrances. As often happens with Lutens-Sheldrake creations, the first sniff comes as a complete shock: the overwhelming impression is one of dark brown powder. Seconds later one realizes that this nameless dust is made of two components, patchouli and chocolate, skillfully juxtaposed (how?) so that neither the earthiness of patchouli nor the familiarity of chocolate prevails. Borneo 1834 is like Angel in reverse: instead of jumping out at you, it sucks you into its shadowy space. All the materials used are firmly rooted in the “orientalist” (aka hippie) style, yet the size, grace, and complexity of the overall structure make it the direct descendant of orientals proper like Emeraude and Shalimar. [Emphasis added for the names.]

Borneo 1834 in one of Lutens’ famous bell-jar bottles.

The opening blast of Borneo 1834 on my skin is glorious. I absolutely love it. There is wonderfully resinous, boozy, sweet patchouli with bitter chocolate. The latter is more like the small, dark, cocoa nibs that you find in baking. There is a faint hint of camphor, but it’s light and plays off well with the smokiness of the patchouli and labdanum. It’s not the sort of smoke that you find in incense but, rather, a sweeter, much nuttier smoke accord. It makes me think of siam sesin, only amplified and combined with patchouli and cocoa. (You can read more about siam resin, along with labdanum, galbanum and some of the other notes in Borneo 1834 in my Glossary.) The patchouli has a great earthiness, almost like rich, black earth — moist, loamy and heavy. There is a faint hint of a musky, animalic note, too, almost like the sort of body funk that you would get from civet.

I don’t smell cardamom or the white flowers to any noteworthy extent. There is a floral note there, faintly peeking its head over the mighty patchouli, but I don’t think “white flowers” would really come to mind. If there is a floral note, I’d think of a pale rose more than white flowers, but it doesn’t really matter as the note is so faint as to be barely noticeable.

As for the notes given by Bois de Jasmin, I have never smelled a fresh, growing cannabis plant, let alone cannabis resin, so I set off to do some research. Google informs me that the former smells like slightly herbal, sweet, cut grass, while the latter can supposedly smell of anything from skunks to motor oil. I don’t smell fresh, sweet grass in Borneo 1834, and definitely nothing even remotely resembling skunks. I suppose one could say that there is a faint scent of car oil, but I think that the tarry, black note is more typical of a dirty, black patchouli or labdanum. Overall, the scent is dry in its sweetness, not cloying or synthetically sharp.

Cocoa Nibs. Source: A Man of Chocolate.

Thirty minutes in, the dark cocoa is on equal footing with the patchouli, and the light camphor note has vanished. There are times when the final result almost smells a bit like mocha coffee. It is too rich a smell to be considered “cozy,” especially as that is a word which I associate with softer scents that wrap themselves around you like cashmere or that make you want to snuggle under a blanket. Borneo 1834 is too dark for that. It is also too dry to be an edible gourmand scent, but it has some mystery and layers, especially in its opening. I truly adore those opening notes of patchouli which make me think, “this is what patchouli should smell like more often!”

I’m much less thrilled with the middle stages and the dry-down. Two hours in, the musk and animalic notes start to become much more pronounced. It is at this stage that the sillage lessens a little, though it is still somewhat noticeable. (Three hours in, the perfume becomes close to the skin, though there is still great longevity.) The animalic notes become more and more prominent with every hour, and the final dry-down stage is almost entirely earthy, slightly intimate body funk.

It’s hard to explain the scent here. It’s not intimate like someone’s private parts, it’s also not exactly musky, and it’s most definitely not like ripe, extreme, unwashed body odor. It’s sort of a mild variation of the two, a “skank” note like that from a very warm, faintly sweaty, slightly sweet, almost musky body after a long session at the gym. Perhaps, musk and sweet “dried sweat” may encapsulate some of it, but only a portion of it. Either way, there is a linearity and earthy singularity in the middle and final stages which is fine, if you like animalic notes. I don’t. Which is why I much preferred that absolutely lovely opening with its boozy notes evocative of siam resin, its luscious patchouli and its dry cocoa.

That dark, black, and faintly bitter, cocoa accord is just one of the things that separates Borneo 1834 from Christopher Sheldrake’s other patchouli creation: Coromandel (for Chanel‘s Les Exclusif line). Created with Jacques Polge, both perfumes share chocolate and patchouli notes, which is probably why they are so frequently discussed in the same breath. To me, however, Coromandel is an extremely different scent. In fact, I’d consider them to be like night and day. I found Coromandel to be all burning smoke, white cocoa and powdery vanilla, resembling a chai latte at times. The strong incense and frankincense notes dominated the sweet patchouli; it was a frankincense and incense perfume first and foremost. At its heart though, Coromandel is a cozy scent with powdered vanilla and tonka; it is light and somewhat multi-faceted. Borneo 1834, in contrast, is a dark powerhouse of patchouli, bitter cocoa dust and earthiness, and it’s not extremely complex. In fact, I’d say that it only has two stages, each of which is quite direct: patchouli chocolate with some camphor, resin and smoke; and earthy, animalic notes.

Freddie from Smelly Thoughts, a great perfume blog, loved the perfume throughout all its stages and didn’t seem to note any animalic body funk. His review is useful, especially as it compares Borneo 1834 to Thierry Mugler‘s infamous Angel:

So patchouli + chocolate = Angel? Not quite. The patchouli here is lavishly sleek, whilst being familiar in its dank, deep scent – it remains tame and completely in control. The sweetness in Borneo, unlike the Mugler, is also in complete control, richer – more exotic, with a delicate camphor laying over the top – adding an almost medicinal astringency to the patchouli and cocoa. The camphor is far from the intensity of Tuberuese Criminelle (for example), and instead has the sheer, sharp aspect that some great ouds have. It adds an age and a chilling subtlety to the foggy atmosphere.

I get a very subtle tobacco, as well as a liquorice note – in the same, but more toned down, style of Parfumerie Generale’s Aomassai. All intermingled with the cocoa and bitter patchouli, Borneo 1834 is dark and perplexing whilst being light and delicate on the skin.
The fragrance remains relatively linear, with a wonderful resinous base acting like a dark, sticky veil. The resins give off that breathy/slightly sweaty feel that they sometimes do (I normally get this with myrrh), I’d almost have thought there was the tiniest bit of cumin in here, but the fragrance isn’t spicy at all.

I think Freddie’s reference to cumin indicates that he may have smelled some animalic funk too, but obviously, it was in no way as extreme on him as it was on me during those final hours. All in all, Borneo 1834 lasted about 9 hours on me, with the animalic funk being a large part of the last (low sillage) 6.5 hours (and all of the final 3 hours). It is the main reason why I didn’t love the fragrance, though it’s an absolutely gorgeous scent in its opening notes.

Borneo 1934 is a scent that is definitely well-suited to winter and, if you love patchouli, well worth a sample sniff. If you try it, let me know what you think. I’m particularly curious to know if you have a similar experience as I did during the final hours.

Details:

Cost & Availability: You can find Borneo 1834 on the Serge Lutens website. In the famous bell-jar shape, it costs $290 for 2.5 fl oz/75 ml. However, in the smaller size and regular bottle, it costs $140 for 1.7 fl oz/50 ml. In general, Serge Lutens is usually available at fine retailers like Barney’s, Lucky Scent and a few other online sites. Lucky Scent carries the 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle for $140 but, oddly enough, I’ve seen it sold on Amazon for $125 via Beauty Encounter. You can only do a search online to see if it is available at a discount from discount perfume retailers. Sample vials to test it out can be bought at Surrender to Chance (but not Lucky Scent) starting at $3.99. Surrender to Chance also has a special Lutens sample pack of 3 non-export perfumes which includes Borneo 1834 and which starts at $11.50 for the smallest sized vials.