Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 Soleil de Jeddah

A ball of orange, green and gold, dripping with exotic juices from an orchard before being swathed in Russian leather and amber. Soleil de Jeddah from Stéphane Humbert Lucas often feels as bright as the sun it was named after, but there is a slow eclipse as dark, slightly smoky leather casts its shadow over its bright heart.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas. Source: SHL 777 Facebook page.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas. Source: SHL 777 Facebook page.

Soleil de Jeddah is a 2013 parfum extrait from Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 (hereinafter just referred to as “SHL 777” or “777“). All the fragrances are created by Monsieur Lucas, who used to be the in-house perfumer for SoOud and Nez à Nez. Up to now, the 777 line was exclusive to Europe, Russia, and Middle Eastern, but there is good news. The complete SHL 777 line should be coming to America in a few days, including the stunning amber monster, O Hira, that was previously contractually limited to Harrods and to Printemps, and the 2013 iris-amber-heliotrope Khol de Bahrein.

The new 2014 releases should also be available, such as the highly original cherry-latex-almond-cedar-oud Qom Chilom, the immortelle gourmand, Une Nuit à Doha, and the Cambodian oud, smoke and leather, Oud 777. The scents will be exclusive to Luckyscent and Osswald NYC. I have samples of the line, thanks to the generosity and kindness of Monsieur Lucas, and Soleil de Jeddah is the last in my series. (Rose de Petra was accidentally omitted from my package.)

As a side note, it is Monsieur Lucas who takes all the photos of the perfume bottles that I have shown in this series, and I think the one for Soleil de Jeddah may be one of the prettiest images that I’ve seen for a fragrance in a long time.

Source: SHL 777 Facebook page.

Source: SHL 777 Facebook page.

Soleil de Jeddah is a pure parfum with 24% perfume concentration that is described in the press materials provided to me as follows:

Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Bakelite of pulverized amber.
A fragrance both dignified and aphrodisiac.
Solar fragrance, luminous, bright, respectful reference to the holy city.

Lemon – Roman Chamomile – Osmanthus
Iris Root – Amber – Earthy Notes
Iris Butter – Russian Leather – Vanilla from Madagascar.

Regular readers will know by now that, as with other SHL 777 fragrances, the official list is merely a nutshell synopsis. I’ll spare you the details of my now routine (and very comedic) email exchanges with Monsieur Lucas, where I tell him all the other things I smell in the perfume and ask what is missing from his official list. Suffice it say, he is a very kind and patient man, and we’ve had a good laugh about my OCD obsession with details.

Mimosa. Source: Fragrantica

Mimosa. Source: Fragrantica

The actual note list for Soleil de Jeddah is incredibly long. These are just the main elements:

Osmanthus, Roman chamomile, Acacia mimosa (Fleur de Cassie), genet (Broom), lemon, mandarin, Sicilian bergamot, iris butter, iris concrete, jasmine, carnation, Indian patchouli, Russian leather (Isobutyl quinoleine and birch wood), oakmoss, civet, musk, styrax, labdanum amber, benzoin, and Madagascar vanilla.

Photo: House of Herrera, Caroline Herrera. Source: popsugar.com.au

Photo: House of Herrera, Caroline Herrera. Source: popsugar.com.au

Monsieur Lucas described Soleil de Jeddah to me as a perfume with a powerful citrus opening, followed by a strong floral heart, above a persistent, dark, intensely leathered base that is imbued with mousse de chene or oakmoss. He visualises it as a perfume that a woman would wear to a ball, with a long, flowing gown whose open back exposes sensual skin, all worn with a “panoply of jewels” and furs. I can see his vision and understand it, but, for me, Soleil de Jeddah is more akin to a glowing ball of yellow and orange centered on a massively concentrated citric and fruity heart, above a leathered base flecked with animalic civet.

Apricot. Source: forwallpaper.com

Apricot. Source: forwallpaper.com

Soleil de Jeddah opens on my skin with juicy apricots that are tangy with jamminess, followed by very tart, sour, zesty lemon, then iris, more iris, a light dusting of iris powder, chamomile, and an odd woodiness. There are leather nuances and a touch of smokiness, but the overall impression is of brightness. (I wrote in my notes, “bright, bright, BRIGHT!”)

Osmanthus often smells of apricots, with a leathery undertone, but flower in Soleil de Jeddah is highly imbued with other fruits as well. The result is a mixed osmanthus note with a concentrated feel that I’ve never experienced before. It reminds me of Black Gemstone‘s dense, tangy lemon curd, only here, the citrus is accompanied by equally concentrated apricots and oranges as well. Just as in Black Gemstone, the fruits in Soleil de Jeddah have been heavily amplified by a jammy, purple patchouli, but the main sensation is of tartness, not syrupy sweetness. It is a saturated explosion of tangy zestiness that is fresh, crisp, heavy, sweet, and sour, all at once.

Green mango via alegriphotos.com

Green mango via alegriphotos.com

It also strongly reminded me of something else, and, for the longest time, I couldn’t place it. Initially, the overall effect made me think a little of a tart Jolly Rancher candy infused strongly with iris and a touch of chamomile. But that wasn’t really it. There was more going on. Then it came to me: the green tartness resembled a kiwi and pineapple mix, with perhaps a tiny touch of cassis or black currant. At least, the first time around. On two subsequent tests, the zingy, tart, tangy fruitiness consistently smelled like green mangoes. It is exactly like the very concentrated, potent, heady mix in Neela Vermeire‘s bright mango floriental, Bombay Bling. I tried them side-by-side at one point, and yes, I am wafting green mangoes. I cannot explain it at all.

Photo: My own.

Photo: My own.

In all my tests, however, the multi-faceted fruit accord is always cocooned in iris above a slightly leather base. The iris smells wet, rooty, woody, cool, and lightly powdered all at once. The leather base is dark, thick, and, initially, lightly smoked, with flecks of a dry woodiness that reminds me of tree bark.

Many fragrances attempt to recreate the impression of “leather” through other notes. As the Perfume Shrine explains, “[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 tarjuniper cade, and quinoline. The Perfume Shrine adds:

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!

Source: quattraenergy.com

Source: quattraenergy.com

While some of that description applies to what I smell in Soleil de Jeddah, my nose seems to read the leather more as “birch tar,” probably because that is how I am used to “Russian leather” being replicated. The note here is very similar to the leather in Caron‘s Tabac Blond and Chanel‘s Cuir de Russie, but Monsieur Lucas said only a little birch was used in the fragrance and that the main elements in the base are smoky styrax resin and isobutyl quinoline. Still, on my skin, there was a definite streak of woodiness in one of my tests of Soleil de Jeddah that I interpreted as “birch” bark shavings.

Source: creativity103.com

Source: creativity103.com

It’s an unusual combination when taken as a whole. The iris with the tart, tangy fruits and chamomile stands out as it is, but I have to admit that the “birch” wood totally threw me the first time around. Its dry woodiness and smokiness feels a bit strange in conjunction with apricot-kiwi-pineapple (or mango). And, yet, somehow it works. On some levels, Soleil de Jeddah reminded me of a super concentrated, heavy, more powerful cousin to Creed‘s cult hit, Aventus. The fruits are completely different, but the tangy, juicy, citric, lightly smoked feel underscored by birch leather is the same. Soleil de Jeddah is more dense and complex though, with constant streaks of chamomile and iris.

Photo: My own.

Photo: My own.

Those last two notes are soon overshadowed as the leathered base grows smokier and more powerful. The iris consistently fades on my skin after 20 minutes, and is never replaced by the other floral notes on the list. Carnation? Not on me. Jasmine? Non plus. Mimosa? Only occasionally, in the background, and in the most muted way imaginable. For the most part, Soleil de Jeddah’s main bouquet on my skin is consistently some fluctuating mix of apricots, oranges, lemon curd, green mango/kiwi/pineapple, chamomile, and jammy patchouli, all over the smoky leather base made up of styrax, birch, and isobutyl quinoline.

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

It’s an intensely concentrated, deep, strong mix but there is a surprising weightlessness to it. Despite the richness of its notes, Soleil de Jeddah doesn’t feel opaque or dense, and the sillage is generally average on my skin. 2 large spritzes from my atomizer, amounting to one good spray from a proper bottle, gave me a soft cloud with 3 inches in projection at first. Using 3 spritzes expanded the radius by another inch. Yet, in both cases, the sillage dropped at the start of the 2nd hour, and Soleil de Jeddah lay 1-2 inches above the skin. It turned into a skin scent roughly 4.75 hours in, which is much less time than some of the other SHL 777 fragrances that I’ve tried. Still, for those first few hours, Soleil de Jeddah has good sillage, and feels particularly strong up close due to the saturated, rich nature of the notes.

In all my tests, Soleil de Jeddah starts to transition into its second phase at the end of the 3rd hour. A powdery vanilla arrives to diffuse both the smokiness of the styrax resin in the base and the tartness of the fruits up top. It casts a thin blanket over the notes, softening them through the lens of a dry vanilla. As in a few of the SHL 777 fragrances, the note is not so much powdered or sweet as grainy and sandy; it’s almost more textural at times than actual vanilla, if that makes any sense. Soleil de Jeddah is still sharp and rich up close, but it lacks the same degree of concentrated, thick juiciness in its fruits, and the woodiness has disappeared.

Source: thewallpaperr.blogspot.com

Source: thewallpaperr.blogspot.com

The leather remains, however. In the majority of my tests, the apricot-orange-mango accord takes a step back, letting the smoky Russian leather and vanilla slowly take over center stage. Tiny flickers of chamomile continue to lurk about, while the amber begins to stirs in the base. It doesn’t smell like ambergris (which is what First in Fragrance mistakenly lists it as), nor like labdanum. Rather, it is merely a soft, golden haze which adds warmth to the scent. The jammy, purple patchouli occasionally appears in its own right as an individually distinct note next to the apricot-orange-lemon-mango accord, but, generally, it melts into the fruits. Once in a blue moon, I think I may smell a brief pinch of mimosa in the powderiness, but it is probably the power of suggestion.

At the end of the 7th hour, Soleil de Jeddah is a blur of black Russian leather and abstract, tart fruits, all lightly powdered with vanilla and cocooned in a soft, golden warmth. There is a civet-like sharpness to the scent, along with a lingering touch of sweetness that made me wonder if there was honey in Soleil de Jeddah. Monsieur Lucas says there isn’t, but the sweetness has a definite animalic sharpness that seems to go beyond mere civet on my skin. Whatever the source of the note, Soleil de Jeddah’s leather has a touch of skanky dirtiness underlying it.

Photo: My own.

Photo: My own.

The leather eventually fades away, and Soleil de Jeddah’s final drydown on my skin consists of tart fruitiness with vanilla and civet. There are touches of jammy patchouli which occasionally pop up, but very little remains of the birch, isobutyl quinoline, or woodiness. There is no powder, and Soleil de Jeddah isn’t even really ambered any more, either.

In its final moments, the perfume is a mere blur of dry, semi-tart fruitiness with a touch of vanilla and some lingering sharpness from the civet. All in all, Soleil de Jeddah consistently lasted over 10 hours on my skin. With 2 spritzes, I thought it was about to die at the end of the 9th hour, but the perfume lingered on tenaciously for a total of 10.75 hours. With 3 spritzes, Soleil de Jeddah lasted just under 12 hours, really more like 11.75.

Painting by Moon Beom via lostateminor.com

Painting by Moon Beom via lostateminor.com

I could not find any comparative reviews to show you how others see the scent. On Fragrantica, where Soleil de Jeddah is categorized as a “leather,” the perfume’s entry page has no comments at this time. However, one of my readers, “Lady Jane Grey,” owns the scent and shared her experiences in the comment section of another one of my SHL 777 reviews. There, she wrote about how Soleil de Jeddah was 2 perfumes in 1 on her skin, changing its character from one occasion to the next:

Jeddah smells differently worn on the same spot (left wrist) – when I tested at Harrods (mid afternoon) it was fruity and bright and happy, a spring scent entirely with a golden agarwood note in the back. Spritzed in the evening on the same spot the oud has that medical note, which in fact I quite like, because I find it calming. The scent is sweet and creamy..

Soleil de Jeddah has no oud, so I suspect the isobutyl quinoline and birch may be responsible for the woodiness that she is detecting.

Source: hdwalls.info

Source: hdwalls.info

For another blogger, the charming Christos of Memory of Scent, a brief test of Soleil de Jeddah in Switzerland’s Theodora Parfumery was all about the bright fruits. His short synopsis reads:

777 Stéphane Hubert Lucas Soleil de Jeddah: high end, high price, Middle East oriented house. This however, 3 hours after being sparyed on a blotter, feels like it is dripping fruity juices, in the best possible way, coming from someone who doesn’t like fruity fragrances. And all this with a touch of leather and ambergris! Very interesting!

I don’t generally like fruity fragrances, either, but I share his view that Soleil de Jeddah is a very interesting take on it, thanks to the smoky Russian leather and the other accords.

While Soleil de Jeddah’s strong backbone of fruitiness isn’t my personal style, I think the perfume will be a hit for those who are looking for a more adult, polished, original take on fruity fragrances. Those who adore very bright, tangy, sunny orientals like Bombay Bling will enjoy the similar vibe here, while the inclusion of smoky leather, animalic civet, and soft ambered warmth should reassure those who aren’t into “fruit cocktails,” as one friend of mine calls the category. And, who knows, you may even be lucky enough to experience the plethora of floral elements included in the scent, though they never really appeared on my skin. Finally, if you’re a fan of Aventus‘ mix of tangy-sweet fruits with birch leather, you may very much enjoy the richer, more concentrated SHL 777 take on the theme, especially if the Creed perfume doesn’t last on your skin.

Soleil de Jeddah is priced in the middle of the SHL 777 range. In Europe, it costs €235 for a 50 ml bottle of pure parfum that has 24% concentration. I don’t have the official American pricing rate, but I believe Osswald will sell it for $309. So, it’s not at the high-end represented by the magnificent monster amber, O Hira, but it’s also not at the “cheap” level of the lovely iris-amber-heliotrope, Khol de Bahrein, or the gourmand immortelle-marmalade-tobacco, Une Nuit à Doha.

In short, if you’re looking for a leather fragrance with a twist, or if you enjoy bright, tangy fruits whose rich juices feel as though they’re dripping off the vine onto your skin, give Soleil de Jeddah a sniff.

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

DETAILS:
Cost & Availability: Soleil de Jeddah is an Extrait or pure parfum that is only available in a 50 ml bottle and costs €235. The 777 line will be at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC at the start of May. [Update 5/2 — Osswald now has the full 777 line. They sell Soleil de Jeddah for $309.] Outside the U.S.: Currently, the SHL 777 website is under construction, and doesn’t have an e-store. The best online resource is First in Fragrance which just received the complete SHL 777 line, including the new 2014 releases. It offers a sample of Soleil de Jeddah for €14, but is currently out of stock of the full bottles. In London, you can find the entire collection at Harrod’s Black Room, while in Paris, they are exclusive to Printemps under the name 777. Zurich’s Osswald also carries the line, they don’t have an e-store any more. The Swiss perfumery, Theodora, also has SHL 777, but no e-store. In Cannes, France, the store Taizo is said to carry the 777 line, but I didn’t see the perfumes on their website the last time I checked. In the Middle East, Souq.com has about 6 of the earlier fragrances which it sells for AED 1,500. In the UAE, the SHL 777 line is available at Harvey Nichols and at Bloomingdales in the Dubai Mall. In Russia, SHL 777 is sold at Lenoma. Ukraine’s Sana Hunt Luxury store also carries the line, but they don’t have an e-store. Samples: None of the U.S. sample sites currently carry this fragrance, so Luckyscent and Osswald NYC will be your best option once the SHL 777 line is released. Osswald has changed its Sample Program such that individual pricing now depends on the cost of the particular perfume in question. They range from $3 a vial, up to $9 a vial for fragrances that cost over $300. The program is limited to U.S. customers and has free shipping, but there is also a 3-sample minimum, I believe. If you have questions, you can call Osswald at (212) 625-3111 to enquire further.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 Black Gemstone: Black (Gold) Beauty

Source: wall321.com

Source: wall321.com

Love at first sniff. Black Gemstone is an opulently ambered, spicy, woody-incense fragrance from Stéphane Humbert Lucas that caught my attention from the very first time I tried it. Mysterious woods, black frankincense and tart lemons curds, thick velvet and sticky amber — those disparate images are only one part of the complex tale created by one of the chic-est, most polished, most intriguing orientals that I’ve tried in a while.

"Shades of Caramel Abstract" by David Naman. Source: Fine Art America. (Website link embedded within.)

“Shades of Caramel Abstract” by David Naman. Source: Fine Art America. (Website link embedded within.)

I’m not sure where to start in trying to summarize Black Gemstone. Should it be the well-oiled woods drizzled with honey and saffron? The way the perfume changes shape each time, or how it tantalizes you with little tendrils of notes that are never quite what they seem? Should I talk about how its darkness turns to a sensual warmth that envelops you like velvet on satin skin? Or how its surface simplicity dissolves upon closer inspection into layer upon finely calibrated layer — all like tiny detailed brushstrokes of enameled lacquer on an ornate golden heart of patchouli and amber?

I don’t know where to begin, in part because Black Gemstone feels truly mysterious on some levels — and not simply because the perfume changes on my skin from one spot to the next, or from wearing to wearing. I don’t find many fragrances to evoke a sense of mystery, let alone darkness, but, somehow, the opening of Black Gemstone does. And, as a whole, it is one of the chic-est damn things I’ve tried in ages.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas, via SHL FB, used with permission.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas, via SHL FB, used with permission.

Black Gemstone is a 2013 parfum extrait from Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 (hereinafter just referred to as “SHL 777” or “777“). All the perfumes are created by Monsieur Lucas, who used to be the in-house perfumer for SoOud and Nez à Nez. Up to now, the 777 line was exclusive to Europe, Russia, and Middle Eastern, but there is excellent news.

The complete SHL 777 line should be coming to America in a few days, including the stunning amber monster, O Hira, that was previously contractually limited to Harrods and to Printemps, and the 2013 iris-amber-heliotrope Khol de Bahrein. The new 2014 releases should also be available, such as the highly original cherry-latex-almond-cedar-oud Qom Chilom, the immortelle gourmand Une Nuit à Doha, and the Cambodian oud, smoke and leather, Oud 777. The scents will be exclusive to Luckyscent and Osswald NYC. I have samples of the line, thanks to the generosity and kindness of Monsieur Lucas, and Black Gemstone is the second to last in my series. (I’m only missing Rose de Petra, so Soleil de Jeddah will be the last.)

Black Gemstone. Photo and source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Black Gemstone. Photo and source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Black Gemstone is a pure parfum that is described in the press materials provided to me as follows:

Tribute to the Black Stone
Brewed essence, tender as clay,
petrified, blackened.

Infusion of three Cedars – Lemon
Myrrh tar
Incense [Olibanum] – Teak – Tonka.

As with other SHL 777 fragrances, the official list seems to be merely a nutshell synopsis. I detected far more emanating from my skin, from honey and labdanum amber, to sweet myrrh/opoponax and woody-leathered undertones. So I sent off yet another pestering email to poor Monsieur Lucas to ask what else was actually included in Black Gemstone. I’m always grateful for his time, patience, and forthright openness, but I was especially relieved this time because, by the time I got his reply, I was pretty sure I was wafting eucalyptus, saffron and patchouli as well. You don’t know how crazy you start to feel when you smell things a galaxy away from what’s on an official note list. (I mean, eucalyptus, for heaven’s sake!)

The actual note list for Black Gemstone turns out to be:

Italian lemon, 3 types of cedar, frankincense (olibanum), myrrh, sweet myrrh (opoponax), patchouli, cistus labdanum amber, teak wood, birch wood, saffron, basil, a camphor accord (eucalyptus and rosemary), and tonka.

Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Black Gemstone opens on my skin with beautiful honey and deep, concentrated tart lemon over dark, smoky woods. There is a noticeable leather undertone and a strongly balsamic base, along with almost a black tea-like smokiness, all of which are lovely. The woods are dark and blackened, but not singed or burnt. Rather, they’re sweetened and musky, then drenched with an incredibly real lemon note.

Photo: bravetart.com

Photo: bravetart.com

The latter was the star of the opening act on my skin in quite a few tests that I did. It has the perfect balance of a tart, tangy Meyer’s lemon, a type of lemon that does not have strong acidity. This is no crisp, zesty, or chilled citric note. It’s also far from thin. Instead, there is a very heavy, sun-ripened juiciness that has been concentrated into something almost akin to unsugared lemon curd in its beautiful, tart depths. I cannot get over the lemon note in Black Gemstone, really I can’t. And I’m not one who ever gushes about citruses in fragrances.

I think one reason why there is such a full-bodied richness and fruited heaviness is that the lemon has been subtly amplified by patchouli. It’s the syrupy, fruited patchouli that I normally loathe so much, but it’s managed with incredible finesse here. Never gooey or overly sweet, and only occasionally like jammy, purple molasses, the patchouli here has been refined to add just a touch of concentrated richness to the lemon without ever detracting from the citric focus. The result would almost feel photo-realistic, except this lemon has been shot through with walloping amounts of black smoke in a way that I haven’t previously encountered.

black-smoke-image_WideThat smoke is definitely the second star of Black Gemstone’s opening on my skin. The frankincense is beautiful and perfectly balanced, never too muffled but also never really overpowering or aggressive. Strong tendrils seep out to weave and wrap themselves around you, leaving trails in the air behind you as you move. The smoke is sometimes sharp in its intensity, but, yet, oddly soft and delicate at the same time. There is no grey dustiness or chilliness here; this smoke is warm from the honey and lemons.

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

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

While the lemon and frankincense waltz on center stage, other elements quietly weave in and out. The note list says myrrh “tar,” and it does feel a little like a blackened accord, thanks to the copious amounts of a sticky balsamic resin that turns the smoke slightly sweet. There is also an occasional touch of opoponax or sweet myrrh that adds a nutty warmth, but it is very fleeting. Much more noticeable is the resinous base. The labdanum doesn’t smell ambered or golden at this point, but reflects instead a darkness that impacts all the other notes. At times, it has a subtle tobacco tonality, but, most of the time, it merely adds a feeling of something leathery and thick.

Photo: My own.

Photo: My own.

From afar, Black Gemstone is a beautiful mix of smoky lemony and incense, drizzled with honey and cocooned amidst musky woods, all atop a very balsamic, leathery base. Up close, the mix is absolutely addictive, constantly drawing me in with its richness. It mesmerizes the analytical part of my mind, often because the notes are fused so thoroughly together that it’s hard to know where one starts and the other ends.

In fact, it’s extremely hard to tease out many of the notes in Black Gemstone because it’s a beautifully blended fragrance. I found it almost impossible to know the source for many of the things that I detected. Not only do the individual elements flow seamlessly one to the next, but so many of them complement and share common characteristics. Does the honey derive from the labdanum or the sweet myrrh? Is the subtle tobacco-like tonality that dances at the edges a result of the patchouli, the labdanum, or something else? Same question for the leather undertone. I have no answers at all.

Mark Rothko, "Untitled (Violet, Black, Orange, Yellow on White and Red)," 1949.

Mark Rothko, “Untitled” 1949.

The perfume is so incredibly blended that it never actually opened the exact same way twice on my skin on any of the 3 occasions when I wore it. On my usual testing arm, Black Gemstone always opened with a bouquet dominated by incense and some fluctuating level of lemon curd, but that was the only consistent aspect because all the other notes varied. On one occasion, the main duo was heavily dusted by spicy saffron from the very start, then trailed by honey and a jammy, fruited, almost raspberry-ish patchouli over a soft base of warm amber.

Source: wallpoper.com

Source: wallpoper.com

Another time, Black Gemstone’s opening was drier, woodier, and much smokier. This time, the incense-lemon accord was cocooned in musky cedar with a touch of creamy beeswax from the sweet myrrh. The frankincense felt even stronger than usual, and the cedar was much more prominent than on any prior occasion. In contrast, the amber and the saffron were weaker, taking much longer to rise up from the base. The jammy patchouli was also less evident, but the woodier, red-brown, spicy patchouli flickered in and out from the start.

Source: publicdomainpictures.net

Source: publicdomainpictures.net

However, on my non-testing arm, it was a different story entirely. Black Gemstone opened with patchouli, saffron, camphor, lemon curd, musky woods, cedar, amber, tobacco tonalities and incense. The patchouli and saffron combination far outweighed the frankincense lemon curd. The perfume felt sweeter and richer, with more overt spices and a flickering touch of eucalyptus camphor right from the start. To my surprise, the patchouli felt simultaneously like the fruited, jammy kind and the more traditional, usual patchouli that I love with its red-brown spiciness, tobacco woodiness, and a touch of mentholated green. I can’t remember the last time I encountered a perfume where both versions of patchouli were present side-by-side at the same time. All I can say is that there is serious skill and technical wizardry involved in all of this.

In short, Black Gemstone is what I call a “prismatic” scent. It throws off different facets each time you wear it, the way light hitting a crystal chandelier will reflect different rays of colours. Prismatic scents can often seem linear in nature, because the seamless blending of notes reveals the different nuances very subtly. I believe Luca Turin calls these sorts of fragrances “circular” because the notes often come around hours later again in a full circle, and that happens here with Black Gemstone, as well. It makes it hard for me to give you the usual breakdown or analysis, especially once the perfume transitions into its second stage, because there is never one set story.

Still, I’ll try to describe what happens in one of the tests, the one with which I began this review. After 15 minutes, Black Gemstone starts to shift, particularly in terms of the wooded accord. It grows far stronger, and feels simultaneously dry but creamy. Initially, it doesn’t smell of cedar at all. It’s not peppered or dusty the way some cedar can be. Nor does it smell of pencil shavings.

Cedar. Photo: Brett Stewart, with permission. Source: http://instagram.com/bstewart23

Cedar. Photo: Brett Stewart, with permission. Source: http://instagram.com/bstewart23

Instead, the wood is turning beautifully creamy in a way that feels very unusual for cedar. Perhaps it is from the sweet myrrh, which can often reflect a creamy beeswax tonality. Or, perhaps it is the teak which is responsible? I must confess, I have no idea what teak smells like, and Fragrantica only says it is a “fantasy note” that is polished, light and “blond.” I don’t know what that means. All I can say is that the wood here in Black Gemstone feels infused with frankincense, myrrh, the concentrated lemon curd, and that mysterious creaminess. Even better, there is a distinct earthiness and muskiness to it, though it is very hard to describe or explain.

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

The whole thing feels heavily oiled, smoky, sweet, darkened, and smooth. The honey that was drizzled all over fades after 20 minutes as a distinct, individual note, though a definite sweetness remains. Everything about Black Gemstone feels concentrated and rich, evoking the brightest yellow shot through with endless smoke and blackness. It is a ball of brightness in a dark forest where all the trees have been oiled to a smooth, polished finish. None of it smells like furniture polish, by the way. It’s more like a photo-realistic, tart lemon concentrate, reduced down to a thick treacle, then shot through with incense and dry, earthy, musky woods.

Black Gemstone continues to shift and evolve. About 30 minutes in, the cedar finally begins to smell more like its usual self. The first hints of saffron appear, but this isn’t the usual sort of saffron either. It’s not fiery, dusty, buttered, or even particularly spicy at first. Instead, it’s more like a woody saffron that has been refined to add mere warmth. Sometimes, it feels more like a subset of the labdanum, or a figment of my imagination. Yet, in other tests, the spice was noticeable from the start and smelled more like actual saffron.

I’m struggling to explain all this, and I know I’m being somewhat unclear, but I find Black Gemstone extremely hard to describe. There are two reasons why. First, on my skin, many of the notes in the perfume are quite subtle at times. Second, they’ve been highly refined to the point that they don’t always smell the way that I’m used to. Monsieur Lucas told me in one of his emails that he worked extremely hard with the quantities, to add just “tiny doses” and ensure that the many elements were all calibrated against each other. Yet, he also used extremely expensive, high-quality ingredients whose normally bold nature has been smoothed out. The overall effect of both things is to create notes that are simultaneously very refined and quite elusive at times, leading you to wonder just what you’re sniffing. On other occasions, however, the exact same note was less mysterious, like the time that the eucalyptus was evident from the start instead of being such a tantalizing whisper in the background.

Roughly 90 minutes into Black Gemstone’s development, the second stage arrives and it is essentially the same each time, in all my versions. The details and small nuances may vary from one test to another, but the broad brushstrokes are generally consistent. For the most part, Black Gemstone transitions into a markedly different perfume from that which appeared at the start.

Photo by Daniel Fox. Source: petapixel.com . http://petapixel.com/2013/05/25/photographer-captures-abstract-photos-showing-lava-up-close/

Photo by Daniel Fox. Source: petapixel.com . http://petapixel.com/2013/05/25/photographer-captures-abstract-photos-showing-lava-up-close/

Now, Black Gemstone is not dominated by tart, concentrated lemon curd with incense, but by more golden elements led first by the amber and incense, then, hours later, by patchouli-amber. As the lemon slowly softens and fades away, the labdanum rises from the base, the incense turns up another notch, the myrrh becomes stronger, and the brown patchouli finally wakes up in the base. Saffron is sprinkled over everything, while little hints of beeswax dart about. The musky woods feel more amorphous than cedar-y, and seem creamier than ever. As a whole, Black Gemstone feels deeper, softer, and richer, though the sillage lessens a little. The visuals of yellow with black have changed to amber, gold, bronze, brown and cream.

Source: ebay.uk.

Source: ebay.uk.

Black Gemstone’s greatest characteristic for me at this point would be ambered velvet. If textures could be actual notes, then “velvet” should be part of the perfume’s pyramid, because it feels as much a part of Black Gemstone’s identity as the tendrils of black incense or the earthy, musky woods. There is a smooth richness to the scent that is wonderfully luxurious and feels almost like thickened, creamy brocade. Monsieur Lucas attributes a lot of it to the tonka, but I’m used to tonka that is either powdery, purely vanillic, creamy vanilla, or some combination of both. I’ve never experienced tonka as creamy velvet amber.

It all feels very elegant, polished, and chic, but there is also something soothing and serene about Black Gemstone. It’s as though you’re in a palatial room padded with thick velvet that drowns out all the frenetic noise around you. You lie on a bed made out of cedar and patchouli, on sheets of honeyed, fragrant beeswax, under a thick blanket of dark velvet shot through with ambered gold and saffron, as clouds of black incense circulate in the air all around you. It’s meditative, zen, and comforting all at once.

Source: wallpaperup.com

Source: wallpaperup.com

Black Gemstone continues to shift, but only by tiny, incremental degrees. The lemon fades away entirely at the 2.5 hour mark. An hour later, the cedar retreats to the background, and the woods turn more abstract. The tonka starts to stir more noticeably in the base, adding the faintest touch of powder to the scent and even more of the creaminess mentioned above. The myrrh and sweet myrrh work in tandem with the frankincense, adding more smoke to the scent, but the sharpness is offset by the surging tides of amber that roll over everything. Meanwhile, the brown-red patchouli grows stronger. I’m a complete “patch head,” so I’m over the moon at its prominence and spicy richness. Occasional touches of camphor and eucalyptus dart about, but the patchouli is primarily one more layer of golden warmth.

Source: wallpaperswa.com

Source: wallpaperswa.com

At the end of 9 hours, Black Gemstone is a blend of sweet, spicy, nutty, vaguely honeyed, woody notes, lightly flecked with incense in a thick cocoon of velvet amber. The primary bouquet is centered on patchouli-amber, trailed by the incense. The patchouli occasionally has a powerful streak of eucalyptus. Sometime, there is a subtle booziness as well. Saffron, tonka and an amorphous, warm woodiness dart about in the background, adding to the richness of the scent. There is no real powder, no vanilla, just layer upon layer of goldenness upon a deep base that feels like the darkest resins have turned to satin.

At the start of the 12th hour, Black Gemstone is a warm blur of patchouli amber. If you smell up close and really focus, you can just barely single out the tonka, saffron, cedar, and eucalyptus, but they’re increasingly minor and muted. In its final moments, Black Gemstone is merely a silky whisper of golden warmth with a vaguely woody character.

All in all, Black Gemstone consistently lasted well over 14 hours on my perfume consuming skin. With 2 decent spritzes from my atomizer, amounting to one very good spray from an actual bottle, the perfume lasted just under 15 hours. Really, about 14.75. The sillage was initially large, hovering about 4 inches above the skin. That number dropped after 90 minutes to about 2 inches above the skin, then one inch at the 3.75 hour mark. There, Black Gemstone remained for ages, turning into a skin scent only at the end of the 8th hour.

Source: hqwide.com

Source: hqwide.com

The numbers were even better with 3 big spritzes, amounting to 2 sprays from a proper bottle. The longevity was just short of 17 hours. Black Gemstone initially wafted about 5 inches off my skin, but it left a definite trail behind me. On one occasion, I had dinner with my parents about an hour after applying Black Gemstone, and was told that they could smell the fragrance in two rooms that I had been either standing in or walking through. In all cases, however, and regardless of amount, Black Gemstone’s sillage averages out to about 2 inches above the skin when you consider the 14 to 16 hours as a whole.

As a point of comparison, that’s pretty much how most Profumum Roma scents are on my skin as well. In fact, Black Gemstone actually feels a lot like a Profumum scent with its heavy, concentrated nature and great longevity. Both brands put out fragrances that are extraits or pure parfums in concentration, so it’s not really a surprise. In the case of Black Gemstone, it has 24% concentration, just like its other siblings in the SHL 777 line.

On a personal level, I have to say that this has been one of the most difficult reviews I’ve written in a while. Despite the hundreds of words that I’ve written, I can’t shake the feeling that I haven’t actually described the perfume at all. I can summarize it up in a nutshell as a lemon-incense fragrance with dry woods that later turns into incense-patchouli-amber, but that doesn’t seem to convey the full extent of Black Gemstone’s complexity on my skin or its feel. Emphasizing the smoky incense and woodiness would be misleading, just as it would be if I focused on the golden warmth which later appears.

George Seurat, "The Seine and la Grande Jatte - Springtime 1888, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium. Source: Wikipedia.

George Seurat, “The Seine and la Grande Jatte” – Springtime 1888, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium. Source: Wikipedia.

All of these things are just one piece of the puzzle, a puzzle that seems extremely simple on the outside. In fact, some of you may sniff Black Gemstone and wonder what on earth I’m talking about, because the details are often like tiny brushstrokes. For me, Black Gemstone feels like one of the paintings from the famous Pointillist painter, George Seurat, where you have to look extremely close in order to see that the seemingly simple image is actually created from thousands of tiny dots.

In the same way that my words feel inadequate, so is the imagery. I generally try to use photos as a symbolic, visual representations, and, yet, none of them seem to really capture the full picture. They certainly don’t convey some of the impressions in my head for how the perfume feels to me, or the men and women who represent its different facets. So, I’m giving in to frustration and going to subject you to a visual display that may explain some of it.

Symbolically, Black Gemstone sometimes translates in my head from this:

Drottningholm Palace, Sweden. Photo: CubeFarmEscape at http://cubefarmescape.com/2011/06/pick-a-palace-or-two/

Drottningholm Palace, Sweden. Photo: CubeFarmEscape at http://cubefarmescape.com/2011/06/pick-a-palace-or-two/

to this:

Photo: Lorraine Eaton. Source: hamptonroads.com

Photo: Lorraine Eaton. Source: hamptonroads.com

But also this:

Photo: Mert & Marcus from their video for Madonna, "Girl gone wild." Source: kontraplan.com

Photo: Mert & Marcus from their video for Madonna, “Girl gone wild.” Source: kontraplan.com

to this:

Source: imgfave.com. Artist or creator unknown.

Source: imgfave.com. Artist or creator unknown.

At the same time, however, Black Gemstone can also feel like this:

Source: wallpaperup.com

Source: wallpaperup.com

leading to this:

Source: darkroom.baltimoresun.com

Source: darkroom.baltimoresun.com

before ending up as this:

Photo: Hawkea. Source: hawkea.blogspot.com

Photo: Hawkea. Source: hawkea.blogspot.com

And all of this is worn by him:

Model David Gandy via fashionbeans.com

Model David Gandy via fashionbeans.com

and her:

Bianca Balti for Dolce & Gabbana. Source: stylesnooperdan

Bianca Balti for Dolce & Gabbana. Source: stylesnooperdan

At least, that is how Black Gemstone appears in my head. I wish I could tell you how others see it, but I could not find any comparative reviews to show you. On Fragrantica, Black Gemstone’s entry page has no comments at this time. In fact, until yesterday, the perfume was not widely available outside of Harrods and Paris’ Printemps. Germany’s First in Fragrance just received Black Gemstone, along with the new 2014 releases. As noted at the start of this post, the complete SHL 777 line will be released in the U.S. at the start of May.

In Europe, Black Gemstone’s retail price is €235 for a 50 ml bottle of pure parfum. I don’t have the official American pricing rate, but, at today’s rate of exchange, that comes to roughly $325. However, I know from prior experiences with European exclusives that the eventual U.S. price is always much less than the conversion amount. So, I estimate the perfume will probably be in the $290 range, though that is purely a personal guess.

For me, Black Gemstone is worth every penny, and it is high on my wish list right next to the magnificent O Hira, the Incredible Hulk of ambers. The latter is far too expensive to be anything more than a dream for me, but Black Gemstone will be mine. The quality, luxuriousness, projection, and sillage are all there, but more importantly, the perfume moves me. As all these photos should demonstrate, it tells me lots of very different stories throughout its long tenure. It took me places, was intellectually interesting, and had multi-layered complexity that showed great technical skill by the perfumer. So much complexity, in fact, that Black Gemstone was often several perfumes in one on my skin.

Even within the same journey, I found Black Gemstone to be contemplative and meditative, but also darkly sultry and sexy, before ending up as comforting, relaxing warmth. I found all of it addictive, from start to finish, and compulsively sniffable. Is it the most objectively unique and original fragrance? No, because at the end of the day, it is still an incense-woody-amber scent. (In contrast, SHL 777’s new Qom Chilom is definitely unique with its notes of sour Morello cherries, black latex, smoke, almonds, oud, heliotrope, and more.) Still, Black Gemstone feels more approachable to me, and I love how polished it feels. Amber orientals aren’t a category that I would usually classify as “chic,” but Black Gemstone is definitely chic to me.

In short, if you’re looking for a very complex but elegant oriental fragrance, I strongly recommend that you give Black Gemstone a sniff. It’s a black beauty with a rich golden heart.

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

DETAILS:
Cost & Availability: Black Gemstone is an Extrait or pure parfum that is only available in a 50 ml bottle and costs €235. The 777 line will be at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC by the end of April. [Update 5/2/14 — Osswald has received the entire 777 line. It sells Black Gemstone for $309.] Outside the U.S.: Currently, the SHL 777 website is under construction, and doesn’t have an e-store. The best online resource is First in Fragrance which just received the complete SHL 777 line, including the new 2014 releases. It offers a sample of Black Gemstone for €14. In London, you can find the entire collection at Harrod’s Black Room, while in Paris, they are exclusive to Printemps under the name 777. Zurich’s Osswald also carries the line, but I don’t think they have an e-store any more. The Swiss perfumery, Theodora, also has SHL 777, but no e-store. In Cannes, France, the store Taizo is said to carry the 777 line, but I didn’t see the perfumes on their website the last time I checked. In the Middle East, Souq.com has about 6 of the earlier fragrances which it sells for AED 1,500. In the UAE, the SHL 777 line is available at Harvey Nichols and at Bloomingdales in the Dubai Mall. In Russia, SHL 777 is sold at Lenoma. Ukraine’s Sana Hunt Luxury store also carries the line, but they don’t have an e-store. Samples: None of the U.S. sample sites currently carry this fragrance, so Luckyscent and Osswald NYC will be your best option once the SHL 777 line is released. Osswald has changed its Sample Program such that individual pricing now depends on the cost of the particular perfume in question. They range from $3 a vial, up to $9 a vial for fragrances that cost over $300. The program is limited to U.S. customers and has free shipping, but there is also a 3-sample minimum, I believe. If you have questions, you can call Osswald at (212) 625-3111 to enquire further.

By Kilian Imperial Tea

A celebration of tea lies at the heart of Kilian Hennessy’s latest fragrance, Imperial Tea. To be specific, jasmine tea, right down to its delicate greenness and its “moment of purity.”

Source: Fragrantica

Source: Fragrantica

Imperial Tea is an eau de parfum created by Calice Becker, which the Kilian website describes quite simply:

A Moment of Purity

IMPERIAL TEA is the most accurate possible reproduction of the note that you can inhale from a freshly brewed cup of tea. The unique scent of Jasmin tea is so well-known that it is difficult to distinguish between the green tea notes and the delicate Jasmin bud notes. Kilian wanted to fully translate the exquisite and delicate sensation of refreshment that one experiences with this timeless beverage.

As with Sacred Wood, its new sibling in the Asian Tales collection, there is a story behind the scent. Luckyscent offers the details:

Calice Becker, who authored most of the By Kilian line-up, is a self-confessed tea fanatic. Unconvinced by tea notes in fine fragrance, she set out to compose her own. The result is an Oh-my-God-this-is-it!, jaw-droppingly realistic rendition of the steam rising from a fresh cup of the finest jasmine tea. Kilian Hennessy found it so perfect for his Asian Tales collection that he included the blend as is, an unusual step since he is usually the one who provides perfumers with a storyline.

[Notes:] Jasmine sambac, bergamot, guaiac, maté, violet note.

Source: forwallpaper.com

Source: forwallpaper.com

Imperial Tea opens on my skin as a potent jasmine bomb infused with green tea, Lapsang Souchong black tea, and a strong dash of very crisp, fresh bergamot. It smells as though a ton of jasmine sambac was poured into two kinds of tea and then brewed. The black tea is the nicest part, but it’s far from being a dominant element on my skin. Not even a secondary one, in fact. A few seconds later, a very clean, white musk appears which is quite strong and sharp. It adds a certain crispness to the jasmine, along with a very definite cleanness. Unfortunately, it’s also strong enough to give me a headache whenever I smell Imperial Tea up close for too long. A tiny note of violet temporarily lurks in the background, fully bulldozed over by the jasmine.

Jasmine tea balls in bloom. Source: aliexpress.com

Jasmine tea balls in bloom. Source: aliexpress.com

Imperial Tea is very intense in its opening moments but also extremely airy, thin in feel, and gauzy. 2 small spritzes from my decant gave me 3 inches in projection, though the numbers began to drop after 30 minutes and the perfume lay just an inch above my skin by the end of the first hour.

It takes roughly the same amount of time (90 minutes) for Imperial Tea to devolve. The bergamot retreats to the edges, the jasmine loses its distinct shape and form, and Imperial Tea turns into a nebulous blur of clean, sweet jasmine with tea tonalities and sharp white musk. It’s totally characterless, bland, and indeterminate, except for the white musk which has the most oomph out of the whole thing. The whole thing is very well-blended, but also so hazy on my skin that it’s hard to pick out even the most dominant elements. Sometimes, the jasmine seems in command, occasionally it is the tea. The latter now smells primarily of green leaves, thanks to the maté, and has lost a good portion of its Lapsang Souchong black tonalities.

Source: bioloskiblog.wordpress.com

Source: bioloskiblog.wordpress.com

At end of the second hour, Imperial Tea is nothing more than simple jasmine tea on my skin with clean musk. The jasmine’s potency and sweetness have vanished, and that, in turn, makes Imperial Tea feel positively translucent in its lightness. The white musk continues to be a nuisance, but the bergamot has completely vanished. The black tea sits weakly on the sidelines, largely gagged and muted in the face of the general jasmine greenness. And that’s really about it in terms of substantial development for the next few hours. The perfume turns into a skin scent 2.25 hours into its evolution. An hour later, Imperial Tea becomes increasingly hard to detect.

Source: polychemcoatings.com

Source: polychemcoatings.com

By the middle of the 5th hour, the jasmine starts to fade away, as does the white musk, and I’m left with green tea. The maté doesn’t even have its usual herbal aromas or strong character. All that’s left is green tea infused with some vague, amorphous floralacy and an occasional touch of dryness. I suppose the latter stems indirectly from the guaiac wood, but no real woodiness ever shows up on my skin. We’ve gone from a clean jasmine bomb with varied tea notes, sharp musk, and bergamot; to hazy jasmine with green tea and musk, to simple green tea blandness. That is the sum total of Imperial Tea’s excitement on my skin. To my relief, the perfume packs up its bags entirely after 7 hours, and vanishes.

Imperial Tea is a simple, relatively pleasant, wearable fragrance. And I would certainly reach for it gratefully if I were ever on a deserted island with only salt water as an alternative. That’s about all I have to say about the perfume which inspires no emotion in me at all. Not even disdain. Imperial Tea has so little personality after the jasmine bomb of its opening moments that, to all effects and purposes, it felt invisible to me. I can’t even summon up the energy or interest to dislike it. It was simply… there.

Source: made-in-china.com

Source: made-in-china.com

At best, I’ll say that the jasmine intensity of the opening hour was pleasant, and the muted black tea was very nice. That’s about as complimentary as I can be, especially as the white musk feels wholly unnecessary. I had quite a bit of tea in China — including some lovely jasmine ones where flower balls bloomed in hot water — but not a single one was ever accompanied with sharp, white, clean musk. So, I can’t agree with Mr. Hennessy’s claim that Imperial Tea is “the most accurate possible reproduction of the note that you can inhale from a freshly brewed cup of tea.” Not unless the Chinese have suddenly started injecting their brews with clean synthetics.

Jasmine Tea. Source: tea-terra.ru

Jasmine Tea. Source: tea-terra.ru

I’m not a tea drinker, so perhaps my complete boredom stems from that fact. Maybe one has to adore both tea and jasmine tea, in specific, to get the appeal. Robin at Now Smell This certainly loves it, seems to be a bit of an expert on the subject, and drinks the beverage every day. She generally liked Kilian’s Imperial Tea, though she found it too clean when taken as a whole. For her, the perfume’s opening was “close to perfection,” ruined only by the eventual dominance of the white musk which almost verged on dryer fabric sheets. Her review reads, in part, as follows:

The Imperial Tea fragrance …[is] darned close to perfection. Bright and intensely fresh at first, it settles into a beautiful blend of green tea and jasmine. The jasmine is close to that in Kilian’s Love and Tears, rendered here just a tad cleaner, so that it has a satisfying depth but is neither rich nor indolic, and again as in Love and Tears, it’s clearly blended with other floral notes. The tea note verges on photorealistic — it’s not quite as tangy or aromatic2 as real jasmine tea leaves, but it’s reasonably close to what was promised, especially in the early stages: “the note that you inhale from a freshly brewed cup of tea”.3 The base is a clean, clean, clean blend of pale white musk + light wood notes. Imperial Tea feels summery, and slightly less feminine than Love and Tears.

Verdict: Imperial Tea is tantalizingly close, but in the end, no cigar. To my (admittedly finicky) nose, it is too synthetically fresh in the top notes (the opening blast is uncomfortably close to an air freshening product) and too clean in the dry down (not quite dryer sheet, but close). It’s pretty and I enjoyed wearing it, but the more I wore it, the more the clean ‘n fresh aura at both ends of the scent’s development bothered me, especially in the far dry down, when the jasmine and tea begin to fade. If they’d toned down the clean a notch, though, it would be a must buy, and it’s a shame Kilian never does flankers — I’d buy the unclean version of Imperial Tea in a heartbeat.

For another tea drinker, Neil of The Black Narcissus, Imperial Tea was a stunning, spectacular, and very sensual creation. In fact, his review is entitled “Sex Bomb in China.” He found the boldness of the opening to be positively “carnal” and the jasmine to be “hypnotically sexual.” He thought it was “paired beautifully with an equally no-nonsense fresh tea leaf accord, well tempered, the tea calming down those fierce jasmine blooms, the jasmine bolstering the tea[.]”

Jasmine Sambac. Source: flowallp.com

Jasmine Sambac. Source: flowallp.com

For similar reasons, The Smelly Vagabond took one sniff of Imperial Tea and practically “swooned,” right there and then on the floor of Harvey Nichols. He did so despite disliking prior scents from the Asian Tales Collection, and having some issues as an Asian when faced with “reductionistic views” of the region by Westerners making “Asian-inspired perfumes.” Yet, for all that, Imperial Tea blew him away:

Source: womanfaq.ru

Source: womanfaq.ru

The moment I sprayed it on, I was greeted with a bitter, smoky oolong tea infused with sweet, fragrant jasmine flowers and rounded off with a smooth and creamy milk. YES! I dare say I swooned and went into convulsions of pleasure there on the marbled floors of Harvey Nichols. Paying homage to historical and cultural heritage? Check. Creating the perfect blend of tea and flower? Check. Not Lipton tea? Check. Originality? Check check check check check. It’s been such a long time since any fragrance has tickled my cerebral fancy whilst moving me emotionally AND satisfying my ‘wearability-on-a-long-term-basis’ criterion. Imperial Tea does all that and then more, and thankfully never veers in the direction of the sticky, syrupy, sickly sweet jasmine marshmallow concoction that is also known as Love by the very same brand.

There isn’t much development in Imperial Tea, aside from a fading of the initial bitterness of the tea and sweetness of the jasmine, a dialing down of the volume. You’ve inhaled the glorious aroma of your tea and you’ve reveled in the complex sensations as you tasted it and drank it. And now you’re left with the aftertaste of those beautiful moments, and you are still, quiet and meditative. Perfect.

It must be a tea drinker’s thing. I suppose that big bang opening in the first hour justifies all the rest, even the sharp white musk and the speedy descent into blandness. More likely, I’m simply missing something from start to finish.

So, I suppose if you really love tea, and if you love jasmine tea in specific, you should go give Imperial Tea a sniff. I’ll be sitting in a café having a double expresso, and wearing a jasmine fragrance with a very different personality.

DETAILS:
Cost & Availability: Imperial Tea is an eau de parfum that costs $245, £177, or €185 for a 1.7oz/50 ml bottle that comes in a black, wooden box. A cheaper “refill” option is available for $145, along with a travel set of 4 x 0.25 minis for $155. In the U.S.: you can purchase Imperial Tea in any of the 3 options from Luckyscent, the Kilian website, and department stores like Bergdorf Goodman or Saks. Outside the U.S.: you can purchase Sacred Wood from the International Kilian website for €185 for the proper bottle, €80 for the refill, €105 for the 4 travel sprays, or €65 for a single travel decant in a silver container. In the U.K., you can find it at Harvey Nichols in the regular bottle and the refill option for £177 or £70, respectively. In Paris, the Kilian line is carried at Printemps. In the UAE, you can find Sacred Wood at the Paris Gallery. Elsewhere, you can find the Kilian line at Harvey Nichols stores around the world, from Dubai to Hong Kong. As for other locations, By Kilian’s Facebook page lists the following retailers and/or locations: “HARVEY NICHOLS (UK, Honk Kong, UAE, Saudi Arabia, Koweit, Turkey), Le BON MARCHE (France), TSUM (Russia), ARTICOLI (Russia) and HOLT RENFREW (Canada).” Samples: Surrender to Chance sells Imperial Tea starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.

By Kilian Sacred Wood

The joys of Mysore sandalwood are ostensibly and supposedly replicated in Sacred Wood, the latest fragrance from By Kilian. Not in my opinion. Not even remotely.

Source: lamasatonline.net

Source: lamasatonline.net

Sacred Wood was created by Calice Becker, and I think the story behind its creation is essential to understanding the limitations of the scent. As Luckyscent explains, Calice Becker originally intended the scent to be nothing more than a base for other fragrances. Kilian Hennessy loved it so much that he decided it should be a solo scent, all by itself, and with nothing else added. Sacred Wood is therefore meant to be a simple soliflore designed to recreate the smell of Mysore sandalwood via other means. To quote from Luckyscent:

No longer available to perfumers since it was over-harvested, Mysore sandalwood (Santalum album) is one of the ingredients they miss the most. Calice Becker had long been working on a blend that would reproduce its complexity: the warm, rosy, smoky, creamy, spicy facets that make the legendary wood such an irreplaceable material.

Though originally intended as a base, the composition worked so beautifully on its own, and within the theme of the collection, that Kilian Hennessy snapped it up for the last episode of his Asian Tales. Sacred Wood conjures the mystical scent with amazing accuracy: like its model, it is so rich and facetted it is a fragrance in and of itself. Its silky, sensuous scent is amazingly long-lasting, though never overwhelming. It is the answer to the prayers of all sandalwood lovers.

Personally, I think Luckyscent is completely delusional if they think Sacred Wood conjures up the mystical beauty of Mysore sandalwood with any accuracy. Regardless, they provide the following list of notes for the scent:

Steaming milk accord, sandalwood, carrot, cumin, elemi, cedar wood.

Source: graphicsbeam.com

Source: graphicsbeam.com

Sacred Wood opens on my skin with green Australian sandalwood and sandalwood synthetics. The wood is green — very green — with grassiness and a miniscule touch of medicinal, herbal sourness underneath. It’s infused with the steamed milk accord which smells very authentic. Raw carrots and a touch of dry cedar lurk at the edges.

There is a distinct whiff of synthetics underlying the scent. Elena Vosnaki of The Perfume Shrine recently had a wonderful article on Fragrantica called “Synthetic Pathways to Sandalwood Notes,” regarding the various sandalwood substitutes on the market. I encourage you to read the piece in full if you’re interested, but I’ll quote some relevant sections here:

Several synthetics rose to the task of replicating [Mysore], often at a quite elevated cost despite their man-made aspect, and many times entering into venerable “modern classics.”

Nowadays many of those synthetics are used in combination with or attendance of the harvests of Mysore-identical sandalwood trees being farmed on Australian soil. These are trees of the India native species and not of the different, native Australian sandalwood (Santalum spicatum, such as the one used in Le Labo’s Santal 33 which is a different species with a different, sharper and lightly smoky scent profile, nor of the New Caledonia sandalwood variety (steadily gaining in popularity). […][¶]

Among synthetic sandalwood notes, Polysantol, a former Firmenich trademark, is quite popular thanks to its intense diffusion and realistic replication. Otherwise known as santol pentenol due to its structure, it enters many a fragrance composition thanks to its part herbal, part lived-in warmth. Beta santalol or technically (-)-(1’S,2’R,4’R)-(Z)-beta-santalol is also a nature identical typical sandalwood note. […][¶]

Ebanol [(1S,2’S,3’R)-Ebanol], a Givaudan trademark, is noted for its potency. Symrise proposes its Fleursandol which has a very strong, animalic-laced sandalwood note with floral elements surfacing. […][¶]

Ebanol via Givaudan

Ebanol via Givaudan

Javanol via Givaudan.

Javanol via Givaudan.

JavanolEbanolSandelaSantaliff (IFF santal mysore core), and Santalore are extremely powerful and true to sandalwood synthetics. In fact this might explain the curious effect one experiences when handling them: it was enough to smell a 10% dilution to anesthetize my nose for several hours later, a state I was taken out of by squeezing fresh lemon juice. A perfumer must be cautious and restrained when using them in order not to end up making the wearer of the finished fragrance tired and anosmic to them. Extreme dilution (even lower than 0.5%) is recommended, as alongside Iso-E Super (woody cedar) and methyl ionone (violets) those notes cause rapid nose fatigue.

At least one of those synthetics is present in Sacred Wood, and noticeable in varying degrees from the perfume’s very start to its dying moments on my skin. And no, it does not authentically recreate the smell of Mysore sandalwood. There is a comment to the Fragrantica article where “Eeyore III” quotes Luca Turin on why chemical synthetics fail to properly reproduce the scent of actual Mysore wood:

The reason synthetics don’t smell (that much) like sandalwood has been explained, chemically, by Luca Turin: “(Z)-(-)-beta-santalol, the molecule present to about 25 per cent in natural sandalwood oil and largely responsible for its gorgeous smell, is, synthetically speaking, a real back-breaker. The best total synthesis to date is an eleven-step affair, and any research chemist who tried to talk his production colleagues into making this would be quickly shouted down.“– L. Turin,The Secret of Scent p.77.

What I smell in Sacred Wood is green — all the way through. And greenness is not what I associate with Mysore sandalwood. It is redness. Dark, rich, red spiciness, with slightly smoky creaminess. I grew up in a time when Mysore was in almost every Oriental perfume, while shops sold Mysore beads, Mysore boxes, Mysore sculptures, and everything else in sight. I know what Mysore smells and looks like. And not one iota of that smell is evident in Sacred Wood.

Mysore sandalwood. Source: Fragrantica

Mysore sandalwood. Source: Fragrantica

Before you mention the new Australian plantation with its Indian Mysore trees, let me say that I’ve smelled that, too. I was sent a small bottle of the oil by the company as part of what was meant to be a coordinated multi-blog review or Basenotes article to praise its merits. I could not do so, and wrote bluntly that it did not smell at all like Mysore to me, so my comment was not used.

My bottle of the Australian plantation oil. Photo: my own.

My bottle of the Australian plantation oil. Photo: my own.

To me, that Australian plantation wood was green. Green, green, green with sour buttermilk and grassy undertones, along with an occasional medicinal touch. The trees may ostensibly be Mysore, but they’re incredibly young. I think it’s going to take another 60 years, at a minimum, for them to age enough to take on a true Mysore aroma. They are not there yet, not even remotely. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sacred Wood contains some oil from that lone Australian plantation, because I have mentioned the word “green,” yet?

I will admit with all honesty that I’m the wrong person to be writing a review of Sacred Wood. I am a die-hard Mysore sandalwood snob, and I cannot stand the Australian varieties — whether the Santalum album from that plantation, or the Australian Santalum spicatum cousin. I dislike both green sandalwood, and the generic beigeness of the Australian variety. I don’t think the latter even deserves the name “sandalwood” at all.

Source: blinds-wallpaper.net

Source: blinds-wallpaper.net

In fact, I sometimes think that all perfumers should stop using the word entirely and substitute “beige woods” unless they are spending a king’s ransom on the actual stuff. Neela Vermeire has done so for her perfumes, with the spectacular Trayee having the greatest amount, and so has Laurent Mazzone for LM ParfumsHard Leather. Chanel‘s beautiful Bois des Iles supposedly has no sandalwood in it at all, but Jacques Polges has successfully recreated the smell through some miracle, so he gets a total pass from me and much worship for his wizardry. All the rest of the perfume houses should bloody well call the wood something else entirely. Yes, it is that much of a sore point for me.

Sacred Wood did not put me in a good mood, as you may have noticed. I tried to like it, I really did. I simply couldn’t get past the greenness, or the synthetic twang in the base. At one point, I told myself to approach it like a non-sandalwood fragrance, and to see the good in Sacred Wood. So, the rest of this review will be me trying my best, lying to myself, and pretending to be someone else.

Source: seriouseats.com

Source: seriouseats.com

Sacred Wood’s opening is interesting, I suppose. The steamed milk accord is truly authentic in feel, though it occasionally flashes as “sour milk” on my skin, in a way that replicates badly boiled milk a little too closely for my liking. The cold carrots remind me a little of how iris can be; I’m not crazy about that aspect, either. The cumin doesn’t appear in a distinct way at all, and the elemi initially doesn’t translate either as something lemony or as the wood’s more common smoky, dry, peppered features.

For the most part, Sacred Wood’s opening on my skin is merely a blend of boiled milk, green Australian wood, and cold carrots with a synthetic twinge. It’s a very strong bouquet initially, but thin in body, light in weight, and sheer. It lacks oomph or much character, if you ask me, and I’m saying that in my pretend role as someone who supposedly doesn’t know or care about Mysore sandalwood.

Sacred Wood changes at the end of the first hour. The elemi’s smoky, peppered sides rise to the surface, the perfume turns smokier, the milky accord starts to fade away, and the carrots vanish. The sour undertone to the fragrance remains, though it waxes and wanes in its visibility over the next few hours. Oddly, the sweetness and spiciness of the “sandalwood” also vary. Sometimes, the wood seems to have turned sweet and spicy, to go with that new touch of smokiness. The majority of the time, however, it’s either sour, the grassiness reappears, or the perfume just continues on its simple trajectory of green “sandalwood” with elemi smoke.

Source: Micks Images. http://www.micksimages.com/Smoke-II(2399572).htm

Source: Micks Images. http://www.micksimages.com/Smoke-II(2399572).htm

One thing to be said for Sacred Wood is that its greenness turns creamy. Roughly 2.5 hours into the perfume’s development, it lies just an inch above the skin as a very creamy, smooth, slightly smoky sandalwood and elemi fragrance. The synthetics retreat fully to the sidelines, and… well, that’s about it. For hours. And hours. Creamy green woods with elemi. At the end of the 7th hour, the elemi starts to fade away, and the first touch of the sandalwood synthetics returns. By the start of the 9th hour, Sacred Wood is green santal with synthetics. And it remains that way until it finally dies away 12.75 hours from the start.

Source: polychemcoatings.com

Source: polychemcoatings.com

I was bored out of my mind, and spent a good deal of that time fantasizing about anything else I could put on my skin. Even as someone pretending not to have issues with Australian “sandalwood,” Sacred Wood doesn’t come across as anything particularly interesting. It is a bloody one-note trajectory that starts as boiled milk green sandalwood, turns into lightly smoked green sandalwood, and then ends as green-beige sandalwood. I always say that there is nothing wrong with linearity if you like the scent in question, but I obviously don’t. And, come on, this is a simple base accord that Kilian Hennessey would like to charge you $245 for the supposed privilege of wearing. I realise there are cheaper refill or travel options, but no thanks. To any of it.

Yes, I’m being peevish, and yes, perhaps that’s unfair. But, dammit, I’ve been a die-hard Mysore sandalwood lover for over 30 years, and it’s really hard to wrap my head around a scent like this one. It’s not even trying to fix the problem or to compensate for the limitations by adding more elements to create an end result that is closer to the real thing. That’s the real kicker for me. Plenty of perfumers do that, like Serge Lutens in some of his santal creations where additional spices or accords are brought in to bridge the gap between the Australian wood and the synthetics. Not here. It’s a simple, occasionally creamy, green wood base that somehow Kilian Hennessy thinks is sufficient all by itself. It’s not. And I feel the same way about it as I do when L’Oreal tries to pass off the disgusting modern “Opium” as the real thing. It’s adding insult to injury.

At least one blogger out there seems to understand. Robin at Now Smell This says in her review of Sacred Wood, “if you’re an old-school sandalwood fiend looking for a fix, it might not hit the same spot.” No, it bloody well doesn’t. Parsing her review carefully, and noticing her statements in the comment section, I suspect she feels the same way as I do about Sacred Wood, but she’s simply tactful and diplomatic in a way that I can’t be. She writes:

Sacred Wood opens on citrus-y, spicy wood; it’s not a dead ringer for my long-time love, Diptyque Tam Dao, but it reminded me of Tam Dao right away: the opening has that same sheer but wood-focused feeling, at the other end of the spectrum from the more ornately decorated sandalwood trio from Serge Lutens (Santal Blanc, Santal de Mysore and Santal Majuscule). As the citrus burns off, Sacred Wood moves to the middle: it gets spicier and more milky-creamy, but at the same time, the woods get softer and more indistinct.

It’s closest to the ‘olfactory impression of an authentic Sandalwood from Mysore’ in the middle stages. Eventually, it’s a mild woodsy blend, reasonably sandalwood-y but without the richness of old-school sandalwood fragrances. If you’ve never smelled an old-school sandalwood fragrance, that won’t matter to you, but if you have one on hand, you’ll notice how comparatively thin the base of Sacred Wood is. I wore Sacred Wood next to a drop of Santal Blanc and a drop of Chanel Bois des Iles extrait,2 and the Sacred Wood, smells, well, modern. Obviously, you may or may not prefer it that way. […][¶]

Verdict: I was expecting a sandalwood-bomb, and Sacred Wood isn’t exactly that. It’s a lovely quiet woods scent, though, very wearable, and not at all dull[.]

We shall have to agree to disagree on everything, but how Sacred Wood doesn’t measure up to actual “old-school sandalwood fragrances,” and how “thin” its base is in comparison. I suppose her feelings can be understood, given how much better her experience and version of Sacred Wood was to mine. Green-beige woods and synthetic sandalwood in a dead flat-line are most certainly dull, in my opinion.

The best thing that can be said for Sacred Wood is that it’s smooth and I suppose it’s wearable, especially if you have never experienced Mysore sandalwood. That may be why it has some very enthusiastic reviews on Fragrantica. You can read them if you’re interested. I’m having great difficulty in not writing, “Meh” to everything, or banging my head against a wall. So, it’s probably best that I end this here and now. I shall seek comfort in the arms of Crabtree & Evelyn‘s vintage, discontinued Extrait de Mysore Sandalwood, and mourn.

DETAILS:
Cost & Availability: Sacred Wood is an eau de parfum that costs $245, £177, or €185 for a 1.7oz/50 ml bottle that comes in a black, wooden box. A cheaper “refill” option is available for $145, along with a travel set of 4 x 0.25 minis for $155. In the U.S.: you can purchase Sacred Wood in any of the 3 options from Luckyscent, the Kilian website, and department stores like Bergdorf Goodman or Saks. Outside the U.S.: you can purchase Sacred Wood from the International Kilian website for €185 for the proper bottle, €80 for the refill, €105 for the 4 travel sprays, or €65 for a single travel decant in a silver container. In the U.K., you can find it at Harvey Nichols in the regular bottle and the refill option for £177 or £70, respectively. In Paris, the Kilian line is carried at Printemps. In the UAE, you can find Sacred Wood at the Paris Gallery. Elsewhere, you can find the Kilian line at Harvey Nichols stores around the world, from Dubai to Hong Kong. As for other locations, By Kilian’s Facebook page lists the following retailers and/or locations: “HARVEY NICHOLS (UK, Honk Kong, UAE, Saudi Arabia, Koweit, Turkey), Le BON MARCHE (France), TSUM (Russia), ARTICOLI (Russia) and HOLT RENFREW (Canada).” Samples: Surrender to Chance sells Sacred Wood starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.