Serge Lutens Santal de Mysore

Posted on September 12, 2013 by Kafkaesque

A taste of India. It’s hard not to talk about food when discussing Santal de Mysore, Serge Lutens‘ dark, gourmand tribute to that rare, precious Indian wood. Once abundant, Mysore sandalwood is so depleted and protected that it might as well be extinct for everyone but perfumers with the deepest pockets. In the case of Santal de Mysore, I think some clever olfactory alternatives have been used to recreate the dark, deep, spicy, smoky smell of Mysore sandalwood in a fragrance that is as much about food as it is about the precious wood.

The special, limited, and cheaper, 50 ml anniversary issue.

Santal de Mysore is an eau de parfum that was created with Lutens’ favorite perfumer, Christopher Sheldrake. It was released either in 1991 or 1997, depending on what you read, and the only reason that is significant is because a special anniversary 50 ml bottle seems to have been issued at some point in time. The bottle is significantly cheaper than Santal de Mysore’s usual bell jar form, and is even discounted further on a few online retail sites. Normally, however, Santal de Mysore is considered one of Serge Lutens’ non-export Paris Exclusives that is only available at his Paris headquarters or at Barney’s in New York.

The Bell Jar form available from Serge Lutens.

On his website, Lutens gives a brief description of the fragrance that hints at its notes and makes explicit its extremely spiced nature:

What incredible sandalwood!

This scent takes spices to the limit – they nearly cry out against the sandalwood base. One perceives saffron and, strangely enough, wild carrot.
Sweetness paves the way for a blast of heat!

The perfume notes are, as always, kept secret but the list — as compiled from Luckyscent, Fragrantica, Barney’s, and the Lutens statement — seem to include:

Mysore sandalwood, cumin, spices, styrax balsam, caramelized Siamese benzoin, saffron, cinnamon, rosewood, and wild carrot.

Baghali Polo. Source: Cooking Minette.

Santal de Mysore opens on my skin with a burst of spices. There is light curry, followed by leathery burnt styrax resin with a charred caramel aroma, saffron, a slightly herbal note that smells exactly like buttered dill, and a touch of sweetened carrots. I’m actually a little surprised by how the much-maligned curry note, noticeable as it is, feels so light. Perhaps a better description is to say that it doesn’t smell of the stale, cumin, body odor that I had so feared, or of really potent, yellow curry. Instead, for me, the strongest aroma is actually hot buttered dill and, specifically, a dill pilau or rice dish in Persian cuisine called Baghali Polo (or sometimes, Sabzi Polo). (There is a recipe for Baghali Polo with lovely photos at Cooking Minette.) Santal de Mysore is more than 75% Baghali Polo on my skin, right down to the little blob of melted saffron butter that some chefs put on top of mound. I really couldn’t believe it, but there is absolutely no doubt at all in my mind of the similarities.

Styrax resin via themysticcorner.com

There is a spicy wood note underlying it all, but it doesn’t smell like Mysore sandalwood to me. I’ve stopped hiding the fact that I’m a complete sandalwood snob, but that has nothing to do with it in this case. Santal de Mysore doesn’t smell of sandalwood in its opening minutes primarily because the curry, herbal, spiced accords overwhelm everything else in their path. This is a primarily a food fragrance on my skin, not a woody one.

Five minutes in, the styrax’s burnt, blackened aroma becomes less harsh, and the resin takes on a slightly tamer aspect. Now, it merely smells very dark, chewy, and balsamic, with sweetened leather, caramel and smoke swirled in. Flickers of cinnamon and saffron dance quietly at the edges, adding a spicy richness to the woody foundation, but I still think that this is “Mysore sandalwood” only by virtue of being built up by additives, instead of the real thing. My belief is underscored by a very definite whiff of something synthetic in the base which gives me a tell-tale pain behind my eye each and every time I take a very deep sniff up close.

Ebanol via Givaudan.

So, I looked up sandalwood aroma-chemicals, and I would bet that Santal de Mysore uses Ebanol. Givaudan describes it as follows:

Olfactive note:

Sandalwood, Musk aspect, Powerful

Description:

Ebanol has a very rich, natural sandalwood odour. It is powerful and intense, bringing volume and elegance to woody accords and a diffusive sandalwood effect to compositions. Ebanol is highly substantive on all supports.

Javanol via Givaudan.

Givaudan also sells something called Javanol, and there are elements of something similar to its description which pop up at the final stages of Santal de Mysore. Javanol‘s description reads:

Olfactive note:

Sandalwood, Creamy, Rosy, Powerful

Description:

Javanol is a new-generation sandalwood molecule with unprecedented power and substantivity. It has a rich, natural, creamy sandalwood note like beta santanol.

I don’t know about Javanol due to the “rosy” description given above, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Santal de Mysore contained Ebanol. For one thing, the woody note in the fragrance smells extremely synthetic, but also dark and powerful. For another, have I mentioned just how rare it is for a fragrance to have true Mysore sandalwood these days? Finally, there is a support from another skeptic, Tania Sanchez. In her book with Luca Turin, Perfumes: The A-Z Guide, she diplomatically and tactfully writes:

Sandalwood oil from Mysore, India, was for a long time both fairly cheap and gorgeous — which is probably why it was overharvested to the point of needing government protection. I have a small reference sample of the real thing, with its inimitably creamy, tangy smell of buttermilk. I have no idea if Santal de Mysore manages to use any of it or if it depends on the Australian sandalwood (totally different plant and material) or synthetics, because it aims to cover any gaps with an overpowering coconut-and-caramel accord reminiscent of Samsara, a tropical fantasy of rum in oak barrels for armchair pirates.

I don’t smell coconut and I personally don’t see the similarities to Guerlain‘s Samsara, but I fully agree that Christopher Sheldrake must have sought to cover the gaps created by the use of synthetics in Santal de Mysore’s base by adding an overpoweringly strong spice and food element as a supplement. I may be a sandalwood snob, but that doesn’t change my impression that the “Mysore sandalwood” aroma is an artificially created construct, and it smells like it.

It takes less than 20 minutes for Santal de Mysore to start to shift. The fragrance softens, and drops in projection surprisingly quickly on my skin. Yet, it’s still very potent — even a little sharp — when smelled up close. It’s an intense bouquet of dill, buttered rice and light herbal, cumin curry, followed by saffron, sweet carrots, and chewy, gooey, thickly resinous black sweetness atop a base of spiced, synthetic woods. It’s odd, unusual, very foodie, interesting, somewhat appealing, and somewhat off-putting — all at once. By the 90-minute mark, the green, herbal spiced elements feel even stronger as the styrax’s slightly leathery, burnt caramel aroma continues to soften.

Dried fenugreek leaves via Suhana.co.in

I have to wonder if there is fenugreek in Santal de Mysore, along with something like dried leeks. There are whiffs of something in the fragrance that very much resemble bottles I have of both herbs in my kitchen. Whatever the specifics, the “curry” in Santal de Mysore smells to me like something green in nature, more than spicy red or yellow. To be specific, it’s more along the lines of a Saag than a Korma or Rogan Josh curry made with a possible Garam Masala base. The cumin is there, lurking below, but I truly don’t think it’s as predominant as the more herbal, green curry elements. Even stronger is the burnt caramel aroma that is perhaps the first real thing you smell from a distance.

By the end of the second hour, Santal de Mysore turns creamy, smooth, and much better balanced in terms of its spices. There is almost a floral nuance to the deep woods, but the synthetic element remains as well. On some spots on my arm, it’s even a little sharp. Around the 3.5 hour mark, the herbal notes feel almost solely like fenugreek and dried leeks, rather than the earlier buttered dill rice. The dominant bouquet, however, is of cinnamon mixed with burnt caramel. Santal de Mysore’s sillage drops even further, and the fragrance now floats a mere inch above the skin.

Source: samsunggalaxy.co

The perfume’s final dry down begins near the middle of the sixth hour. Santal de Mysore finally — finally — smells primarily of the eponymous woods in its title. It’s rich, deep, smoky, sweet, dark, and beautifully creamy. The woods are now the sole star of the show, though they coat the skin like a veil. The sandalwood probably isn’t real, given the way the woods smelled so synthetic earlier on, but the overall effect is definitely that of Mysore woods. I feel like singing Etta James’ famous song, “At Last.” The lovely drydown continues for another three hours or so, until the fragrance finally fades away as sweetened woods. All in all, Santal de Mysore lasted just shy of 10.25 hours on my skin, with moderate sillage that turned quite soft after a few hours.

How you feel about Santal de Mysore will depend on a few things: your thoughts on curry and cumin, and your patience. Whether your read the comments on Fragrantica or that of samplers/buyers on Luckyscent, it’s always the same issue. For many people, the fragrance is simply too foodie, with curry being the main problem. For a few, it’s the burnt caramel that is the issue. For others, however, the fragrance’s final drydown is worth it, and they urge patience with the early notes, arguing that they are short in duration and quickly mellow into beautiful sandalwood. To give one example, a Luckyscent commentator wrote:

i wish i could afford jugs of this stuff. it is a tricky one, though! at first, it smells gourmande — curry, black pepper, and butter. delicious to eat, but not so great to smell liek a kitchen. oooh, but wait for it… if you are a sandalwood lover, it is worth the wait. and you don’t have to wait long! on the skin, it mellows out (and warms up!) really quickly. the harsh foodie smells dissipate in maybe 5 minutes, and then the silky road down sandalwood lane begins. this sandalwood is deep, warm, rich, and buttery. it is maybe 2:1 sweet:spicy as sandalwood goes. but you know how some sandalwoods are lovely, but kind of mixed up with vanilla or amber scents? this one is subtly more smokey, spicy, and just enough of a sour or a bitter touch to balance out the sweet buttery parts so that they are not overwhelming. this is a rich, deep sandalwood, as long as you are not turned off by the weirdness of its first few minutes.

There are numerous opinions on the other end of the spectrum, however, and they are probably best represented by this Fragrantica review:

Great scent if you’re… an Indian chef ;), as it smells exactly the same as curry. Disturbing cloud of heavy cumin and nose-drilling curcuma. No trace of sandalwood or benzoin whatsoever. Literally spicy scent that is harsh and nauseating at the same time. A big no-no..

I’m afraid that Santal de Mysore isn’t for me. I simply don’t like foodie scents in general, and I would have great difficulty walking out of the house smelling of either Persian Baghali Polo or Indian Saag. If it were merely a matter of minutes, I could deal with it, but it was hours and hours on my skin. You may have substantially better luck, but, in all cases, you have to be able to withstand the curry aspects of the opening stage. If you’re one of those people who is utterly phobic about cumin in all its possible manifestations, then I would advise staying away from Santal de Mysore. If you love sandalwood above all else, and enjoy gourmand scents, then you may want to exercise some patience and see how things develop on you. One thing is for certain, Serge Lutens and Christopher Sheldrake truly give you an olfactory carpet ride to India.

DETAILS:

General Cost & Discounted Sales Prices: Santal de Mysore is an eau de parfum that comes in a discontinued 1.7 oz/50 ml size and in a 75 ml bell jar size. The retail price of the small 50 ml bottle is $200, while the bell jar costs $300 or €135. However, Santal de Mysore is currently discounted at FragranceX which sells Santal de Mysore for $164.50, and Bonanza which sells it for $167.57. Parfums1 sells Santal de Mysore for $180, with free U.S. shipping and no tax.

Serge Lutens: Santal de Mysore is offered only in the bell jar version on the U.S. and International Lutens website (with other language options also available), and costs $300 or €135.

U.S. sellers: Santal de Mysore is available in the 1.7 oz/50 size for $200 at Luckyscent and Beautyhabit. It is available in the $300 bell jar version from Barney’s with the following notice: “This product is only available for purchase at the Madison Avenue Store located at 660 Madison Avenue. The phone number for the Serge Lutens Boutique is (212) 833-2425.”

Outside the U.S.: In Canada, you can find Santal de Mysore at The Perfume Shoppe for what may be US$200, but I’m never sure about their currency since it is primarily an American business with a Vancouver store. They also offer some interesting sample or travel options for Lutens perfumes. Elsewhere in Europe, it’s extremely hard to find the old 50 ml bottle, leaving your only real option to trek to Paris to get the bell jar. I couldn’t find any UK retailers. However, France’s Premiere Avenue has the 50 ml bottle and sells it for €106. I believe they ship world-wide, or at least through the Euro zone. In Australia, the 50 ml bottle of Santal de Mysore is sold on BrandShopping for AUD$160.95 and on HotCosmetics for AUD$217. In Russia, I found what appears to be SergeLutens.Ru which sells Santal de Mysore in the 50 ml bottle, but I don’t think Serge Lutens has a Russian website. It’s clearly a vendor of some kind, though.

Samples: You can test out Santal de Mysore by ordering a sample from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. There is also a Five Lutens Bell Jar Sample Set starting at $18.99 where you get your choice of 5 non-export Paris Exclusives with each vial being a 1/2 ml.

By Kilian Playing With The Devil (In The Garden of Good and Evil)

Posted on September 11, 2013 by Kafkaesque

The Devil slinks into the Garden of Good and Evil, cloaked in red, emitting fire, and adding a painful bite to everything he touches. He curls his way around the cedar tree that smells mostly of green freshness with a tinge of damp earthy sweetness, entwines himself around branches carrying lychees and cassis, and breathes a hot red mist of chili all over it. Then, he vanishes in a puff of crimson smoke, leaving fruits that are sweet with a slightly poisoned, synthetic touch. But his crimson present barely lasts, and the evil drains quickly from the Garden of Eden, returning it back to a state of fruited sweetness. It’s an increasingly abstract “goodness,” a fresh blur of fruits that soon takes on a creamy tone with vanilla, before turning into powdered and a little bit sour in their staleness. That’s what happens when you are Playing with the Devil.

Michelangelo, “The Temptation and Expulsion of Adam & Eve.”

The impact of the Devil in the Garden of Good and Evil has been turned from a whimsical allegory into concrete perfume form by Kilian Hennessey. This month marks the release of Playing With The Devil, an eau de parfum created by Calice Becker. The scent is the fourth edition in Kilian’s In The Garden of Good and Evil collection that was first launched in 20012 and which is centered around a common theme. According to the original press release for the collection (quoted by Now Smell This) and Playing with the Devil‘s description on Luckyscent, “it is the myth of original sin” where “the world of perfume enters into the garden of Eden and shows us another side of the story” with a “tribute to forbidden fruits.”

Source: Fragrantica.

LuckyScent gives the following notes for Playing with the Devil:

Blood orange, black currant, white peach, lychee, pepper, pimento [chili pepper], cedar, sandalwood, patchouli, Rose, Jasmine, tonka, benzoin, vanilla.

Playing with the Devil opens on my skin a burst of lychee and tart, juicy, zesty, slightly sour blackcurrant. (I’m used to calling it “cassis,” so that’s what I’ll go with from here on out.) There is an unexpected touch of damp earth underlying the scent, which symbolically melts into the very green, leafy images I get from the fruits. On their trail is a fiery chili pepper (pimento) that feels as visually red as the most brutally piercing Scotch Bonnet or Ghost Chili on the market. It’s a very funky, odd, fascinating note because its bite feels a little like the capsaicin that you’d experience if you nibbled on a pimento pepper. Yet, the second time I tested Playing with the Devil, it was largely overwhelmed by a very fresh, clean scent that sometimes borders a little on the soapy, powdery aroma that you’d get from a deodorant. I actually own a deodorant that has some similarities, so it made me grimace a little, I must confess.

Lychee. Source: fanpop.com

In its opening stage, Playing with the Devil is primarily a lychee and cassis fragrance with that fiery chili pepper bite lurking underneath. Minutes into the fragrance’s development, the peach makes its quiet, very muted debut, feeling white, delicate, pastel and almost liquidy like a thin nectar. It’s followed by a slightly smoky, dry, woody note that initially doesn’t feel like cedar but which soon takes on that tree’s aroma. It smells of bright greenness, mixed with pencil shavings and a light touch of smokiness. The blood orange isn’t a very noticeable note at all on my skin. At best, there is something that feels like the suggestion of its tart, citric nature, but it’s only a vague, fleeting impression. Increasingly, however, Playing with the Devil is dominated by the cassis with its tart, sometimes sour freshness leavened a little by the lychee’s watery sweetness.

Source: splendidtable.org

The note that fascinates me the most is the pimento, a type of chili pepper. I’m rather obsessed with how it appears here, though not always for positive reasons. You see, I tend to have an allergic reaction to the chili peppers where my lips swell up in response to the capsaicin that is so much a part of them. Here, with Playing with the Devil, I feel a slight burning in my throat, a sensation I’ve gotten from some chili peppers on occasion, but also, from some synthetics on a much more common, frequent basis. I find it difficult to believe that Calice Becker used an essential oil derived from chili pepper distillation in Playing with the Devil, so I’m venturing a guess that the pimento note here is largely an aromachemical. Well, congratulations on mirroring the sort of physical reaction that I get from the real thing.

Source: free-hdwallpapers.com

On the other hand, a more sincere, genuine congratulations are in order for such a brilliant piece of symbolism. The intellectual conceit or theory here is damn clever, and I absolutely love the thought of the fiery, red-hot pepper representing Satan in the Garden of Eden, thereby turning it smoky and evil. Intellectually, I was impressed with every bit of it. Perfume wise, I find it an extremely interesting, wholly original counterpoint to the lychee and cassis.

Personally, however, it’s a whole other matter, because I’m not swooning over any of it. Playing with the Devil is pretty on some levels, and I like the effect of the cedar in adding an increasingly dry counter-point to the fruits, but none of it really wows me. I also enjoy the liquidy sweetness of lychee, but that alone is not enough to make the overall fragrance something that really knocks me to my feet. Moreover, the clean, fresh, slightly soapy, faintly powdered aspects of the beginning are most definitely not me. It’s a pretty opening, but perhaps you have to really adore fruity fragrances to really love it, and I’m afraid I’m not one of those people.

At the end of the first hour, Playing with the Devil starts to shift. At first, it’s just the slow stirrings of vanilla in the base, adding a different sort of sweetness to the zesty, tart, slightly green, fresh top notes. At the same time, the fiery, red kick of the chili pepper recedes to the background. There is the vaguest hint of something floral wafting about, but it’s so muted, it’s virtually impossible to really identify. The dry woodiness in the base starts to increase, as does the hint of powderiness. Playing with the Devil’s sillage drops, the notes start to overlap each other, and the fragrance starts to feel a little abstract. These issues were especially noticeable the second time I tested the fragrance, when I put on substantially less of Playing with the Devil. With two small smears, instead of about 4 large ones, the fragrance turned vague and abstract far sooner, became a skin scent more quickly, and the nuances in notes were significantly harder to detect. The capsaicin chili pepper element was also substantially less noticeable, though the burning sensation in my throat remained in a faint way.

In both tests, however, Playing with the Devil became a total blur of fruity notes quite quickly. The first time around, with the large dose, it took about 1.25 hours for the fragrance to turn into a generalized, somewhat abstract haze of tart, sweet fruits atop vague woodiness with vanilla. The most you can really single out from the lot is cassis. Underneath, in the base, there is the start of something synthetic lurking about that isn’t clear or distinguishable, along with a touch of fruited patchouli. The peach, and lychee have largely faded away, replaced by hints of blood orange. The chili pepper has disappeared entirely. The whole thing is a soft bouquet of fresh fruits with patchouli, cedar and vanilla that hovers just barely above the skin in an airy, gauzy blur.

Playing with the Devil continues its subtle changes. By the end of the second hour, the soft, leafy, green feel of the fragrance is joined by a shadow of a dewy, pale, watery pink rose, but it’s an extremely muted note. As a whole, the scent is a soft, cozy, fruity vanilla with an increasingly synthetic patchouli note that burns my nose when smelled up close. Playing with the Devil loses its dryness as the patchouli overwhelms the cedar, and the fragrance takes on even greater sweetness. For some strange reason, I have the subtle impression and feel of green tea, only in a creamy ice-cream version. It comes and goes, however, during the third hour, then dies completely as Playing with the Devil becomes increasingly fresh and clean.

Source: popularscreensavers.com

Starting at the fourth hour, the Garden of Eden is a place where all traces of the Devil have been wiped away. The Luckyscent description of Playing with the Devil talks about how naughtiness wins out in the fight between good and evil, but not on my skin. The fragrance is now a completely nebulous haze of clean, fresh sweetness with fruity vanilla and some powder. The latter soon takes over completely. By the 4.5 hour mark, Playing with the Devil is abstract floral-fruity powder with a slight tinge of vanilla underneath. At the 6 hour mark, the powder takes on a slightly sour, stale characteristic, and the fragrance remains that way until its very end. All in all, Playing with the Devil lasted 9.75 hours with a very large dose (4 very big smears) and just over 7.5 hours with a small one (2 small smears). The sillage throughout was moderate to soft.

Playing with the Devil is far too new for there to be extensive reviews out there. On Fragrantica, only two people seem to have tested the perfume, writing:

smells exactly like “Enchanted Forest” but the blackcurrant note isnt as loud. if you want loud blackcurrant buy Enchanted Forest. if you want a more softer blackcurrant note buy this.

Fresh, peachy, fruity, bright and feminine. If you like fruity (but not sticky sweet) fragrances, you must try Playing with the devil.
I can detect all the fruits, the peach, cassis, blood orange and lychee. The rose is present but is subtle not overpowering
This is how fruity fragrances should be done. Thumbs up!

My experience with The Vagabond Prince‘s The Enchanted Forest was quite different because I had quite a lot of pine develop on my skin, but I do agree with some of the commentator’s assessment: this is a much softer cassis note. I wasn’t a particular fan of The Enchanted Forest, and I’m not of Playing with the Devil, either, and the reasons are somewhat encapsulated in the second Fragrantica review: it’s a fresh, feminine fruit cocktail. Playing with the Devil is also powdery, somewhat synthetic, quickly abstract, and rather boring. If that fiery pimento had really lasted, maybe my reaction would be different, but I highly doubt it.

I think you have to really love cassis, and “fresh, clean” scents to appreciate Playing with the Devil. You also have to be one of those people for whom blackcurrant doesn’t turn urinous or into “cat pee” on their skin. You’d be surprised how many people have that problem with the note, so I’d definitely counsel testing Playing with the Devil before you buy it. It’s not a cheap fragrance — and, in my opinion, Playing with the Devil is rather over-priced for what it is — but at least there is a more affordable refill option at $145 if you really love fruit cocktails. I don’t, so I shall play with the Devil elsewhere.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Playing with the Devil is an eau de parfum that costs $245 for a 50 ml bottle or $145 for a 50 ml refill bottle. The fragrance is not currently listed on the Kilian website, so I don’t know its Euro retail price. In the U.S.: Kilian fragrances are usually available at a variety of fine department stores, but Playing with the Devil seems to be too new to be listed on the websites of either Bergdorf Goodman, or Saks Fifth Avenue. However, you can order it at Aedes or Luckyscent, though both vendors seem to be back-ordered at the time of this post. Outside the U.S.: Playing with the Devil is not yet listed on By Kilian’s international website. In London, Harvey Nichols always carries the Kilian line, but they don’t have Playing with the Devil listed on their website yet. Elsewhere, you can find the Kilian line at Harvey Nichols stores around the world, from Dubai to Hong Kong. In Paris, the Kilian line is carried at Printemps. 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: you can find Playing with the Devil at Surrender to Chance where prices start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.

Armani Privé Oud Royal & Cuir Noir (2013) (Mille et Une Nuits)

Posted on September 9, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Armani is re-releasing some of its limited-issue Privé line, and I obtained samples of three of the fragrances from La Collection des Mille et Une Nuits. This review is for Oud Royal and Cuir Noir, neither of which is complicated enough or compelling enough to warrant an individual review. In fact, I’m starting to wonder if Armani could ever make a fragrance that would move me. His style is simply too bloodlessly refined for my tastes. Plus, for the cost, I keep thinking that one could do better. That is especially true for one of the Privé fragrances which seems to have been reworked into something completely different and rather terrible.

THE RE-LAUNCH:

Refinery29 has the details on which Armani Privé fragrances are being returned to the market:

The brand has been releasing its ultra-exclusive Privé scents in limited-editions since 2004, usually debuting just one at a time in small batches. Once they sold out, they were gone for good. Well, someone over there was feeling generous, because this summer sees the launch of four brand-new scents and the re-issue of all 10 of the previously launched scents. […]

The four “new” scents — Oud Royal, Cuir Noir, Ambre Orient, and Rose d’Arabie — were originally launched overseas back in 2011, but never made it to the U.S. They are part of the La Collection des Mille et une Nuits that was inspired by the classic Arabian tale, One Thousand and One Nights. They showcase notes of oud, leather, amber, and rose, respectively.

There is no word on whether these 2013 fragrances have been re-worked and re-formulated, but I think at least one of those fragrances must have been, as you will soon see.

OUD ROYAL:

According to Fragrantica, Oud Royal was created by Alberto Morillas, while Bois de Jasmin says it is Symrise perfumer Evelyne Boulanger. Some people give the original release date as 2010, others say 2011. Regardless of whoever made Royal Oud or when, the fragrance is certainly described with opulence. In the original press release description of the fragrance, as quoted by Now Smell This, Oud Royal and its notes are described as follows:

“When Giorgio Armani turned his attention to oud, he decided to work it the way he would a heavy brocade lined with gold and silver, leaving its weight, its noble intensity and majestic sedateness. Respectful of its personality, Giorgio Armani set about highlighting each facet of character in its composition: depth is amplified by an amber harmony, the reddish glow is fanned with spices, the dark earth reflections are smoked with a veil of myrrh and incense.” Additional notes include black earth note, animalic notes.

The current description of the fragrance on Armani’s website is largely the same, though much less detailed and focusing more on the mystical nature of oud wood. Thus far, that much is the same. Armani, however, doesn’t list any notes for the fragrance. So, if we take the Now Smell This press release report, and combine it with the notes listed on Fragrantica, the list of ingredients in Oud Royal would be:

Oud from Laos, saffron, amber, rose, sandalwood, myrrh, incense, black earth and animalic notes.

Oud Royal opens on my skin with a very leathery facade, so much so that I actually had to double-check my sample to make sure I hadn’t accidentally put on Cuir Noir. The fragrance is dry, earthy, very dusty, only slightly sweetened by saffron, and reminds me strongly of Dior‘s Leather Oud. There is a subtle undertone of smokiness, but it’s extremely muted. After about five minutes, the saffron becomes a little more noticeable, taking on an almost meaty quality, but, like almost everything else in the fragrance, it’s restrained, refined, and very polite. The rose also makes an appearance at this time, but it’s bloodless, and remains a muted, virtually hidden presence in the perfume’s life.

It takes a mere 30 minutes for Oud Royal to turn into a highly refined, elegant, very pleasant blur. It hovers discretely above the skin as a pleasant haze of soft leather and oud, with saffron and a touch of incense. The rose is barely perceptible, the saffron loses its meaty touch, and the fragrance eventually turns slightly sweeter at the end of 90-minutes. A pretty little pop of sandalwood appears around the end of the fifth hour, but it is very subtle and is largely overpowered by the oud. Those are all minor changes, however, and the core essence remains the same: an extremely pleasant, almost pretty, soft, gauzy leather-oud fragrance that sticks close to the skin. All in all, Oud Royal lasted just short of 7.75 hours on my skin, with weak sillage throughout.

Our Royal is exquisitely blended, very refined, and highly conservative in every way imaginable. I can see its high quality, and even its prettiness, but something ultimately leaves me unmoved. On some levels, it seems like the perfect oud fragrance for those who: 1) dislike true agarwood scents; 2) are looking for a refined fragrance that is highly unobtrusive, in addition to being somewhat blandly safe; and 3) have a lot of money to spend on a prestige name in luxury goods. I think all three factors must apply for Oud Royal to really be worth your while.

The general reaction to Oud Royal is mixed. Bois de Jasmin seems to have been singularly unimpressed, giving the fragrance a 3-star (“adequate”) rating and finding its price (even back in 2010) to be too high for the scent in question:

the fragrances from this collection are in fact quite opulent, well-crafted, made with high-quality materials. Yet, as I am trying to get over the sticker shock of £170 per bottle (according to Harrod’s pricing,) I have to ask myself whether this price is warranted. I really enjoy the decadent sensuality that Oud Royal conveys as well as its prêt-a-porter interpretation of the leather-oud notes that sometimes are quite difficult to wear (such as by Kilian Pure Oud, beautiful though it is.) Yet, it does not strike me as particularly new or original. Or perhaps, something of this Arabian Tale was lost in translation.

On Basenotes, there are mixed reviews in one thread, while a Basenotes poll about the best oud fragrances for men that gives 11 different options has Oud Royal coming in seventh place with 4% of the votes. Are those voting numbers representative or comprehensive? No, and I’m not claiming that they are. Nonetheless, the poll shows that Oud Royal — while being perfectly pleasant and beautifully refined — isn’t necessarily a fragrance that sweeps people away. At the end of the day, the bottom line is that there really isn’t much to say about Oud Royal, and I think it has been intentionally made that way.

CUIR NOIR:

Source: Aishti.com

I find Cuir Noir to be singularly misnamed, and rather irritating to describe. The fragrance sample I obtained from Neiman Marcus would be more aptly called Saffron Rose, because a leather fragrance it is not. You wouldn’t know that from the Fragrantica description, however, which seems to quote the original Armani press release from 2011:

Cuir Noir was inspired by the art of Arabian tanners. “Leather is an art. From Cordoba, Spain to the borders of the Atlas Mountains. With a wine patina, it takes the name of “cordovan”. Tattooed with gold, it is called “maroquin”.” The perfume composition consists of Australian Sandalwood, Rose essence, Coriander, Nutmeg (in the top); Leather, Smoky Guaiac and Oud (in the heart); Tahitian Vanilla absolute and Benzoin balm (in the base).

I read that description, started testing the fragrance, then immediately stopped in my tracks. Leather? Sandalwood? Nutmeg? Not on my skin, it wasn’t. I double-checked the name printed on the manufacturer’s vial, I re-read Fragrantica, and then I went online to see what some reviews might say, because what was appearing on my skin was gooey, rose syrup with walloping, hefty amounts of saffron, and nary a whiff of leather in sight! I read with confusion Bois de Jasmin‘s bored, negative review of the scent and paid close heed to the statement: “Cuir Noir was created by perfumer Nathalie Lorson and includes notes of Bulgarian rose, nutmeg, coriander, guaiac wood, leather, oud, Australian sandalwood, ambergris accord, benzoin.”

I’ve concluded that Armani must have changed his mind about Cuir Noir, and that it must now be a very different thing from what it was back when it was originally released for the Middle Eastern market. You see, in his current description for the scent on his website, Armani barely bothers to talk about leather at all. Instead, the purportedly black leather fragrance is actually a tribute to saffron, and with rather a different focus from what Fragrantica originally quoted back in 2011:

Cuir Noir showcases the raw material Saffron, a spice with leather accents. The roundness and sensuality of its notes bring suppleness and warmth, reflecting the enveloping sensuality of skin-on-skin contact. Derived from the crimson stigmas of Crocus sativus, saffron is the world’s most expensive apice [sic]. Its ochre colour symbolises inner happiness, which is why saffron-hued clothing is often mentioned in ancient mythology, tragedies and poetry. In perfumery, saffron lends a full, leathery and sensual note to fragrance compositions. With Cuir Noir, Giorgio Armani journeys into the heart of an Arabian night. He revisits the saffron accord to create a captivating Oriental. Golden and voluptuous, saffron infuses a profoundly sensual experience that recalls the redolence of tanned hides with the wild scent of tallow and e [sic] smouldering, tarry aroma of black birch.

Well, I don’t smell any tarry black birch at all, but the description does explain why my skin is reeking almost solely of saffron mixed with a syrupy, gooey, jammy rose. It’s revolting, cloyingly sweet, and backed by a sort of chewy darkness that feels like purple patchouli. Cuir Noir is also wholly unoriginal in bent, a retread of very tired old ground walked by so many other fragrances. In fact, the scent reminds me strongly of Tom Ford‘s Café Rose which was the same sort of jammy rose, saffron bomb on my skin.

From beginning to linear end, the same two notes dominate Armani’s Cuir Noir. For the first five minutes, there were flickers of something smoky (though it never felt like guaiac wood), but leather? Bah! BAH, I tell you! My notes are littered with comments about saccharine sweetness, and the complete absence of any mythical tanners from Cordoba. Even the oud is pretty much of a lost cause; it disappears within thirty minutes. Oddly, around the 10 minute mark, there was a momentary pop of a powdered lipstick tonality with a slightly violet aspect, but it vanished within minutes.

Cuir Noir becomes soft and sheer very fast. It takes less than 30 minutes for the moderate sillage to begin its sharp decline and drop; by the 90-minutes mark, the fragrance is a complete skin scent. Yet, Cuir Noir is oddly potent when sniffed up close, and I had almost a burning sensation when I sniffed the saffron, patchouli, rose combination during the second hour. It makes me wonder just how synthetic the fragrance is, and how much fruit-chouli is lurking underneath.

Cuir Noir doesn’t drastically change from its main, boring, sickly-sweet combination until the very end, so I should be thankful that it died so soon. In its final drydown, a rich, faintly custardy vanilla note shows up, along with some abstract, generic smoky woodiness that might be guaiac or ersatz, fake, Australian “sandalwood,” but both notes are as muted and sweetened as everything else in the fragrance. All in all, the fragrance lasted exactly 4.75 hours, ending as a whimper of vanilla sweetness. I know my skin eats fragrances quickly, but come on! For a $275 eau de parfum that is ostensibly made from the richest and best ingredients, that seems rather pathetic. As for the mythical tanners from Cordoba, all I can do is mutter about misleading names, and analogize to that old 1980s commercial for Wendy’s: “Where’s the beef?!”

As you can tell, I’m hugely unimpressed by Cuir Noir, especially in light of its $275 price tag. I never tested the original version released in the Middle East, but I find it hard to believe that the 2011 fragrance whose descriptions and reviews I read is the same one I tested now. The difference between the press release quoted by Fragrantica and what is now on the Armani website seems too vast. I even contemplated the possibility that Fragrantica was incorrect in its description of the scent’s leather, seeming press release quotes notwithstanding. So, I checked the Cuir Noir entry on Osmoz. Nope, Fragrantica wasn’t mistaken. Osmoz usually relies on press release descriptions, too, and its entry for Cuir Noir reads:

The Italian designer was inspired by the refined, ancient art of making leather. He wanted to “recreate the fascinating atmosphere of tanneries, which blend the pungent odor of tallow with the burnt and tarry aromas of black birch.’

Osmoz does reference that “This oriental-leather scent opens with spicy notes of coriander and nutmeg, with a sort of saffron effect.” However, that mere “effect” still differs from the way saffron is highlighted front and center in Armani’s description which, again, states flat-out “Cuir Noir showcases the raw material Saffron.” That seems to be a far cry from Armani’s prior focal point in 2011.

My conclusion about a difference in versions is further underscored by reading the reviews on Fragrantica where very little matches with either Armani’s current description or the manufacturer’s fragrance sample that I obtained from Neiman Marcus. References to leather (subtle as it was even then and lasting a mere 30 minutes) are joined by comments about the vanilla custard drydown, and quite a bit of talk of the amber. One person writes of a sort of industrial machine scent in the fragrance:

My father used melted stannary and resin to glue together small metal parts of broken machines. I used to love to see how the metal melts and the resin melts and evaporates into a wonderful perfume. The melted resin is what this perfume reminds me of.

There is not a single word about saffron. Not one. Not even indirectly. And there is nothing about how Cuir Noir is equally dominated by the rose note, either. The only things that seem to be exactly the same are the vanilla custard drydown, and the fact that the old version barely lasted on people either. There are complaints about its short longevity, with one person saying that it didn’t last above 4 hours.

Bois de Jasmin also seems to be describing a different scent. Her review is brief, so brief as to feel like she just wants to get the whole thing over with. Giving it 3 stars for “adequate,” her entire description of the way Cuir Noir actually smells is limited to four sentences:

Cuir Noir starts out as a big sweet amber and leather in the style of Tom Ford Amber Absolute or Annick Goutal Ambre Fétiche. There is a distinctive rose note that lingers from top to drydown. The medicinal, smoky oud is such a rich accent that it makes the leather play a second fiddle. Fans of oriental blends will enjoy Cuir Noir, but if you are looking for a smoky rich leather, it will not satisfy the craving.

Well, I certainly agree with her last statement, but I am more convinced than ever that the 2013 version of Cuir Noir is a wholly different fragrance. My skin might be even more insane than I had previously thought, but that doesn’t change the fact that saffron is the focus of Cuir Noir’s entry on the Armani website. No, this has to be a new version, it simply has to be.

ALL IN ALL:

I was unimpressed with both fragrances given their high price, but if one looks at Oud Royal in a complete vacuum, it isn’t a bad fragrance by any means. It’s actually quite pretty! Oud Royal has the trademark Armani signature stamped all over it: luxury ingredients incorporated seamlessly into a well-blended blur that is hyper-refined and proper to the point of being too elegant and bloodless. It’s just like Armani’s clothes: superbly crafted and reflecting a refinement that is minimalistic, aloof, and understated. Unlike his Privé line of clothing, however, Oud Royal lacks the style to make it really stand out. It’s also linear, uncomplicated, and so refined as to feel rather dull on occasion.

When I tested Nuances, Armani’s limited-edition, ridiculously priced ($500+) iris haute Couture line fragrance earlier this year, I thought part of my discomfort stemmed from the fact that I wasn’t an iris lover. Now, however, I think that the Armani signature simply doesn’t move me. I truly think that, if Armani could sanitize the slightly dirty, earthy qualities of oud to render it as suffocatingly prim as he did to the iris in Nuances, then he absolutely would. Oud Royal lacks the claustrophobic qualities of Nuances, a fragrance so elegant that its refinement gasps for life, but that’s not saying much. After all, there’s only so much one can do to suck all character out of oud combined with leather. That said, I still find Oud Royal to be largely unremarkable, in my opinion, and I much prefer the more nuanced, richer, longer-lasting Dior version (Leather Oud) with its significantly more palatable price tag.

As for Cuir Noir, I’m not sure the 2011 version was much to write home about, but the 2013 absolutely is not! In short, the less said about Cuir Noir, the better. Bah!

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Both Oud Royal and Cuir Noir are eau de parfums that come in a 100 ml/3.4 oz bottle and which cost $275, or £190. The Euro price in 2012 was €205, but I don’t know if it has been increased for the re-launch. Armani: You can purchase Oud Royal or Cuir Noir directly from the US Armani website, where the fragrances are listed under the Mille et Un Nuit section. However, I couldn’t see either perfume listed on the Armani International Privé section, and I’ve somehow never been able to select a Privé fragrance to put into a shopping cart on that particular site. Maybe you can figure out how it works. Finally, the UK Armani site does not carry Oud Royal, but does list Cuir Noir. In the U.S.: All four of the new Armani re-releases are sold exclusively at Neiman Marcus, which is where I obtained my samples. Outside the U.S.: In the UK, Harvey Nichols carries Oud Royal and Cuir Noir. The Heathrow Duty-Free boutique carries Oud Royal, but not Cuir Noir. In France, the fragrances are listed on the French Armani site, but no prices are given, and it doesn’t seem as though you can actually purchase fragrances directly from the website. In South Africa, I found Armani Privé at a store called Luminance. For all other locations, you can rely on the Index of different geographical Armani websites, or use their store locator within the site applicable to your area. Samples: I’m afraid you have to rely on an Armani store near you for Oud Royal, or the sales counter of one of the handful of boutiques that carries the Privé line. However, Surrender to Chance does offer samples of Cuir Noir starting at $4.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. Given the newness of the relaunched fragrances, I’m assuming they carry the original 2011 fragrance and not what I am testing now.

LM Parfums Sensual Orchid: Dressed to Seduce

Posted on September 8, 2013 by Kafkaesque

Gisele Bundchen for Vogue Turkey March 2011. Photo: the always incredible Mert & Marcus.

The urban jungle seemed very far away as she dressed in the bedroom of the villa at St. Barts. It hadn’t been a planned visit, but her seduction of him had been a long time in the making. He’d stolen her heart the minute he’d walked into the room, with his black leather jacket, devil-may-care tousled blond hair, chiseled Nordic face, emerald eyes, and wide grin. He smiled at everything, and she hoped he would smile at the new lingerie she had bought. She felt nervous, but excited, as she awaited his arrival. She gave herself another big spray of perfume for good luck.

Source: wallpaperstop.biz

The swirl of orchids, velvety ylang-ylang, jasmine, vanilla and sweet musk curled in the air around her, mixed with the tropical hint of coconut that wafted in from the trees on the beach. She had loved him for so long, not daring to think he may feel the same way, and she almost couldn’t believe their time had finally come. She hurriedly poured herself a snifter of expensive, aged cognac to relax her nerves, and a few drops fell on her golden skin, mixing with the sweet flowers and tropical headiness. She smiled as the fragrance and boozy liqueur enveloped her in their narcotic touch. How could he resist their heady lure? She was wearing Sensual Orchid, she was ravishing, she was invincible, she would tempt him beyond all belief.

Source: Fragrantica

I generally try not to review fragrances that are exclusive to Europe, extremely hard to track down, or difficult to sample. I couldn’t help it this time, as I was quite surprised by a sexy, heady, gorgeous fragrance from LM Parfums called Sensual Orchid. LM Parfums is a French niche house founded by Laurent Mazzone, and its fragrances used to be exclusive to Europe until just recently. A short while ago, New York’s Osswald perfumery started carrying the line. Yet, I still hadn’t intended to officially review the fragrance that I obtained last year by complete happenstance from eBay. [Update: LM Parfums is now also available at Luckyscent.]

Then, a few days ago, after having a bad day, I just decided to put a tiny, single, minuscule sprayed drop on my hand. For hours, that almost nonexistent smear emitted a smell whose delicate tendrils curled in the air around me. I couldn’t believe it, and every time I sniffed my hand, I couldn’t get enough. So, I said limited access be damned, I just had to had to tell you about this wonderful perfume and the house behind it.

Laurent Mazzone. Source: unique.ru.com

LM Parfums is the brain child of a Frenchman with Italian origins, Laurent Mazzone, who was fascinated by fragrance from a young age. As Essenza Nobile explains, “[a]s a young child, he analyzed and mixed samples of perfumes to discover new scents…. a passion for scents was born.” In 1998, “drawn by fashion catwalks and workrooms,” Mr. Mazzone decided to dedicate his life to fashion, opening up a boutique called Premiere Avenue. (I believe it is the same Premiere Avenue site that I so often link to in the Details section as a perfume retailer.) When Mr. Mazzone decided to enter into the world of fragrance, he initially started with scented candles but, in 2010, he expanded into actual perfumes. He launched LM Parfums which now has eight fragrances to its tally. As that Essenza Nobile biography explains, his “desire is to convey his passion to fashion through a line of perfumes evoking luxury fabrics. […] He came across renowned noses that he had always admired by their creation fulfilling his emotion.”

One of those noses is Jerome Epinette whom Mr. Mazzone hired to create the second Extrait pure parfum in his collection. In 2012, LM Parfums released Sensual Orchid, a floral oriental with 20% perfume concentration. Believe me, its opulent richness and luxuriousness shows! Sensual Orchid’s description, as quoted by OsswaldNYC, reads:

Like a feminine model on the catwalk, Sensual Orchid captivates your senses with its incredible aromas. The second essence of perfume will take you to the front of the stage. The carnal pleasures evoked by this sumptuous arrangement of natural sophisticated fragrances. A first subtle scent of citrus fruit and almond leads you into a refined heart of orchid, jasmine sambac, Lysilang, peony and heliotrope then leaves a voluptuous final touch made of vanilla, musk, blonde wood, white cedar wood, labdanum and benzoin.

Source: Topwalls.net

The notes, as provided by OsswaldNYC, include:

Top notes: Mandarin, almond, neroli

Heart notes: Orchid, jasmine sambac, Lysilang [ylang-ylang], peony, heliotrope

Base notes: Vanilla, musk, blonde wood, white cedar wood, labdanum, benzoin

Fragrantica adds ylang-ylang to the list, but it seems to be a reference to Lysilang. According to the Academia del Profumo, Lysilang involves a special and different sort of ylang-ylang scent due to the “fractioning” method of perfume processing:

The technique of fractioning can be used to dismantle the odour into its various components or groups of components, before proceeding to select the fractions that are nobler or more interesting from an olfactory standpoint. The result is a cleaner, purer end product.

This technique is used with vetiver, for example, removing its earthier parts: the smell of the roots and its less attractive notes.

Lysilang (by Robertet), a very pure, natural and fresh odour, is obtained in this way from the essential oil of Ylang Ylang III from the Comoro Islands.

I think the description is important because ylang-ylang is a big part of Sensual Orchid, and its aroma feels unusually concentrated, rich, heady and creamy in the fragrance, while simultaneously being oddly clean in a way. It’s just one of a few unusual aspects of the fragrance.

Source: de.flash-screen.com

The key to Sensual Orchid, however, is the eponymous flower in the title. It’s an odd flower because it doesn’t have any one, particular, easily identifiable aroma. Orchids are not like tuberose or roses, to give just one example, with a clear, set fragrance. Instead, it can be almost anything, depending on the species of flower and what pollinated it. Fragrantica has a very fascinating exploration of the subject, in which Dr. Ellen Covey of the Olympic Orchids (both an actual perfume house and an orchid nursery) talks about the flower’s various, different, possible aromas:

There are about 20,000-30,000 species of orchids belonging to about 900 different genera. Orchid scents are all over the place from the most beautiful floral scents to odors that we find unpleasant, such as feces or rotten meat. The scent depends on what insect pollinates the orchid. Bees and butterflies are attracted to floral scents, and flies are attracted to rotting animal matter. Each genus of orchids has a range of scents, but there is generally some predictability within a genus. Cattleya orchids all have floral-type scents that range from light and citrusy to heavy and indolic. Bulbophyllum orchids often have rotten meat odors, or other stinky smells.

I have orchids that smell exactly like coconut suntan lotion, butterscotch and cedar wood, cinnamon, sweet clover, roses, or baby powder. If there is a “typical” orchid flower scent, it would probably be a generic cattleya, but more often the “orchid” note in perfume is a fantasy note of some sort. Vanilla is extracted from the seedpods of an orchid, so maybe it could be thought of as the quintessential orchid scent.

Source: hd4desktop.com

I have no idea what species of orchid is in Laurent Mazzone’s Sensual Orchid, but I can tell you it smells wonderful! The fragrance opens on my skin with a burst of booziness. It’s pure cognac, as explicit, sharp, liqueured and slightly fruity as very aged, extremely expensive cognac can be. The note is then followed by: the richest ylang-ylang; custardy, rich vanilla; a hint of smoky woods; and bitter, green-white almonds.

On their heels is a delicate, pastel, floral note as crystal clear, clean, bright and sparkling as a bell rung at the top of the Swiss alps. It smells of lilies, peonies, hyacinth, rose, jasmine, vanilla — all wrapped into one in a cool, clean, crystal liquidity. It is all of those things, and, yet, none of those things. It’s a floral orchid in 3D. Mixed with the powerful ylang-ylang and the sweet vanilla, backed by that boozy cognac fruitedness, the final result is incredibly narcotic, dramatic, opulent, and heady.

Source: Foundwalls.com

Other notes are layered underneath. The orchid has a coconut characteristic that Dr. Covey talked about above, as well as some sort of subtle, intangible, sweet spiciness. There is also a whiff of juicy, sun-sweetened mandarin, lying heavy and ripe on the branch. The heliotrope’s almond note is interwoven throughout, and the whole thing sits atop a base of white woods with slightly smoky cedar.

Within minutes, the cognac’s sharpness softens, as the vanillic, creamy, floral facets of the orchid increase, along with a sensuous muskiness and the coconut. The latter feels both like chunks of the fresh fruit, and its rich cream. My feelings about coconut generally range from ambivalence to dislike, especially if there is a suntan oil feel or anything cloying. On my skin, Sensual Orchid manages the feat of having a rich coconut scent that is nothing like Hawaiian Tropics, and yet, conveys a wholly tropical feel in a very light way. I have no idea why I find it so intoxicating, but I think it’s the overall combination of notes that renders Sensual Orchid a very sensuous, compulsively sniffable experience.

Model Lara Stone, French Vogue.

There is a very classique richness to the scent, but it also has a very modern feel. Sensual Orchid is very airy in feel, though it is also extremely potent, heady, and strong in projection. Not Amouage or ’80s powerhouse levels of potency, but definitely enough to wrap you in a very shimmering haze. Despite the old-school richness, nothing about the fragrance feels dated or centered on traditional tropes. Sensual Orchid doesn’t call to mind the famous Dior models of old in their New Look dresses, or the grand dames of Chanel. It’s not a scent that I would associate with Guerlain’s divas, but with a very fashion-forward, confident, strong woman who is assured enough to flaunt her own sensuality. She is the sort who would wear Sensual Orchid with a skimpy dress to go out clubbing, then come home to toss the bottle in her carry-on bag and go on a quick, impromptu, romantic, weekend get-away to St. Barts.

Ylang-Ylang. Source: Soapgoods.com

Thirty minutes in, Sensual Orchid shifts a little. The dry, slightly smoked cedar stirs more prominently in the base. Up on top, the jasmine now appears to dance a merry quartet with the ylang-ylang, the orchid’s coconut, and the vanilla. The peony, the almonds, and that lingering, crystal clear, liquid note that feels so much like lilies, all look on from the sidelines and clap. From afar, the fragrance smells like an extremely seamless, well-blended bouquet of boozy sweetness, indolic flowers, and creamy vanilla. Up close, it’s almost too powerful and rich, with an opulent depth that reminds me of Amouage‘s Ubar mixed with some of my beloved Alahine‘s boozy overlay.

Sensual Orchid is a rather linear scent, and its core essence never changes. Over the next few hours, the differences are primarily ones of strength, deepness, and projection. At the end of the first hour, Sensual Orchid becomes smoother, richer, and deeper. The boozy cognac fades away, the mandarin orange retreats to the edges, and the fragrance feels mellower as a whole. By the 2.5 hour mark, the fragrance feels like a soft cloud. I wish the notes were better delineated with less overlap and haziness, but Sensual Orchid is nonetheless an intoxicating swirl of creamy, indolic, sweet florals, infused with vanilla, touches of coconut, and the vaguest whisper of dry cedar. The word “lush” keeps coming to mind, along with visuals of a billowing white and yellow cloud, and scantily clad women with golden skin. On occasion, the image is that of a naked woman on a beach because there is a clean, warmed muskiness to Sensual Orchid that feels like heated skin touched with a shimmering, floral, slightly tropical oil. It’s never animalic or sweaty, it’s not even a very prominent note, but it adds to the languid sensuality of the fragrance.

Model Isabeli Fonatana for Muse Magazine via trendhunter.com

Near the end of the fourth hour, Sensual Orchid hovers as a potent veil just above the skin. It’s a blend of ripe, blooming white florals infused by a dry woodiness, and the subtlest hint of booziness. The jasmine, ylang-ylang and orchid are fused together as one. The vanilla has now turned almost dry, thanks to the impact of the cedar and its quietly smoked character. The coconut is almost silent, and the almond has vanished. The mandarin which was never an integral part of Sensual Orchid on my skin is now merely a vague suggestion that pops up occasionally, but you have to sniff damn hard to really notice it. Finally, there is a tinge of synthetics in the base, whether from the “white woods” or from something else, but it’s muted, minor, and soon fades away.

Sensual Orchid remains that way until the middle of the seventh hour when it finally turns wholly abstract. It’s a soft, nebulous, indolic, musky floral sweetness that covers the skin like the finest silk lingerie. In its final hours, Sensual Orchid is merely a trace of sweetness, muskiness and abstract white flowers. All in all, it lasted just over 14 hours with very strong projection for the first 2 hours, then good to moderate sillage for a number of hours, before ending as a soft, unobtrusive veil for about 6 hours. It only became a true skin scent around the middle of eighth hour. I used about 3 small sprays. While aerosolisation definitely increases both longevity and projection, Sensual Orchid is generally a strong fragrance with a very soft weight that I think is intended to go from hardcore diva glam, down to an increasingly intimate scent, before ending as a “my skin but better” musky sweetness in its final stage.

At no time is Sensual Orchid an edgy or revolutionary scent, but it’s a very luxurious, opulent, and sexy one. It feels like the sort of perfume that a woman would to seduce, and consistently calls to mind the image of a woman in lingerie, lying languidly on a bed as she awaits her lover. It’s a scent that seems intentionally meant to intoxicate and captivate a romantic partner with its narcotic sensuality and brazenly diva-ish, dramatic headiness. Part of it is the sheer indolic nature of those lush, ripe, blooming white florals, and part of it is the quiet, golden muskiness of the scent combined with the creaminess of both the ylang-ylang and the vanilla.

Photo: Mert Alas & Marcus Piggott for Roberto Cavalli feat. Elisabetta Canalis. Source: CityinAds.com

I couldn’t find a single blog review for Sensual Orchid, either in-depth or otherwise. However, the fragrance does come up in two Basenotes discussions. One is a thread in the Men’s Fragrance Discussion section called “SUPERNICHE- Best Frag No One Has Heard Of,” and asks for suggestions. Sensual Orchid is the very first name given by a male poster called “Hednic.” Later, down below, another commentator adds: “This whole LM line has some real crackers – Sensual Orchid but hey guys we got Black Oud by LM too which is really well done! We gonna hear a lot more about LM I assure you.” Sensual Orchid gets mentioned again in a very short thread from August 2013 in the Female Fragrance Discussion section about LM Parfums in general. The original poster purchased a bottle from Italy for supposedly $190 and thought Sensual Orchid was “soooo gorgeous!”

You may wonder why I’m bringing up the location of the Basenotes threads. It’s because I think Sensual Orchid can work on a guy’s skin, and there are clearly men on Basenotes who agree and have no hesitation saying so in a discussion of Men’s Fragrances. Yes, Sensual Orchid is a very lush, floral scent that skews feminine, but I happen to think that a confident, assured man could rock this type of fragrance just as much as an Amouage oudh or Creed’s Aventus. Perhaps not every guy would feel comfortable with orchid and vanilla, but dammit, they should be! Sensual Orchid would smell unbelievably hot on a guy’s skin, and I’m not budging from that belief, all my photos of scantily clad women notwithstanding.

Lastly, I have to talk about the price. Sensual Orchid costs $225 or €195. While that may seem a lot, it’s for 100 ml of extrait de parfum. When was the last time any of you saw that concentration being offered in a 100 ml size and for a price less than some smaller eau de parfums?! I never have. 15 ml for Rubj Parfum extrait is $325! 50 ml of Amouage’s Lyric Extrait costs $470, and it’s half the size of Sensual Orchid. Puredistance’s Opardu is also an extrait that comes in a 100 ml size, but it costs $590! My point is that Sensual Orchid is a gorgeous fragrance whose price may seem high, but it’s almost a steal for what it is, let alone as compared to the price of other niche extraits on the market.

Now, I realise it’s almost sadistic to bring up a fragrance that my American readers can’t sniff or test unless they live in New York. For that, I deeply apologise. As part of my penance, I’d like to offer one reader a small sample from my own decant. It won’t be much, just around 1 ml, but my own decant is very small and I’d like to have a bit of Sensual Orchid to wear when I go on holiday at the end of the month. So, in the comments below, leave a comment letting me know if you’re interested.

Given LM Parfums’ wide availability in Europe and New Yorkers’ access to it at Osswald, I’m afraid this mini-drawing will be limited to American readers who do not live in New York City’s Tri-State Area or have access to Osswald. You have until Friday, September 13th at 11:59 p.m. Central Standard Time (CST) in the U.S. to let me know if you’d like to be entered. I will select a name using Random.org at some point the next day, and will update the end of this review with the winner’s name. So, check back Saturday the 14th, and if you’re the winner, you have three days (until Tuesday, September 17th) to contact me at the blog email with your shipping address. (Failure to contact me in the appropriate time frame means I’ll give the sample to someone else.) If lush, floral Orientals are your cup of tea, and if you’re not bothered by sweetness or indolic headiness, then I think you may like Sensual Orchid.

[UPDATE: GIVEAWAY & General Samples: Random.org has chosen and the winner of a small sample is POODLE! Please contact me with your address, and I’ll send some Sensual Orchid off to you. ]

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Sensual Orchid is an extrait de parfum (or pure parfum) in concentration. It comes in a 100 ml/3.4 oz bottle that costs $225, €195 or £195. In the U.S.: You can buy it from OsswaldNYC and Luckyscent. Outside the U.S.: In Europe, you can buy Sensual Orchid directly from LM Parfums for €195. Decant samples are also available for €19, and come in a good 5 ml size. Laurent Mazzone’s Premiere Avenue also sells the perfume and the 5 ml decant. In the UK, the line is carried exclusively at Harvey Nichols which sells Sensual Orchid for £195. In Paris, it’s sold at Jovoy. Germany’s First in Fragrance carries the full line and sells Sensual Orchid for €196, in addition to samples. You can also find Sensual Orchid at Essenza Nobile, Italy’s Vittoria Profumi, or Alla Violetta. In the Netherlands, you can find Sensual Orchid at Parfumaria. There are many Russian vendors for LM Parfums, but one site carrying Sensual Orchid is SpellSmell. For all other locations, you can find a vendor near you from Switzerland to Belgium, Lithuania, Russia, Romania, Croatia, Azerbaijan, and more, by using the LM Parfums Partner listing. Laurent Mazzone or LM Parfums fragrances are widely available throughout Europe, and many of those sites sell samples as well. Samples: OsswaldNYC has a Sample Program for domestic customers. You can also buy a sample from Luckyscent, and several of the European sites listed above.