Review En Bref: Heeley Parfums Cardinal

Posted on May 10, 2013 by Kafkaesque

As always, my Reviews En Bref are for fragrances that — for whatever reason — didn’t warrant one of my full, exhaustive, detailed reviews.

Cardinal is an Oriental eau de parfum from the British-born, Paris-based designer, James Heeley. The perfume and its notes are described on the Heeley website as follows:

Incense enrobed in folds of white linen

A timeless scent built around the traditional incense notes of labdanum, ciste, frankincense and myhr. An air of lightness and purity is portrayed by a note of fresh, clean linen. The association of grey amber, patchouli and vetiver, imparts this perfume with mysticism and a rare and contemporary elegance.

♂ An immaculate young priest.
♀ Auburn hair and milky white skin. Romantic and mystical.

White Linen . Baie Rose . Black Pepper
Labdanum . Frankincense . Myhr
Vetiver . Grey Amber . Patchouli

Fragrantica also includes aldehydes which I think is quite a key component of the fragrance. And, as a side note, “Baie Rose” is another name for pink peppercorns.

Cotton. Source: Hm.com

Mr. Heeley wasn’t kidding about the white linen. Cardinal opens on my skin with linen, followed in its footsteps by frankincense, patchouli and labdanum amber. The latter feels slightly leathery and animalic, though it is muted in nature and completely overwhelmed by the fresh cotton scent. There is also a strong undercurrent of soapy, waxy aldehydes.

Cardinal is quite a cool or cold scent at first, and one which definitely evokes the feeling of an old, stony church with its slightly musty aroma. Within minutes, the patchouli-incense combination grows stronger, and I find it extremely unpleasant. Something about the mix of fresh, white cotton with soap and incense atop a slightly dirty, leathery base of labdanum and patchouli feels incredibly contradictory. Even worse than the discordant aspects, the whole thing smells extremely artificial.

If you’ve read this blog for any amount of time, you’ll know that one of the things that I dislike the most are soapy scents. However, fresh, soapy, artificial, and laundry detergent all combined in one has to be the greatest evil in my eyes. Cardinal hits all my triggers. At the end of the first hour, it is all soap, soapy labdanum, white cotton, incense and…. Bounce. For those of you outside of America, Bounce is a fabric softener that often comes in sheets which you throw into the dryer to add freshness and to prevent static or lint. The fabric softener sheets come in a variety of scents, including Fresh Linen!

My tolerance for extreme aldehydes or general soapiness as a perfume note is extremely low. My tolerance for soapy, fresh scents that replicate fabric softener is practically nonexistent. For hours and hours, Cardinal wafted out varying degrees of that terrible combination. There was a growing sweetness to the soapy, fresh, incense-y, Bounce-heavy, cotton hot mess as time passed, thanks to the myrrh and labdanum. Making it all worse somehow is the impression of a white musk accord which appears about 90 minutes in. Cardinal’s artificial discordance is further cemented by a synthetic undertone which gave me a throbbing headache and a burning tightness high up in my nose.

Cardinal was such a painful experience that I actually considered scrubbing it entirely, but I stuck it out. All 9.75 hours of it. At no point did Cardinal twist, morph, change, or reflect other facets. It was linear all the way and, while linear is fine if you love the notes in question, I found its singularity to be an incredible ordeal. I suppose I should be glad that Cardinal was a light, airy fragrance but, unfortunately, it was still sufficiently strong enough for me not to feel a huge amount of gratitude for that fact.

Cardinal is often compared to Comme de Garçon‘s Avignon perfume. I haven’t tried the latter, but for those of you who are curious, Now Smell This has a comparison that may be useful:

Like Avignon, Cardinal starts off rather strong, but it has nothing like Avignon’s uncompromisingly gloomy stance: it is brighter, smoother, and not quite so bone-dry, although I wouldn’t go so far as to call it sweet. The dry down is soft and mildly earthy, and like many incense-focused fragrances, has a meditative quality.

Is church incense really church incense if it isn’t brooding and dark? Well, if Avignon is your idea of perfection, you might answer no, but if Avignon was too much of a good thing for you — or if, like me, you think there just can’t be too many variations on incense — Cardinal might be just what you’re looking for.

I haven’t looked up a ton of other reviews for Cardinal, but those few that I have read never seem to mention the damn linen. I’m baffled. The cotton note is, to me, a far greater characteristic than the incense. It’s even explicitly mentioned on the company’s website. A few commentators on Fragrantica mention the soapiness — and one calls it a soapier version of Avignon — but absolutely no-one talks cottony freshness or fabric softener. All I can say is that my skin clearly must amplify the note, along with the soapiness.

I know Cardinal is much-loved amongst those who enjoy incense fragrances. I love incense, too. Unfortunately, Cardinal had me praying for deliverance…

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Cardinal is an eau de parfum that comes in 3.4 oz/100 ml bottle. It is available from the Heeley website where it costs €120, or from Luckyscent where it costs $180. There are undoubtedly numerous other online retailers which also carry the fragrance, but you’ll have to forgive my lack of interest in looking up the links. I obtained my sample from Surrender to Chance where prices start at $3.99 for a 1 ml vial.

Perfume Review- Serge Lutens De Profundis: Purple Twilight

Posted on May 9, 2013 by Kafkaesque

As the sun’s first, golden tendrils crossed the horizon, the flowers started to come to life. With a nod and a jerk, the chrysanthemum slowly unfurled its tight bud, quivering in the slow warmth that turned the blue-black sky into shades of purple and pink. Droplets of dew flew across the field as it straightened its sleepily curved, bright, green body. The droplets landed on the freshly tilled soil below the flowers, turning its earthiness moist and fresh, loamy and sweet.

Source: Onlyhdwallpapers.com

The pink-gold light continued to spread across the purple, morning sky, triggering a chain reaction in the fields below. The dahlia rose leaned over to poke the white lilies who tapped the peonies who gave an awakening jolt to the slumbering violets who gave a kick to the white chamomile who came to with an indignant shake. In a chain reaction, the flowers opened their tight buds, issuing forth a tidal wave of sweet, dewy, delicate florals, mixed with the brightness of spring green notes and a light hint of earth.

Sunset meadow via freewallpapers at travelization.net

They carried hints of the woodiness of the slumbering trees encompassing the meadow, the dryness of the bales of hay at the edges, and the smoke rising from the shepherd’s cottage in the distance. As the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, the notes rose in strength, becoming less dewy, fragile and fresh; turning more potent; and carrying a little hint of soap. All too soon, it was late afternoon and the woody floral scent awoke the tall trees whose mighty trunks shook with a quiet murmur as they came to life. The trees were creamy and white, as soft as taupe suede in their touch. When the sun started to set over the Spring meadow, they extended their branches protectively over the fading, sleepy flowers and took over the night shift. It was their turn to stand guard.

Sunrise to sunset in a Spring field of flowers, touched by creamy woods — that was my experience with De Profundis, a 2011 creation of Serge Lutens and his favorite cohort in olfactory adventures, Christopher Sheldrake. It’s a lovely fragrance — matched by an even lovelier purple juice in the bottle — and one which is quite ethereal at times. De Profundis is described as a chrysanthemum soliflore — a scent devoted primarily to one single flower — but it is much more than that in my opinion, and far more than the mere “chrysanthemum and incense” summation provided on the Lutens website. I’ll leave the rest of the Lutens description for now, because I truly don’t think the back story for the fragrance really applies to De Profundis and it may, in fact, be a little misleading as to what scent you should expect.

Serge Lutens rarely provides a list of notes, so it’s a little bit of a guessing game as to what De Profundis contains. Compiling the elements from Fragrantica and the Perfume Shrine, the list would seem to be:

chrysanthemum, dahlia, lily, violet, earthy notes.

The Barneys‘ website, however, says De Profundis contains “chrysanthemum, hazelnut, and incense,” (hazelnut?!), while Surrender to Chance includes:

chrysanthemum, gladiolus, dahlia, chamomile, peony, woods, hay, violets, incense and candied fruit.

Judging by my own experiences, I would say the list of De Profundis’ notes may be closer to this:

chrysanthemum, dahlia, violets, lilies, peony, chamomile, hay, incense, woods, green notes, ISO E Super, and earthy notes.

The real key is chrysanthemum, a flower which has a dry, woody, sometimes hay-like undertone to its florals, along with a definite green side. It can sometimes smell a little like marigolds, in my experience. In contrast, dahlias can often take on a rose-like accord, while peonies can sometimes be like a mix between roses and lilacs (to my nose). That is definitely the case, here, with De Profundis.

Source: wpapers.ru

De Profundis opens on my skin with a fragile, haunting and delicate bouquet of flowers. There is chrysanthemum with violets, green notes, white lilies and sweet, wet earth. Lurking at the edges are the peonies, chamomile flowers, incense and green notes. The chrysanthemums are the core base but, at this stage, the top notes really smell (in order) like white lilies, violets, delicate, light roses, and purple lilacs. The incense is interesting because it doesn’t feel like churchy smoke but, rather, more like something sweet. Perhaps, myrrh with its lighter touch. I also detect the smallest whiff of ISO E Super, the aromachemical that is often used as a “super floralizer” and to give longevity to floral fragrances.

The fragrance feels ethereal and very much like a call to Spring. The green notes dancing in and out, alongside the wet earth aroma that a gardener would know so well. The flowers feel incredibly dewy and light, almost tender and soft. It feels as though they are just waking up, releasing the airiest of delicate floral scents. De Profundis is, at the start, a slightly cool fragrance; it’s almost chilly in its delicacy. As time passes, however, the floral aroma becomes stronger, more robust, almost as if the flowers have fully bloomed in the sunlight. The dew has evaporated, the petals unfurled, and the meadow floor comes to life with earthy softness, light smoke, and every bit of green around. The peony and dahlia combination adds some warmth to the dryness of the chrysanthemum and to the coolness of the lily notes. As the incense recedes, the bouquet feels even sweeter.

Underneath it all, however, there is an odd metallic clang. There is almost a cold, tin-like aspect under the delicate bouquet and it grows in strength as the incense and wet earth notes fades. I think it stems from the ISO E Super, though I’m relieved that it is minimal and completely in the background. I do admit that it adds a very velvety touch to the base of the flowers, but something about that metallic note is also a little discordant amidst the delicate, ethereal flowers.

Dahlia. Source: Flowerpicturegallery.com

By the end of the first hour, De Profundis is almost like a photo-realistic bouquet at the florist, complete with the freshly cut, green stems. Lilies tinged with a delightful undertone of almonds dance a duet with the chrysanthemums that feel like a steely mix of roses, earth, and dry woodsy notes. There are elements of hay, peppery ISO E Super, dahlias and a hint of violets. There is also a light soapiness underlying the mix; I’m not normally a fan of soapy notes, but it’s extremely soft here and quite muted. But the mesmerizing thing to me are the green notes that undulate in frequency and strength. Sometimes just a hint, sometimes more, they always feel as though a florist just took shears to some thick green stems and cut them, releasing that lovely, wet, greenness.

Perhaps the greater beauty lies with the woodsy notes and their development starting at the 90 minute mark. The wood accord feels as soft as buttery suede. I actually do imagine suede: creamily taupe, almost velvety, with the brown hue coming from the woods that protectively surround that spring meadow in my mind. De Profundis’ breathy, dewy, fresh opening has been replaced by a supple smoothness and sensuous softness that is incredibly elegant. As time passes, that note is supplemented by surprising hints of dry almonds and creamy vanilla. Incense returns to join the mix as well. The flickers of smoke feel almost like the black vanilla bean flecks in almond ice-cream. The combination sweetens the wood note, turning it into a cross between sweetened hay, white woods and suede, atop the merest suggestion of vanilla.

At the start of the third hour, De Profundis is a skin scent of chrysanthemums, incense, buttery smooth, suede woods, and a hint of soap. The floral note almost smells like carnation at times, but I wonder if that is the merely the power of suggestion as carnations and chrysanthemums are often linked together in the West for funereal purposes. Speaking of which, I suppose now is the time to bring up the perfume’s back story.

De Profundis was created at a time when Serge Lutens was supposedly thinking of retiring, and it’s a perfume whose story is all about the twilight years and death. There is some argument as to whether the perfume’s name came from the 130th Psalm or from Oscar Wilde, but either way, Serge Lutens’ press release is all about death. From Fragrantica, a small portion of the lengthy, morbid soliloquy reads as follows:

When death steals into our midst, its breath flutters through the black crepe of mourning, nips at funeral wreaths and crucifixes, and ripples through the gladiola, chrysanthemums and dahlias. […]

What if the hearse were taking the deceased, surrounded by abundant flourish, to a final resting place in France, and leading altar boys, priest, undertaker, beadle and gravediggers to some sort of celebration where they could indulge gleefully in vice? Now that would be divine! […]

Turning gravesites held in perpetuity over to Life – a familiar of these haunts – the chrysanthemum invites Death to leave the cemetery and offer us its flower.

I intentionally held off the company’s back story for De Profundis because I think it creates a very misleading — not to mention, depressing — context for the fragrance. I truly don’t visualize any of this when wearing the beautiful purple juice. And, despite the frequent mental association of chrysanthemums with funerals in the West, I don’t think you’ll think of such dark, grim things while wearing De Profundis. Even in the final drydown — when the perfume smelled a lot of carnations, with light smoke, a dash of soap, and amorphous purple flowers like lilacs or hyacinth — it never felt funereal or somber. So, I urge you to put the whole thing out of your mind and not let it dissuade you from trying the fragrance.

Perhaps the lovely review from Bois de Jasmin will help:

[H]aving learned of the origins of De Profundis, one might expect a somber composition of funereal darkness. Nothing could be further from the truth—De Profundis is a soaring, ethereal vignette of green flowers, full of surprises and such magic twists that I once again have to take off my hat to Lutens and his perfumer Christopher Sheldrake.

On skin, the vivid violet juice of De Profundis (a brighter and lighter shade than that of Sarrasins) explodes into a mass of green petals and delicate tendrils. The floral accord has a springtime delicacy reminiscent of bluebells and hyacinths. A bitter green note that oscillates between the freshness of rose buds and the spiciness of carnations anchors the initial dewy impression. The filigree effect of floral notes and the cool, polished character of the early stages are reminiscent of Bas de Soie, but the flowers of De Profundis lack the detached, metallic artificiality of the latter. Embellished with subtle indolic accents, the floral notes assume a lush, nature-like quality. […]

[T]he genius of the composition for me lies in its marriage of surprising elements. On the one hand, De Profundis has a classical woody oriental structure where the incense and woods create a mysterious, sonorous effect; on the other, its crisp green floral accord has a radiance and freshness of Balmain Vent Vert, Jean Patou Vacances, or perhaps even more so, Nina Ricci L’Air du Temps. As the composition develops, the velvety richness of incense fills the spaces in between the leaves and petals, while the dewy bluebell impression that I found so captivating persists into the late dry down.

I find De Profundis exquisitely beautiful and serene, rather than overly cerebral and dark.

I fully agree with Victoria. In the rest of that review, she describes De Profundis as being effortlessly elegant, “spellbinding” and captivating. She’s also correct about the sillage and longevity, writing: “[g]ossamer, yet long lasting and possessing a great sillage, De Profundis is a floral composition for those who like their blossoms more abstract and complex.” Where I part ways with her is on the issue of the incense. On my skin, it was extremely light and subtle, while a number of commentators on Fragrantica never really experienced it at all.

Speaking of longevity, De Profundis lasted approximately 6.5 hours on my perfume-consuming skin. It was actually a surprise, given that I’ve read reports of it dying on some people after quite a short period of time. Its sillage is always low, though it didn’t become a skin scent until just after the third hour. And, though it’s an extremely airy, lightweight, seemingly sheer fragrance, De Profundis is much stronger than you’d suspect if you bring your arm to your nose.

Like Victoria, I think you’ll be disappointed in De Profundis if you’re looking for a dramatically intense, diva-like floral. I also think you’ll be disappointed if you’re looking for a pure floral. De Profundis is not a bouquet of flowers but, rather, the whole damn meadow and adjoining forest — from the earth to the green stems to the suede, buttery woods. It’s a discreet, unobtrusive, but haunting scent, and I think a very wearable one, too. Not all Serge Lutens are thus, since they can sometimes be more akin to abstract, olfactory art (Tubereuse Criminelle — I’m looking at you!), but I can easily see De Profundis as a fragrance that you’d wear to the office, business meetings, a walk in the park, or tea at the Ritz. It may not be a date-night fragrance, but its elegance and those buttery suede woods may surprise you.

“Luxembourg Gardens at Twilight” – by John Singer Sargent.

Most of all, I think you will find De Profundis to be an introverted, haunting, slightly melancholy, cool fragrance that is always elegant. It truly evokes purple twilight and Spring flowers. Try De Profundis, and take a walk in the meadows or in the Luxembourg Gardens at twilight.

Details:

Cost & Availability: De Profundis is part of the Serge Lutens “European Exclusives” line, which means it is available only in the larger 75 ml Bell Jar size. It retails for $290 for a 75 ml/2.5 oz bottle. You can find De Profundis on the Serge Lutens website (US and international), but it is also sold exclusively at the New York Barney’s store. The Barney’s website states: “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.” In Europe, the price is considerably cheaper at €125 from the French Lutens website or from their Paris boutique. For other countries, you can use the Store Locator on the Lutens website. Sample vials to test it out can be purchased at Surrender to Chance (where I bought mine) and start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.

Perfume Review: Vero Profumo Rubj Eau de Parfum

Posted on May 8, 2013 by Kafkaesque

A “ravished ballerina” is perhaps the best known description for Rubj (pronounced as “Ruby”) Eau de Parfum from Vero Profumo, a cult favorite that is hugely adored amongst perfumistas. That evocative summation from Now Smell This was only the first of many admiring reviews which have since followed. So, I fully expect to be tarred and feathered when I say that I absolutely hated Rubj. It is quite a shock to me because orange blossom fragrances are amongst my favorites, I don’t have huge issues with cumin, and I simply adored Onda by the same, very talented, extremely original perfumer. Alas, on my skin, Rubj was primarily and mainly the scent of sweaty feet, combined with rancid body odor.

Vero Profumo (sometimes written with odd punctuation as “.vero.profumo.“) is a Swiss niche perfume line that was established in 2007 with three pure parfums called Onda, Kiki, and Rubj. Vero Kern, the founder and nose behind Vero Profumo, explains on her website that eroticism and originality were the goals behind each one. In 2010, the fragrances were released in eau de parfum concentration. They were not simply a milder form of the originals but, rather, slightly altered versions. Fragrantica provides Ms. Kern’s explanation of the key differences:

The new perfumes are not the diluted version of the extracts. […] In order to render the scents lighter and easier to wear, the compositions have been simplified; yet that “je ne sais quoi” unmistakably characterizing the extracts is still clearly there. “I replaced the animalic notes with the unique scent of the passionfruit – says Vero Kern – I personally love it very much and think that it lends a sensual and erotic lightness to the composition”.

Luckyscent provides the following notes for Rubj Eau de Parfum which is categorized on Fragrantica as a “floral oriental”:

Bergamot, mandarin, neroli, passion fruit, cumin, orange flower absolute, tuberose, basil, cedar, oak moss, musk.

I tried Rubj twice — three times if you’re including the fact that I gave it one more attempt this morning as I sat down to write this review. The first time, I applied the equivalent of two small sprays, only via dab method. The second time, I increased the quantity to about 3.5 good sprays. With the greater quantity, I could detect far more nuances, but the first time, my experience was almost entirely sweaty feet, followed later by rancid, sour, stale, musky body odor with just occasional hints of orange blossom lurking in the background. From start to finish, that was about it. So, this review will recount my experiences the second time around.

Rubj opened on my skin with a breathtakingly ethereal bouquet of orange: orange blossoms; delicate, but tart and tangy, baby mandarins; juicy orange meat; slightly dry neroli; and a soupçon of tuberose. It sits atop a base of light cedar, infused with basil and salty, fresh, brightly green oakmoss. It was absolutely beautiful. And it lasted all of about 15 seconds….

Passion fruit. Source: fo-od.co.uk.

Almost immediately thereafter, cumin and passion fruit explode upon the scene. My God, is it brutal! Filled with animalic notes and a very skanky musk, the cumin collides with the wet, earthy, gooey, over-ripe, indolic passion fruit to create one very unmistakable scent: sweaty feet. I cannot get over it and, as the smell grows stronger and stronger, an instinctive shudder wracks my body. Soon, something else gets added to the mix: body odor. It is sour, stale, and absolutely rancid in its muskiness. In gyms all across the world, men have bags filled with items reeking of this scent. Granted, the gym bags don’t usually also have a whiff of salty orange blossoms lurking underneath, but it’s close enough.

Source: 941foot.com

For the next two hours, the essential core of Rubj doesn’t change significantly on my skin. At times, the basil is a bit more noticeable; at others, the saltiness of the oakmoss is more predominant. Yet, at all times, the dominant elements are that brutal cumin combined with the skankiness of the passion fruit. By the start of the third hour, however, tuberose rises to the surface, and Rubj turns into a combination of tuberose and animalic, cumin-infused body odor with a hint of tart, juicy oranges behind it. The overall effect is simultaneous sour, fetid, and over-ripe. There were more than a few moments where my skin was radiating out the scent of unwashed, dirty, caked panties. I don’t even dare post a photo symbolizing what Rubj calls to mind! I’m not a prude but, frankly, I cannot imagine a circumstance where I would want to go out in public smelling like this.

Vero Kern says on the very first page of Vero Profumo’s website: “I love everything that reminds of the smell of skin.” And her replication of that scent was glorious in Onda EDP which I adored passionately, in part, because of how it evokes the smell of skin. There, it felt fresh and sweet, and, as I wrote in my review, conjured up the slightly heated aroma of skin when you’re intertwined with your lover in the early moments of intimacy. With Rubj, however, the scent as it manifested itself on my skin was closer to that of unwashed genitalia. The smell of skin, way, way, way after love-making is over, if you will.

Source: Sodahead.com

At the start of the sixth hour, and until the final traces of the fragrance are gone from skin, Rubj returns back to animalic, dirty, raunchy musk with a light touch of florals. There is tuberose but, primarily now, orange blossoms. Neither has the faintest chance against the smell of body odor and sweaty feet. All in all, Rubj EDP lasted 8.5 hours on my perfume-consuming skin at the greater dosage and 7 hours with the lesser one. The sillage was never enormous or powerful at any time — a fact for which I am most grateful. Rubj always was soft in terms of projection, and became close to the skin approximately 3.5 hours into its development at the higher dosage and 2 hours at the lower one. As a whole, it is a surprisingly airy, light perfume in texture and feel.

As I noted at the start of the review, Rubj EDP is a hugely adored cult favorite. The review from Angela at Now Smell This that began the “ravished ballerina” associations calls it “innocent and carnal,” as well as “very, very sexy.” Two gushing reviews at Luckyscent go further:

Goodness, someone’s been a naughty girl. This is the most frankly sexual scent I have ever smelled. It has a heavy narcotic quality that is sleepy and langorous. Heavy, intense orange blossom over a musk that is like nothing I’ve every smelled before (in a perfume). This is glamorous, old school, femme fatale. I realize I’m babbling, but it has scrambled my brains. Do try, do try, do try this beauty.

I love the extrait to death but find it a bit overwhelming at times. I love its mouthwatering tartness, indolic jasmine and civet base; but that can get a bit too much. The EDP on the other hand is, I find, to be quite different. Opens with a surprising grapefruit-like citrus as opposed to the tartness of berries that conjure up images of scarlet rubies. The EDP is more of a suave, maroon linen cloth. It is much airier and greener, giving it an entirely different beauty that is much more approachable than the extrait. It is still somewhat suggestive due to the discrete use of cumin. Deceptively gorgeous.

If only I had experienced a discreet use of cumin! How I wish I could have experienced the lovely “spring bouquet” mentioned by one person on Fragrantica, or the orange blossom extravaganza adored by others. Instead, my experience is much closer to that of a number of Fragrantica commentators who had a less than enchanting experience. One commentator describes Rubj as: “Tuberose and cumin. Didn’t sit well with me – an overblown tuberose with a B.O undertone.” Another calls it “medicinal” tuberose, and a third writes about “a smelly armpit kinda smell. it’s kinda like cumin-body odor over a slightly floral scent.” But I relate to, and feel most strongly for, “catbiscuit” who wrote:

I fully expect to be punished for my review here but as long my penalty doesn’t involve being doused in Rubj EDP I think I will be okay.

I have worked really hard to like this perfume with multiple skin tests and a paper test in case my skin was distorting the fundamentals of the creation. I even turned on the air-conditioner in case the ambient heat was the problem.

To no avail, Rubj EDP still smells for all the world like the skin is oozing the waste product of last night’s champion indian curry banquet out through its pores in rivulets of warm sweat. Passionfruit-basil-tuberose I can pick them up but the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

It isn’t until the musk enters in the drydown (on a skin test) that Rubj truly defies belief though. It has that peppery, fruity, musky male odour found emanating from a healthy scrotum after a sweaty day’s work. As a heterosexual woman this is enjoyable in small doses and infiniately superior to the curried sweat accord but still mind-boggling to say the least.

Good God, is that accurate! Well, she and I can be pilloried together — so long as the punishment is never more Rubj.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: The Rubj fragrance being reviewed here is only the Eau de Parfum version and it is available at Luckyscent for $220 for a 50 ml/1.7 oz bottle. (The Vero Profumo website does not seem to sell the perfumes.) Outside of the US, the Vero Profumo Facebook page offers a whole list of European retailers from Kiev, Russia, to Oslo, Norway, and Italy. It also adds: “Since 2010 distributed worldwide by Campomarzio70 in Rome Italy, in selective boutiques and perfumeries such as ROJA DOVE, Harrods Urban Retreat London, JOVOY Paris, Parfums Rares and many more. Campomarzio70, marketing@campomarzio70.it will inform you where you find the nearest retailer in your country.” I checked the website for Campomarzio70 and it doesn’t seem to sell the perfumes online, since I could find no “online cart” (so to speak), no pricing options or no way to purchase the perfumes, but you can try to check for yourself. In the UK, you can find all Vero Profumo perfumes at Harrod’s Roja Dove Haute Parfumerie, but there is no online website through which you can purchase perfumes. (It is not the same site as the Harrod’s website.) At Jovoy Paris, Rubj retails for €165. In the Netherlands, you can find it at Leanne Tio Haute Parfumerie where it costs €170. Germany’s First In Fragrance carries not only the complete Vero Profumo line but also offers sample sets. They sell Rubj Eau de Parfum for €150. They ship throughout the world. As for samples, I obtained mine from Surrender to Chance as part of Vero Profumo Three-Perfume Sample Set (Onda, Rubj, and Kiki); the set is only for the EDP concentration and prices begin $13.99 for a 1/2 ml vial of each. Surrender to Chance doesn’t sell Rubj EDP individually but it does sell the Pure Parfum for $9.99 for a 1/4 ml vial, $19.98 for a 1/2 ml vial, and up.

Perfume Review – Frapin Speakeasy: Pancakes in Havana

Posted on May 7, 2013 by Kafkaesque

By now, regular readers of the blog should know that history motivates me as much as perfume. (Actually, probably more.) So, it should come as no surprise that I read about Frapin and had to try one of their fragrances. Frapin is relatively new to the perfume scene, having started just five years ago in 2008, but the line has been making luxury cognac for centuries. In fact, the family behind it goes back almost 800 years! To quote a Vanity Fair article,

The Frapin’s rich family heritage is the stuff of a whimsical, old-world romance novel—and, according to creative director David Frossard, the key inspiration for all seven fragrances in the line.One of the oldest and most established families in France, the Frapins have been distilling cognac from their original Fontpinot Castle, situated on 300 hectares in the Grand Champagne region of France, since 1270 and through 20 generations; they expanded into fragrance in 2008. And if a castle isn’t enough of a fairy tale for you, Louis XIV himself granted official nobility to the Frapin family in 1697.

Frapin Castle. Source: Frapin website.

Frapin, as a perfume house, is perhaps best known for its 1270 fragrance and then, for the limited-edition, Bertrand Duchaufour-created 1697. Both are loved for being very boozy, rich scents, in keeping with Frapin’s goal of replicating the feel and smell of their cognac.

I opted, instead, to try Speakeasy, a perfume whose name appealed to my interest in the Prohibition era of the 1920s when alcohol was constitutionally banned in America, leading to the rise of the Mafia, gangsters, and illegal bootlegging. (My appreciation for the HBO television series, “Boardwalk Empire,” added to it.) For those outside of America, the term “speakeasy” refers to the illegal drinking dens that were operating in secret and where alcohol flowed like water, as the mobsters raked in the cash. It was the era of Al Capone, Meyer Lansky, Lucky Luciano, and the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.

Source: CaFleureBon

Speakeasy is a boozy, woody Oriental fragrance that was released in 2012 and that was created by Marc‐Antoine Cortcchiato, the founder of Parfum d’Empire — yet, another reason why I opted for this perfume over its more famous siblings. And, I have to say, I’m disappointed. For one thing, Speakeasy most certainly does not evoke the 1920s and Prohibition, but, rather, a slightly seedy bar in 1950s Cuba or Miami filled with mojitos, pancakes, and cigars. One commentator on Fragrantica found it brought to mind the 1970s with its vinyl orange plastic, formica green and ruddy browns — and it does that, too. My main problem with Speakeasy, however, is that it’s a hodge-podge that isn’t really enormously interesting. It’s fine, it’s average, it’s neither here, nor there — and it doesn’t inspire much of anything to me. Perhaps it should have been more like Hemingway in his early Cuban days….

Havana. Source: Standard.co.uk.

Luckyscent has a wonderful description of the fragrance which, alas, really didn’t bear out in reality for me:

Speak easy: those were the words whispered to clients in illegal bars during the Prohibiton…

Frapin’s new fragrance conjures the film noir allure of an age when danger lurked under the glamour; a tropical bar where Hemingway could have bumped into the characters of To Have and Have Not. Misted glasses, club chairs, smuggled Cuban cigars savored by gentlemen bootleggers under wood ceiling fast churning the damp air…

According to Luckyscent, Speakeasy’s long list of notes includes:

Rum extract, Indian davana, Sweet italian orange and Fizzy lime from Brazil, Cold russian mint and Egyptian geranium, Oriental leather accord, Ciste absolute, Labdanum absolute, Styrax essence, Turkish tobacco accord, Tobacco absolute, Liatrix absolute, Everlasting [Immortelle] flower absolute, Tonka bean absolute and White musks.

Speakeasy opens on my skin with a brief, split-second element of a traditional cologne. There is fresh, zesty lemon, lemon peel, and orange which feels a lot like freshly-squeezed juice. The scent is thin, light and slightly cool in nature. Within seconds, however, the fragrance turns warmer, thicker, smooth and sweet with rum and honey notes. The boozy accord is supplemented by hints of fuzzy, green geranium and mint. The citruses recede slightly to the background where they add a subtle depth to the fragrance but are never hugely dominant. That role is taken, instead, by the rum which is strong and rich, though actually much lighter in feel than I had expected. It feels a little like Captain Morgan’s Rum and bloody close to a Mojito cocktail, but not exactly. Perhaps it’s because the note is infused with dry tobacco leaves and immortelle.

Immortelle, or Helichrysum in Corsica. Source: Wikicommons.

Ah, the immortelle — the reason why Speakeasy may be a hard sell for many. You see, the immortelle is quite dominant in the development of the perfume, and it’s a note which polarizes people greatly. For those unfamiliar with immortelle, it’s is a yellow flower most frequently found in the Southern Mediterranean, and its dry, floral scent usually turns quickly into the aroma of maple syrup. Here, both aspects of the flower are noticeable. Initially, it is a dry, light, slightly aromatic flowers which join with the tobacco leaves to counter Speakeasy’s boozy sweetness. Later, however, the maple syrup comes out. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Source: iVillage.com

Thirty minutes in, Speakeasy is a swirl of rum-infused citruses, dry tobacco leaves, amber, and vaguely amorphous floral notes dominated by the immortelle. It feels a lot less like a Mojito, though the mint still flickers lightly in the background. The orange note lurks there too: it is much less fresh and light; it feels like the caramelized pulp of the fruit. But neither the mint nor the orange can counter the boozy, ambered rum that is the core essence of Speakeasy. At the start of the second hour, Speakeasy decreases in volume and becomes much softer, while also becoming much more brown and orange in hue. There is sticky, rum citrus with sugar cane, melted and caramelized, but also with a subtle hint of saltiness. Florals float in the background, simultaneously fruited and a bit dry. The whole thing sits atop a base of rummy amber with tobacco and hints of immortelle.

From the initial impressions of a Mojito, we’ve now suddenly gone to a 1950s bar in Havana or Miami. It’s filled with heavy-set men in open tropical shirts, sporting heavy gold chains over a visible expanse of black, furry, springy chest-hair. In their thick fingers, they hold fresh Cuban cigars — dry and unsmoked — which they wave in the air at the bartender to order another round of Rum-and-Coke. I can’t get the image out of my head. It doesn’t help that, 3 hours in, Speakeasy takes a turn into root-beer territory backed with rum, more dry tobacco, and a growing hint of maple syrup. The latter initially feels a lot more nutty in nature than the syrup you’d pour over pancakes, but it’s still not really my cup of tea. I like the floral aspects of Immortelle, not the maple syrup, and unfortunately, the former note starts to fade as the latter grows in dominance. Now, my heavy, furry, cigar-wielding, Havana men in tropical shirts also have a side of pancakes to go with their Cuba Libre drinks.

Source: Instructables.com

By the start of the seventh hour, Speakeasy is maple syrup amber and… maple syrup. Yes, there is still the tobacco — and it still feels like an unlit cigar or dry sheets of tobacco leaves, rather than anything evoking an ashtray — but it’s quite minimal. The immortelle has taken over the show. For the next five hours, Speakeasy is ever softening shades of maple syrup. And that’s it. Truly. I can’t detect a single other element to the scent.

All in all, Speakeasy lasted over under 12.5 hours on my perfume-consuming skin which is quite remarkable. I should note, however, that I did two tests for Speakeasy and the first time, when I applied much less, the longevity and sillage were significantly less pronounced. With the equivalent of one good spray, Speakeasy lasted approximately 9.75 hours and had good sillage. With just a little over 2 sprays (really about 2 and 1/2), the longevity was a few hours more. On both occasions, the sillage was very good for the first hour — even powerful when I applied a greater quantity — and projected three to four inches off my skin. Later, Speakeasy softened, though it was easily detected if I brought my arm anywhere near my nose. It became a skin scent around the eighth hour during my second test.

Despite the rich notes and the excellent projection, Speakeasy surprised me in being quite lightweight in feel. The texture isn’t opaque, heavy, resinous or thick. And, for all the rum involved, it doesn’t feel like a boozy scent. It’s not like Hermès‘ Ambre Narguilé, Guerlain‘s Spiritueuse Double Vanille, Tom Ford‘s Tobacco Vanille, Teo Cabanel‘s Alahine — all scents with a boozy, rummy nature, though they are all perfumes with a huge amount of spice in them, too. Most of those have a large tobacco element as well but, still, they aren’t the same as Speakeasy. Perhaps it’s because Speakeasy has the mojito, maple syrup and pure rum accords, as opposed to the spiced, stewed prunes, raisins and apples of the others. Or, perhaps, it’s because it’s so texturally light.

Whatever the reason, I truly couldn’t summon up much enthusiasm. I have tried and tried to pinpoint why — apart from my issues with smelling like maple syrup — and I think it’s because Speakeasy feels a bit like a hodge-podge. It’s neither a truly boozy, spiced, smoky, amber oriental, nor a light summery, Mojito scent. Tobacco and rum generally work perfectly well together, but the immortelle adds a discordant jangle, as does the mint. The wonderful perfume blogger, The Non-Blonde, summed it up as “chaotic” — and I think she’s absolutely right, even though her experience differed from my own. In her review, she wrote:

Unlike the term “Speakeasy” and its hush-hush connotations, Frapin’s fragrance is a heavy hitter right from the start. It’s noisy and chaotic as the perfume throws almost everything it has at you: herbs and fruit, smoke and syrup– they party like it’s 1929.

Things get smoother rather quickly. The mojito is replaced by a darker and warmer drink. The syrupy sweetness sets the tone for a comfortable old leather, incense, and a rich tobacco. If you dislike immortelle and its burnt maple aroma, there’s no amount of Frapin booze that will help Speakeasy go down better for you. Personally I love it, so the sweeter the better in this case. Tobacco truly dominates the way Speakeasy smells on my skin: light and dark, sweet and smoky. I love it, but must admit that it can be too literal. I never smoked and would rather not smell like I’ve become a smoker in middle-age. It’s actually a little disturbing that the remnants of Speakeasy on my clothes remind me of a smoky bar.

On my skin, there really wasn’t that much tobacco, and it never felt like an ashtray; I honestly never felt as though I’d spent all night in a smoky bar. To me, the note felt much more like that of sheaves of tobacco leaves drying in the hot Virginia sun, or like that of an unsmoked cigar. I also never detected incense or leather, though Speakeasy definitely evokes some sort of old bar with leather and wood. (God, leather and incense may have made it so much better!) Despite these minor differences, though, I share her views on the jangling, chaotic feel to the scent. Don’t get me wrong — Speakeasy is not a bad scent by any means, but it leaves me feeling completely indifferent.

I haven’t tried Frapin’s limited-edition 1697, but I’ve read a comment on Fragrantica to the effect that Speakeasy was like a little “summer sister” to the Duchaufour creation. I have to wonder a little about that as there is no immortelle in 1697’s notes, and that element is such a huge part of Speakeasy’s middle to late stages. Still, those looking for a more boozy, amber scent may want to give “1697” a sniff, while those seeking a lighter, summery fragrance with a more tropical feel may want to opt for Speakeasy. But those who shudder at the mere thought of immortelle — and there are many of you out there — should probably stay away at all costs.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Speakeasy is an eau de parfum that is available only in a 3.4 oz/100 ml and which costs $145. In the U.S., it is available at Luckyscent, Beautyhabit, and MinNewYork (which sells it for $5 more at $150). In Canada, Speakeasy is available at The Perfume Shoppe for CAD $145. In the UK, I’ve read that Frapin fragrances are carried on the specialty floor of Harvey Nichols (Le Floret?), but I don’t know for sure. In France, it is available at Nose for €105 and I think there is free shipping at that price within the EU. For the rest of Europe, there is First in Fragrance which sells Speakeasy for €96. As for samples, I obtained mine from Surrender to Chance which sells vials starting at $4.50 for 1 ml.