Kingdom (2003)
by Alexander McQueen

I get cumin in the opening in a balanced citrus-like / cumin accord that is different from anything else I’ve smelled before in fragrances: Strong cumin, no doubt, powerful and ingenious and more than a bit Gothic. I enjoy it now, but at first I did not really like the opening (or the fragrance, for that matter). Even when I thought that the accord was disgusting, I understood that, existentially speaking, my opinion of it was irrelevant. I don’t see Kingdom as a like - dislike fragrance; I see it as a statement, as a concept - idea fragrance. I very soon came to the realization that what I had just smelled was simply prelude to an olfactory creation whose primary purpose is to revolt, to disrupt complacency, and to flaunt a central digit into the face of the universe. The intent of the opening is ambush. This is certainly not an accident — it’s a challenge…a declaration — a rebellion.

The cumin provides heat: Not a thin, biting capsicum heat, but the lower keyed, full-bodied, stewing, festering heat of obsession and licentious passion: a subterranean, simmering, rapacious sultriness. This is no raging flame that destroys itself with its own exuberance; this is a street corner transactional heat that addresses the stewing of one’s own visceral juices and the gnawing of one’s own id. It stews, and gnaws, it languishes, and then it mutates. In the myths, the mutation is where the ugly duckling turns into the swan; where the Golden Fleece is gathered from the thorns, and where the rainbow glimmers and the birds sing. In Kingdom’s case, the dissipation, the lessening of the festering undercurrents — the mutation leads to…what?…a soft, underplayed rose / jasmine accord — anemic and totally out of predictable mythic character. If the scent were meant to be mythic, it would have blossomed into a full luxurious, pristine beauty — the myth fulfilled, again. That doesn’t happen. The myth turns into…Rosewater! Passion expended results in…err… very little: Why? Because it is the expending of the passion that is the meaning of the passion. Kingdom is not here to restate the old: It’s here to rebel, to overturn, and it is too soon to care about building new stories and expectations. Kingdom is hopelessly pessi-mythic. It languishes. It lethargizes in its floral and citrus ambivalence, always retaining the background heat as its real true eternal character: a steaming, unsatiated sensuality; and, as that, Kingdom continues on through its excellent but earthy…and its real…but fated… drydown — beautiful in its own way, but with no attempt at any sort of classic universal concept of beauty or sensuality or elegance... It is what it is, and the rebellion is enough...it has proven once again, its own existence… Kingdom is a truly revolutionary fragrance — one that flies in the face of tradition, prior knowledge, and comprehension. Long live the revolution! (Edit of 03 June 2006 review.)

Ah, the fearsome, cumin-drenched, armpit-reeking Kingdom!

So? Where is it?

Years of wearing scents like Muscs Koublaï Khan, Eau d’Hermès, Ungaro II, and Kouros must have left my nostrils very jaded, because Kingdom smells like a pleasantly spicy, sweet oriental scent on a vanilla-sandalwood foundation with a moderate animalic accent. I’m neither shocked nor scandalized, nor would I really expect anyone else who’s enjoyed wearing Jicky, Chanel’s Cuir de Russie, Bal à Versailles, or Bandit to be either. It’s just not that far out of the box.

What killed Kingdom, I suspect, was that McQueen (bravely) introduced it at a time when the mainstream feminine fragrance axiom was the candy-sweet fruity floral and the commercial men’s fragrance archetype was the ultra-sanitary, “fresh” aquatic scent or fruity fougère. (And make no mistake about it, Kingdom could just as well have been a “masculine” scent as a “feminine,” and is equally wearable for non-squeamish members of either gender.) This would have been popular on the niche market as a slightly heavier and more subdued alternative to Muscs Koublaï Khan. Too bad the general public didn’t have the stomach for it.

Cumin or not, this scent is a challenge to wear. It smells like a 'lady love purse' (I read this mildly amusing expression somewhere) during its initial stages. And this smell comes on very strong indeed. But it is never vulgar. The later stages where it finally settles down, Kingdom does redeem itself- it's rather beautiful in its own right. And what a most amazing bottle!!!

This was one of those "Oh, let's just get this over with" tests. I've got a growing wish list over at TPC that I pulled this from, having initially learned about it here. It looked intriguing at first, but then the prospect of a really cumin-y fragrance that I probably wouldn't like began to pale in light of all these Carons, SL's, Guerlains, etc. that apparently must be experienced. I began to grow afraid of it, feeling I am just not brave enough for this sort of fragrance. So as I ordered, I was like, "FINE. Let's just do this." No perfume is going to tell me what to do! : )
I did NOT risk wearing this one to work, despite how utterly pretty it smells in the vial. I thought about wearing it to church. (What's an hour, even if I did smell like... umm.....cumin?) Rather, here I sit, husband watching tv, cat on my lap, clad in my most comfy clothes. The cumin came out as soon as the fragrance hit my skin. It 's blended really nicely with its flowers and the whole thing really is beautiful, if you ask me. I think it is just lovely on my skin, and one of the most intensely feminine scents I have experienced. The cumin makes it a little too risque for me to be wearing it out anywhere (especially houses of worship... : } ) but I think it is more at home in the boudoir, anyway.

I was hoping I'd be different and smell something good from this like all the other "thumbs-uppers" here. Nope, it smells like an unwashed human. *foghorn*

Yeah, I also disagree with Turin's one-star review, I thought he'd at least give it credit for being unusual.

Frankly, I find it wonderfully vulgar, obscene and unapologetic. There's no mistaking this fragrance's intentions to emulate anything other than sex, sex, sex, and more sex.