L'Anarchiste (2000)
by Caron

L'Anarchiste is a gorgeous fragrance that teeters on the edge but never quite jumps into the oriental and gourmande category. The neroli/mandarine head note is quite provocative. There is definitely a spiced-fruit accord that radiates through into the heart of this one, but the woody core of the heart keeps the whole composition from becoming overly sweet. The musky/woody and slightly amberic dry-down is a favorite of mine, and it lasts for hours on me. This is a sensual, sophisticated scent that doesn't have much anarchy going on, but it is certainly very good.

L’Anarchiste reminds me of the famous 19th century Russian Anarchist Mikhail Bakunin. Bakunin was both physically and intellectually striking, loved the good life, and was almost always busy trying to transform the world. Like Bakunin, L’Anarchiste is striking, brings the good life to mind, and never relaxes entirely.

L’Anarchiste opens with a heady mix of orange blossom, mandarin, and cedar leaves. The combination is a little bit boozy, a little bit sharp, a little bit fresh, sort of enthusiastic, and for me, at least, addictive. I thought that this accord would collapse into soft and round citrus, but it doesn’t. The cedar leaves keep this accord alive for up to ten hours on my skin, and the accord is constantly ducking and weaving to show how alive and interesting it can continue to be.

Beneath the citrus and cedar leaves an accord of elegant sandalwood and cedar wood begins to develop, culminating in a bond between the cedar leaves and cedar wood. This conjunction holds the top and middle together for the entire day, and provides a platform on which the top accord can strut its stuff.

At the base of L’Anarchiste is a combination of vetiver and musk. The vetiver is earthy without being dirty, and the musk is soft and round enough to not overwhelm the top or middle.

Unlike Third Man, L’Anarchiste is not a study in urbane sophistication. It is more forthright and practical than its stable mate, but no less pleasing or interesting.

Something about L’Anarchiste makes me want to situate it alongside Azzaro Silver Black and Guerlain Homme (two of my favorite fragrances), but I’ll have to give this some more thought and add to this review at a later date.

I honestly can't understand what all this outrage and revulsion is about. Blood? Nope. "Rusty bucket?" Nada. Copper? Only on the bottle. Certainly not the Antichrist, a zombie, or even vampire juice.

After all the hoopla, what I smell is a very pleasant, well-made woody scent with a good deal of sweet citrus on top and a politely musky base. The orange top note is lightly "mentholated" by cedar leaves, and I suppose if my imagination were much more vivid I might say it smelled like cough syrup, or metal, or something more exotic and disturbing than citrus and cedar sap.

At any rate, the sweet orange and cedar soon blend with some softer, sweeter woods and a generous dash of cinnamon to make a smooth, spicy accord that persists for a couple of hours before the musky-woody drydown sets in. This accord strikes me as quite suave and sophisticated - good for the fashionable, cultured urbanite who's always perfectly accessorized.

L'Anarchiste is really very nice, versatile, and easy to wear, and hardly all that weird. The only real fault I find in it is that doesn't last as long as it could, which strikes me as odd coming from a house that's bred such marathoners as The Third Man and Yatagan.

My first impression was Mott's Cinnamon Apple Sauce with extra sugar. My second thought was the same. So I'm going to stick with my feelings and say that this smells just like warm cinnamon apple sauce. Very different and unique.

i think foetidus has it spot on here with his description of the orange blossom and mandarin notes in l'anarchiste - it's not harsh citrus accord by any means, but more of a tamed yet twisted, candied orange, yet not particularly sweet. that's not to say there isn't a degree of sweetness overall, but this combined with the vetiver as it starts to dry down impressed on me a somewhat traditional masculine soapy quality - as has been noted, hardly anarchic. the initial waft is perhaps almost orange liquer-esque, a sort of cointreau note progressing into wonderful sandalwood which softens the cedar assault into something i find almost beautiful, this boozey-orange tinged-woodsy symphony which almost should be a mess but really works. but as i've said, when the vetiver rears it's head it all goes soapy, spoiling l'anarchiste for me before i get to the gorgeous lingering skin-scent musk, which still retains a hint of the sandalwood and the merest, faintest whiff of what finally seems might be the orange blossom.

i'll buy this for sure, but the vetiver soapiness means this is no anarchist, rather almost formal.

As a gift to myself, I've gotten lots of samples of a wide range of scents. Once a week, I take one to work and 5 or 6 of us give it a try. We (all women) try the scents without looking at the information on the decant, so we don't have preconceived notions. We all found this very pleasant. It has a nice sillage but still seems close to the skin. My husband likes it on me, too ("cinnamon-y" to his nose). Perhaps we used smaller amounts that those who found this juice noxious. I'm still trying to figure it out. It is unusual. I'll put a heavier dose on today. Maybe I won't like that so much.

I wonder if those who pick up a "blood" note aren't picking up a little smell of copper? There's an enzyme in the blood, ceruloplasmin, that contains and also carries copper.

BTW, a scent that smelled really freaky to my husband and myself was Myrrh Ardente. A bit like visits to the doctor after a bad scrape, maybe a little like an embalming room, or your childhood dentist's office.