Probably my favorite of the Frederic Malle line. Iris Poudre hits the skin with a decent version of Chanel No. 5's powdery lemon champagne aldehydes, played out over a complex mix of flowers that kind of reminds me of Giorgio's infamous candied baby aspirin smell, but spiced with peppery carnation and laid out on a bed of smooth iris. It smells gorgeous, and dries down to a mix of iris and galbanum that's quite nice as well.
I've taken so long to review Iris Poudre because there's just something thin about it. It smells like one of the world's great perfumes, but watered down. It lasts all day, but is always faint and non-projecting. This is the kind of perfume that could be a Amoage-style luxury bomb as an EDP or the height of richness as an extrait, but instead it's just a dull hum at its chosen concentration. Malle has said that he released this as his first perfume because it has so many expensive ingredients that he know no one could copy it. Maybe that's why it's weakly concentrated - anything more would make a bottle cost too much. Anyway, I think Iris Poudre is a must try, though don't expect to be blown away just because it's so quiet. Maybe some day Malle will introduce a parfum...
A quite light mix of florals with iris hiding in there somewhere - I occasionally get a whiff of it, but it is never center stage, as one would expect with a scent named after it.
Luca Turin gives it three stars and calls it "powdery fruit." He acknowledges perfumer Bourdan's penchant for making "sunny, fruity" scents and feels that the is what he does here with what might have been an interesting nod to the iconic Iris Gris.
It is very nice, but ultimately too light and inconsequential to interest me. It's also a cheat in naming itself after an ingredient that many will seek out, only to be disappointed that it makes a mere cameo appearance.
Stunning. Iris Poudre is at once beautifully soft, yet cool and austere. Magnolia, jasmine and iris meet in an accord whose whole is far greater then the mere sum of its parts. Meanwhile, the powder half of Iris Poudre is rich, and almost creamy, the aldehydes neither too "pretty" nor too harsh.
I can't rave wildly enough about the deft integration of the iris here. All of its rough edges are smoothed over, but this iris still has teeth. The development is marvelous, too, with sandalwood, powdery musk, and just a touch of vanilla sweetness underneath the lingering floral accord. Iris Poudre feels both exquisite and very comfortable to wear.
This being my first review I'm not sure whether I would feel so strongly in future, however, this fragrance is quite simply dreadful. It smells like a very unrefined version of Chanel No.5, having none of the charm and complexity of that fragrance. It is the essence of old lady's handbag, there is something musty and bottom of the handbag about it, and not in a comforting way.
I find this creation to be like an interloper which has unceremoniously booted out the original occupant of this name – for this is not particularly heavy on iris nor is it powdery to any great extent. Instead, soon into its development something that reads awfully like a Guerlain accord comes to the fore: a bit of indolic jasmine with the sharpish sandalwood typical of that house and some vanilla. Before that, the opening is subtly lit with aldehydes and brightening fruity tones. Ultimately the thing heads off in a soapy, musky direction with a much cleaner jasmine still lingering.
But what of the iris? Where is the powder and dust? The playdough? The butteriness? The vegetal otherness? The solitary hauteur? The iris here couldn’t be bothered; it is sitting somewhere in the back concentrating on its knitting.
The final result is pretty soft and seamless, easy to wear, but I can’t muster much enthusiasm for it.