Despite the name, Iris Poudre is neither very powdery nor very iris-heavy. Boy, it’s beautiful, though. Wearing it feels like a celebration. It envelops the wearer in a white, balmy, creamy cloud of aldehydes and sweet flower petals, with subtle hints of a cool, floral iris glinting like pearls threaded into layers of white tulle. When I wear it, I feel like I’m ten again, digging through my mother’s clothes and playing dress-up with her costume jewelry.
The sweetness, almost like honey or amber, hiding behind the skirts of Iris Poudre always takes me by surprise. It is a sugared cream wave that gathers force and builds behind the thin wall of glittering aldehydes, and when it breaks, together they create that balmy, pearlescent cloud of scent particles that moves with your body like a shoal of tiny silver fish.
And yet, inside the lift of aldehydes, I sense something chemically abrasive and woody that tugs against the creamy, bland perfection of the scent. It’s not unpleasant, and in fact, it makes the scent all the more interesting to me. It is not, as I first thought, the natural sharpness of soap, but rather the pressurized air just released from pulling a tab on a can of soda (after shaking) – that same unbridled, expectant air of “something is about to happen” that I get from Chanel No. 22 and Baghari, both scents to which Iris Poudre may be compared.
The chemical sharpness of aldehydes in general, therefore, there to give the same boost to a fragrance that the propellers of a plane does, and tasting as much of metal and forced air as champagne. I can live with that. Actually, I really like this edge of modernity, that glancing dash of metal in a fragrance that is otherwise all about soapy, old-fashioned glamour. It makes it as abstract and as modern as that other supersonic, aldehydic floral, Chanel No. 5. But I would far prefer to wear Iris Poudre.
I love this perfume. It's long lasting and (on me) fresh, but very sensual. I don't know that I'd recommend it for those who enjoy the more "modern" fragrances despite its recent creation date. To me Iris Poudre is closer to the traditional/antique scents.
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.