Sample Of The Day - April 2010

Hey everyone - if you test out anything interesting or have any notes to share about things you've been sniffing, please share them here!

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For the last few days, I've been testing Parfums Delrae. Today I sampled Amoureuse.

OK, so imagine a spicy apple pie, heavy on the cinnamon and nutmeg. Sweet but tart enough to not be cloying. Now, take out the apple and replace it with citrus and peaches. And pair that up with tuberose. And some lily to give it a pinch of green wetness.

So it's tuberose with sort of gourmand-ish but not goumand dessert spices and tart fruit. It's really quite hard to describe and probably doesn't smell at all what you'd think it smells like from my description.

For one, there's no vanilla or officially gourmand notes. Instead, there's moss in the base, but it never smells mossy, more like dessert-spiced tuberose that goes from citrusy and a pinch green on the top to mossy and a pinch woody in the base. But it's really all about that tuberose with the pie spices.

Though it's not really what I'm into, I can see this being grail material for someone.

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Over the last few months, I've worn every Delrae now (I'm pretty sure...) and it's clear that what Delrae does best is to find a happy medium between niche artsy weirdness and conservative womanly wearablilty. She has a knack for taking recipes that are generally used by the weirder niche crowd and somehow giving them a perfumey sparkle and a feminine balance. She takes the avante garde and, with the skilled hands of her perfumers, makes them into something my mother could wear, without sacrificing quality or creativity or dumbing things down.

In the case of Mythique, which I wore yesterday, Delrae takes the tried and true violets-over-leather recipe and turns down both the brightness and the funk. Violets can be screechy, and leather can be raunchy (for the unabashed violets over leather experience, check out Armani's Cuir Amethyste), but not in the hands of Delrae. It eventually twists and turns through some nice flowers and ends up as a fruity patchouli jam, which again could be cloying or overly thick (think Lutens), but is perfectly balanced in the Delrae universe.

In Bois De Paradis, which I wore the day before, Delrae sanitizes a heady benzoin amber. It's another well-worn niche recipe: buttery benzoin, honey, and amber mixed with fruits and woods, which usually comes off as VERY rich (Lutens' Santal de Mysore or Costume Nation Homme come to mind). But Delrae somehow keeps it from ever feeling too thick. There's a citric, peachy fruitiness on top that's almost sparkly and perfumey (aldehydes, I'm guessing) that makes Bois De Paradis's decidedly rich, thick ingredient list somehow come off as perfumey and bright, but with depth.

In the end, I prefer my violets screechy and my leather dark and my honeyed benzoin unabashedly rich and thick, so I'm afraid Delrae just isn't the house for me, but I appreciate the quality of their scents and the work they put into them. And, as an aside, the bright, perfumey quality shared by all of their scents gives them just enough of a feminine edge that I'm never quite at ease in them. In a way, I'm more comfortable in big realistic nichey florals than I am in subtle perfumey politeness. But if you like the ideas behind Lutens and Malle and some of the more difficult niche, but just find them a bit much and are more happy in your Chanels, pretty much anything from Delrae would definitely be worth testing and may turn out to be new favorites.

Hey there ROtto! Good to hear from you.

I'm kind of curious about Voyage d'Hermes, but I'm a bit fearful of Elena-by-the-numbers because he almost always ends up throwing in cumin and turning me off. Others have described this as having that TdH flint note - does it have that generic designer woody amber in it? Those are two automatic disqualifications for me...

Anyway, today I sampled Frederic Malle Iris Poudre.



A really nice use of aldehydes and iris. From the name, I was expecting some flowery powdery nightmare, which is completely wrong, because Iris Poudre isn't very powdery or very flowery. The aldehydes are bright and mesh with a bergamot topnote to make an enchanting entrance. The iris is noticeable from the top, but it's the bready, deep, cosmetic-smelling orris root of Mitsouko or Dior Homme, not the powdery stuff that usually turns me off.

Given time, the brightness fades, leaving the bready iris to mix with a polite woodsy vanilla/sandalwood mix, occasionally throwing off slightly jammy spiced violet silage.

I'm really enjoying Iris Poudre, but with one big technical caveat: The topnotes are presented at fairly normal-to-light volume, but it gets much lighter when the aldehydes fade. So much so that it's pretty hard to smell. I tested it a second time with a much heavier application, at which point the aldehydes became strong enough to give me olfactory fatigue while the heart and base were still too light. Really, Pierre Bourdon has been at this for decades - he can certainly put together a technically flawless mix, so this all-too-quiet mismatch seems kind of lame. Then again, what I can smell is wonderful, so I'll have to come back to Iris Poudre in hotter weather or something.

Today I wore Frederic Malle Lys Méditerranée.



That wet, green lily smell, paired with orange blossom. As it is wont to do, the indolic orange blossom kind of takes over, leaving the lily to mostly add a wet background greenness to the scent. From the top, there's also a salty musk element - pretty much the same accord famously used in Bond No 9's Fire Island to give the effect of sweaty bodies on a beach. It's actually a pretty brilliant combination. The indoles from the orange blossom pair fantastically well with the light salty sweat, but it never gets gross, just makes everything more interesting and a bit less floral.

Given a couple of hours, everything was still noticeable, but the whole thing was less bright and had taken on a subtle hint of shea butter, making the scent as a whole kind of soapy or lotion-ish.

By the base, everything had faded to a sort of floral soap smell. But the leftover floral is a subtle but note-on stargazer lily, which is a pretty spectacular feat.

All in all, I think this a very well-made scent and would recommend sampling it to just about any floral fan. Even with all that orange blossom (which can rival tuberose in its unbridled girly mega-silage), Lys Méditerranée stays just unisex enough that I was perfectly comfortable wearing it at work. I'm not that big on orange blossom as a primary note, so I don't see a full bottle in my future, but I'll definitely count myself as a Lys Méditerranée fan.

ROtto, I think cumin must be like basil - one of those notes that smells in perfume very little like it does as a cooking herb. It took me forever to "get" that basil note combined with citrus in almost every 80's masculine, mostly because I kept smelling the basil in my kitchen and it smelled nothing like it. "Perfume cumin" (as opposed to real life cumin) is a huge factor in Declaration, the top of Rose 31, and Malle's Bigarade Concentree. Those are the ones that nailed it for me. To me, it's the unmistakable smell of a sweaty NY taxi, mostly because cumin is one of those rare foods that changes the chemistry of a person who eats a lot of it to the point that their sweat smells like it.

I haven't been shopping in a while, but will be going out this weekend (check your PM's). Too bad Hermes is closed Sunday...

Today I tested Frederic Malle Vétiver Extraordinaire.



A couple of years ago, on my first big attempt to break out of the Macy's scent mold and find new things, I wandered into Barneys and got roped into the Malle boutique. I knew I liked vetiver because I already had Jo Malone's very safe citrusy Vetyver, so I was pretty sure I'd like the much-more-expensive Malle. No way. I found it harsh and medicinal and thoroughly unpleasant.

Fast forward to today. After sniffing dozens of vetivers and wearing enough weird ouds that I'm no longer afraid of medicinal scents, I'd become really curious what I'd think now. Thanks to the fine folks at Barneys, where I thankfully no longer feel like a confused little kid, I got the sample I'm wearing today.

Well, I still think this is the most medicinal vetiver I've smelled. On the first spray, I can really picture the vetiver, the tall grasses with the super-long roots going many feet into the ground. The scent comes from the roots, and I can really smell the dirt caught up in there. It's simultaneously grassy and dirty and almost leathery, but also with a distinct medicinal tinge, somewhere between band-aids and mold. According to Malle's story, they wanted this to be the most realistic vetiver imaginable. Raw and pungent. Oof.

Given time, the epic vetiver rounds out a bit, keeping it's medicinal pungency, but losing its sharp edges as a pinch of geranium leaf comes in. As the day went on, I kept smelling very soapy silage (a lot like Gendarme's V), but sniffing my arm, I never got that soap note, just a more and more polite vetiver/geranium mix.

So what's the verdict? I still don't like it as much as other vetivers. My old Jo Malone Vetyver is still a wearable favorite. Creed's more-neroli-than-vetiver Original Vetiver is a stunner in hot weather. Encre Noire holds me spellbound with its forest floor landscape. And Le Labo's leathery, sweaty Vetiver 41 is still my favorite.

I actually think that Guerlain's Vetiver does the medicinal vetiver as convincingly as Malle, but with more appealing backup notes. And Encre Noire does the vetiver/geranium combo with more panache. And if you're looking for a safe, soapy clean vetiver, Vétiver Extraordinaire would probably gross you out. And I'm cofused as to why someone would spend that much energy making such lively topnotes only to neuter them in the heart and base with soapy boringness. That being said, I think any sampling of vetiver scents can't be complete until you've experienced Vétiver Extraordinaire's jagged but pristine topnotes. Most people will either be grossed out or fall in love. I'm just the weird guy in the middle, feeling kind of "meh" about the whole thing...

Today I sampled Floris Santal.



No sandalwood here...

Instead, the top is a nice, classic smelling mix of citrus (first orange and then bergamot) with just a pinch of lavender for brightness and a bit of something green (galbanum? basil?) to keep it grounded and not too bright. It had the definite feeling of an 80's masculine chypre, so it really confused me when it ended up as a patchouli gourmand. Once the top faded, Santal turned into a caramelized butterscotch. Apparently, there's a whole lot of notes coming together to do this, but it's very much a rich crème brûlée.

This actually reminds me an awful lot of Bond No 9's New Haarlem, but minus the coffee and the woods. And much weaker. If you like the gourmand aspects of New Haarlem but not the coffee and the lavender, you might enjoy Santal. Or if you're looking for a lighter gourmand for warmer weather. But, honestly, I think New Haarlem is the superior scent. Oh, and if you're looking for sandalwood, you'd be better off looking elsewhere...

Today I sampled Estée Lauder Private Collection Amber Ylang Ylang.



Nice gourmand amber.

In a sense, this reminds me of what Ambre Narguile would be like with the pipe tobacco and woods taken out and the cinnamon toned down. Add to that a nice but kind of subtle floweriness in the top, and you've pretty much got Amber Ylang Ylang. It never smells as much like apple pie as Ambre Narguille, but definitely is more of a cinnamon-roll gourmand than a big herbal, medicinal true amber. Aside from the flowers in the background at the top, it's pretty linear and lasts a decent while (in all practicality, the composition is 90% basenotes, so it's not really going anywhere).

I'll take Amber Ylang Ylang any day over a powdery, herbal amber bomb, though I can see how amber purists may not really care for it. I say check it out, though you'd probably be smart to wait until fall unless it's still suitably cold where you are. In any case, I think this is probably one of the best new widely-available scents out there right now. It's certainly worth a sniff the next time you're at the mall. And this is one of the few frags where I can honestly say the if you like the first test sniff, that's pretty much what you'll get a full day of.

And it's completely unisex, to my nose, as long as you like sweet frags.

Today I tested Heeley Verveine.



Why doesn't this get more love here? It's easily the best warm weather tea fragrance I've ever smelled...

There's a cafe near my work that makes the best Arnold Palmers. They squeeze their own lemonade every morning and mix in a chiffonade of fresh mint. Mix that with some black tea and it's the most refreshing thing ever. Verveine manages to smell like a beautiful perfume interpretation of that.

Verveine uses that common trick of mixing bay leaf with a bit of coriander to smell like tea (everyone from Green Green Green and Green to X for Men to Chergui does this), but Heeley cleverly tones down the coriander and pairs the bay leaf with lemon verbena. It's a brilliant combination, because the grassy green elements of the verbena play up the tea quality of the bay leaf (and help give the illusion of a bright, fresh mint without giving the scent any unwanted toothpaste qualities). This leaves the lemony facets of the verbena to shine brightly (even more so than an actual lemon note would have). It's a genius trick of the nose that combines familiar notes into something both compelling and unexpected.

Because it's verbena and not regular lemon, the fresh lemony note lasts the whole day, while a combination of fig leaf and tomato leaf eventually fill in for the bay leaf after a few hours. If anything, this lends a richness to the heart and base that replaces the hyper-refreshing effervescence of the topnotes. If you really smell for it closely, you can almost pick out the coconut aspect of the fig leaf, but it never crosses anywhere near tropical territory.

So who would I recommend this for? Anybody. This is a perfect example of the kind of niche scent that's completely unisex. And it smells great, in a simple but amazing way. Anybody interested in tea scents should really check out Verveine. And I would go so far as to say that this could actually bridge the gap between the people who dislike perfume (who would probably love the fresh clean tea quality) and niche-snobs who would appreciate Verveine as a really perfect example of minimalism at its best.

MTG, Yeah I knew you wouldn't like Verveine because you don't like Green Green Green and Green, which is like Verveine's more herbal, fruitier cousin. But I'm a sucker for bay leaf...

Today I sampled L'Artisan Parfumeur Timbuktu.



Bertrand Duchaufour's meditation on the rare karo karounde flower is pretty much impossible to describe to someone who hasn't smelled it, but I'll try. The heart of Timbuktu is wood, but it's not the friendly sandalwood or cedar we're all used to in woody fragrances. It's more of a dusty, antique teakwood (though the notes officially say papyrus wood). It's the smell of a really really old antique shop, or a room in some old castle that's been untouched and uncleaned for decades. Pair this odd smell with karo karounde, which is a flower that smells more like weird herbal, boozy wood than a flower. There's something a little bit sweaty going on, too, which may be an element of the karo karounde, or it could be a pinch of star anise, or maybe it's the mango they list in the notes, which can be quite funky if it wants to be.

Timbuktu is distinctive and confusing and a pretty difficult scent. It's one of those that easily earns 5 stars as a piece of art, but that I can only give 3 in terms of personal wearability. It's one of those scents that you really have to be in the mood for. Wear it to an avant garde art opening or a really edgy fashion show, not to work or dinner. That being said, in the pantheon of perfume-as-art niche scents that simply have to be experienced at some point if you want to be a true fragrance connoisseur, everyone really needs to at least give Timbukto a try. Very few will love it, but it's required smelling...

So I also kind of cheated today. I'm actually meeting some folks tomorrow to sniff around the city, but I found myself in the area for a meeting this afternoon and couldn't resist just a little pre-party sniffaround.

At the Hermès boutique, I picked up a sample of Voyage d'Hermès (it's actually a super-cute little mini!)

If you've read that long Chandler Burr article about Jean Claude Ellena designing Un Jardin Sur la Nil, it gives some background about him being hired by Hermès. One of the reasons they hired him was to give Hermès fragrances a signature, the same way that you can tell a classic Chanel or a classic Guerlain because they have a signature feel to them. Hermès wanted that, and I think Voyage d'Hermès is the perfect expression of Ellena's (and by association, Hermès's) signature style.

I've only smelled it on paper so far, so I don't have the details, but it's kind of like the greatest hits of Hermès - the filthy oranges of Terre d'Hermès, the slightly funky grapefruit of Eau de Pamplemousse Rose, and, on a broader scale, the interplay of freshness and dirtiness and the signature lightness of most of Ellena's later work. All rounded into one scent that has it's own definitive smell, but has an instant familiarity because it's made up of the DNA of so many other Hermès scents.

I'll hold off on any real commentary about details until I give it a full wearing, though.

They also had a hidden tester of the new Vetyverio behind the counter at the Diptyque boutique.

Speaking of companies with a signature that spreads through many of their scents, many Diptyques (aside from some of their more famous ones like Tam Dao and Philosikos) share a certain DNA, lifted repeatedly from their signature scent, L'Eau. Many of their scents feature L'Eau's signature interplay of citrus, florals, and that signature clovey Diptyque herb mix. Vetyverio (at least the topnotes on paper) takes it place squarely in the Diptyque pantheon because it wears its Diptyque DNA on its sleeve. The citrus and herbs listed in the notes aren't played against the vetiver in the typical modern way, where everything seems to be there to makes things fresh. Instead, they envelope the vetiver in the Diptyque signature, creating something more classic-smelling and almost barbershoppy than au courant niche.

Bond No. 9's new High Line was kind of a disappontment. On paper, it was a pretty niche-by-numbers wet, green lily of the valley scent with little hints of other flowers in the background. I'm one of the few people here who will admit to being a Bond fan, but this didn't excite me at all. Though they're using it to introduce a new line of shower gels, which I'm really looking forward to. Here's hoping they put out some greatest hits in shower gel form...

The new Marc Jacobs spash cologne, Biscotti, turned out to be a pleasant surprise. Nowhere near the gourmand trainwreck I expected, it was actually a rather nice lemon/almond mix that seemed quite wearable, at least on paper. Hot weather folks might actually want to check this out.

While not available for sale yet, there was a tester of the new Tom Ford Azuree Lime. At least on paper, it reminded me of his Neroli Portofino, straightforward refreshing bright citrus. From the bottle, the topnotes were bright and true and not candied or fake-smelling and quite nice. I'll be interested to try this on when samples are available. I'll have to hit up my favorite Tom Ford SA tomorrow - hopefully Neimans has a tester, too...

The scent I ended up spraying on and giving a proper wearing to was the new By Kilian Rose Oud.



Really, it's what the name says. I can't help but compare this to Montale (as pretty much everyone here will). While Rose Oud is an extrait concentration and is quite strong, it doesn't have that really thick, deluxe feel of Montale's Black Aoud. But while your opinion of Montale's ouds will likely be made or broken by the plasticky, rubbery, medicinal oud hystrionics that Montale revels in, Kilian leaves only a minute or two of light medicinal, subtley animalic wackiness in the topnotes (just to anchor it as oud) and quickly gives way to a rather expensive-smelling westernized clean oud paired with the rose.

In the end, Rose Oud is quite nice but I can't imagine one couldn't find something nicer in the thousands of real ouds and attars out there. And Montale's Black Aoud just has that indescribable something that makes me like it more and think it smells richer, despite its having a bunch of elements that I'd usually hate. That being said, I got some nice compliments at my business meeting - One person said it reminded him of Nag Chaampa, but nicer, while another called it disturbingly sexy. OK then.

Oh, and the next By Kilian will apparently be Amber Oud...

Yesterday at our impromptu meet-up I sampled (thanks to a hidden tester at Neiman Marcus) the upcoming 10 Corso Como Uomo.



The primary note was a very burnt wood smell. It wasn't the Iso E Super smoky smell (though it's certainly in there), but more like liquid smoke or tar. It was a piney redwood smell, but more like a campfire. I'm pretty sure it's a pine tar note. JaimeB verified that it wasn't birch tar, while Galamb Barong surmised that it may be the result of a technique in which wood is charred before having its oils distilled. It reminded me of the roughness of a Nasomato, or DS & Durga's Cedar with its burnt basenotes.

I kept trying to smell vetiver, because there was something bright in the background, but it turned out to be ginger. The other notable element was something funky in the background. At times, it bordered on a state farm livestock smell, but always pulled back before getting too gross. This reminded me of the fecal weirdness at play in the background of CDG/Artek Standard or their Dover Street Market.

The base was mostly the creamy base of Iso E Super, with a touch of myrrh or vanilla, maybe. I'm assuming that, to many reviewers here, this will be the weak point of Uomo, but I like Iso E Super and don't really see it as a problem.

Today I sampled Creed Sélection Verte.



Bright mint over lemon, eventually getting sort of tea-ish before a quick fade into minty ambergris.

The top is really a love-it-or-hate-it. It's either the most refreshing hot weather splash ever or lemon Plegde mixed with toothpaste. In a way, it's kind of both. They use verbena to extend the lemon note, which combines with the mint and the light hawthorn in the heart to smell kind of like tea. Then, after about four hours, it collapses into a light verbena and mint-tinged ambergris, which isn't as gross as it sounds like it should be.

This one was supposedly vaulted, but remains quite available, if only in the big flacons. And it can be found in the new flacons, so they must still be making it...

Sélection Verte is definitely worth a test. Aside from Bois du Portugual, it's one of the most wearable classic Creeds. But save it for a hot day.

Today I sampled Nina Ricci Ricci Club, the Haute Concentration (which is still an EDT, and the original is an EDT, too - confusing...)



The better end of the ubiquitous 80's woody man-chypre family.

Being an 80's masculine, of course the top is that 80's lemon, which many love but I find quite torturous and reminiscent of Lemon Pledge when used badly. It's almost always paired with that 80's basil note, which seems more mossy and almost leathery than any basil I've ever cooked with. Naturally, Ricci Club has this combo as its topnotes, but the magic is that it manages to make them work. For one, there's a brightness that's kind of minty in there (I think it might be lemongrass or verbena) which keeps the fragrance out of that musty cleaning product territory. There's also a big shot of bergamot, which acts as a sweetening agent and keeps Ricci Club from falling into that dark, dingy lemon/basil trap that ensnares so many classics from this time.

Ricci Club winds its way through a woody cypress heart (thankfully without the requisite shot of hawthorn), which would be unremarkable were it not for the residual sweetness that set it apart. Naturally, a dark mossy vetiver chypre base rounds out the scent.

All in all, I think it's the sweetness from the heavy bergamot that makes Ricci Club stand out. Other than that, it follows a tried and true recipe. It's the kind of hard-to-find masculine classic that either smells like pure class in a bottle or old man smell, depending on how you perceive this kind of scent. If you're into classics and can hunt down a sample, it's definitely worth sniffing for the interplay between the sweetened top and the really dark 80's masculine elements.

Galamb, you went out shopping again, didn't you??

Today I sampled Hermès Bel Ami.



Bel Ami kicks off with that classic masculine lemon/basil topnote. The thing that makes it notable is the long-lasting leather in the heart. Eventually, a standard masculine chypre base comes through, but the verbena-tinged leather parallels the base, giving it a nice smoothness. If you like that classic lemony topnote, you'll likely find Bel Ami to be elegance personified. If you think that 80's lemon smells dated, you probably won't like Bel Ami, because it's still more of a classic man-chypre than a leather scent.

With thanks to a generous BN friend, today I sampled Givenchy Vetyver.



Apparently, Givenchy's Vetyver is a very important and influential 60's benchmark vetiver scent, despite it never being anywhere near as popular as Guerlain's. In fact, from what I read, it never really sold and was only kept in production because it was Mr. Givenchy's personal signature scent. Alas, when he retired in 1995, it was quickly discontinued, not to resurface again until a limited re-issue a couple of years ago.

Realistically, comparisons to Guerlain Vetiver are unavoidable and apt, so I might as well give it a go....

Both Vetivers have the same upfront vetiver quality, where all the rest of the ingredients prop up the main vetiver note. Both have the same bright, astringent quality, but Givenchy feels more rounded and "safe", largely because it's not as medicinal as the Guerlain. Both pair the vetiver topnote with ginger for sparkle and lemon for freshness. And both aren't afraid to let just a hint of sweaty funk to peek out, adding a subtle element of danger (though Guerlain plays this up a little more with its infamous tobacco note, which Givenchy leaves out, giving an overall similar-but-cleaner feel).

Givenchy rounds out its Vetyver with a dark, mysterious basenote I can't quite place. Of course, it's still primarily vetiver, but with a dark fruitiness to it, that suggests possibly a subtle patchouli or maybe even coriander fusing with subtle oakmoss. It also maintains an almost aldehydic sparkle, possibly from remnants of the ginger.

Overall, I actually prefer this to Guerlain's Vetiver, at least in its current formulation. The three issues I have with the Guerlain (too medicinal, too sweaty, and the tobacco note) are fixed in the Givenchy.

I don't know how this escaped me for so long, but this is really a must-try for vetiver lovers.

Today was such a beautiful, sunny day here that I couldn't resist heading back into the city for more sniffing...

At Saks, they had a tester of the new new Bond No 9 (Already? High Line is only a couple of weeks old...), Saks En Rose. It's a flanker to their indolic tuberose monster Saks Fifth Avenue For Her. Basically, take out the super-intense indoles and replace them with rose, and tone the whole thing down a little bit and you have Saks En Rose. Upon sniffing, my first thought was that, if it were a lotion, my 60-something mother would love it. I didn't put any on, so I can't speak for longevity or the base or anything.

I ended up giving a full wearing to Tom Ford Azuree Lime. The lime note on paper is fantastic. Unfortunately, it's lime, so it didn't even last the minute it took me to walk from the Tom Ford counter to the escalator. It very quickly faded to a not-too-harsh petitgrain, which quickly went a bit soapy (to be specific, it smelled like a mix of petitgrain, orange blossom, and that white musk Tom Ford used for his musk collection). Oddly, given a few hours, the base is woody. It's not the cedar that smells like pencil shavings, but the cedar that smells like walking through a forest. If Azuree Lime skipped the soapy musk and really let the woods shine (instead of leaving them as a very light skin scent), I'd probably pick up a bottle - I'm a sucker for the odd mix of lime and heavy woods. But, as is, this is essentially a much-more-expensive version of Trumper's Extract of Limes and its ilk, with very light novelty basenotes.

On my other arm, I did a full test of the upcoming L'Artisan Parfumeur Nuit de Tubereuse, thanks to a pre-release tester at Barneys.



Really interesting. Leave it to Duchaufour to create a tuberose I could actually wear.

Of course, it's tuberose, but paired with a green pepper note (think Piment Brulant), orange blossom, citrus, and some sweet spices, like cinnamon and nutmeg. Somehow, it's simultaneously green, citric, foody-spicy, and full-on tuberose floral. The closest I've ever smelled to this is Delrae's Amoureuse (reviewed above in this same thread), but it's similar in ingredients, not actual smell. Nuit de Tubereuse is simultaneously more of a tuberose than the Delrea, but also more of a green spiced citrus, too.

Given hours, it all came together into something kind of like a tuberose-and-cinnamon-flavored jellybean. Which is actually quite cool, too.

The real magic is that it's actually wearable. By me. A guy. While other tuberoses (Carnal Flower, etc) fall into the "a guy can wear it if he's into wearing womens perfumes" category for me, this falls into the "niche fiend who can wear interesting florals" category. That being said, if this is your first trip away from the men's counter at Macys, it's not that wearable...

I doubt I'd personally buy a bottle, just because tuberose isn't my thing, but if you're interested in a truly interesting new mix of notes, Nuit de Tubereuse is definitely worth a sniff, and I can imagine it becoming a new cult favorite for L'Artisan. As a side note, L'Artisan seems to be getting its US distribution back in order. Old scents are back in stock, and they're actually hiring reps again. And with Duchaufour at the helm, I personally have high hopes for the quality of their upcoming releases. Welcome back!

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Edit: Emly, I've been looking for an excuse to break open my Penhaligans sample pack. I'll check out Endymion tomorrow and report back...

Edit again: Through some sort of weird forum failure, the review of Gucci Pour Homme I just spent almost an hour on was replaced by a repost of my last post when I added that edit???!!!??? Argh...

Wow - I've missed a lot here...

Emly, I can't for the life of me bring myself to even spray on Jicky. That baby-poop note just turns my stomach even just sprayed in store on paper. I had the opportunity to smell some plain civet and it's very much that literal baby poop smell. Interestingly, I think it's the combination of tonka and lavender that somehow simulates the diaper smell surrounding the civet in Jicky. After smelling well over a thousand perfumes in this wacky habit of mine, none has ever elicited such a pure response from me of "why on earth would anyone in their right mind actually want to smell like this??"

Anyway, I should catch up by attempting to recreate the review of Gucci Pour Homme I wrote a few days ago that BN somehow lost...



In the pantheon of classic men's scents, the woody masculine chypre seems to be one of the most prominent styles, pretty much defining the genre through the 70's and 80's, until the 1990 oakmoss restrictions pretty much killed them. As someone who's trying his best to learn to recognize ingredients and accords, they can be tricky, mostly because they all seem to share certain basic ingredients.

Of course, there are the required ingredients for the basic chypre structure (labdanum over oakmoss, vetiver, and patchouli). And there's always a citrus, which is itself required for chypres (bergamot, or often that specific 70's/80's lemon chemical that smells like Lemon Pledge). There's usually verbena in the heart (to extend the lemon note) and, more often than not, a shot of hawthorn to give a woody edge. And you're most likely going to find that dark angry basil note, and possibly some rosemary, too. It's also pretty common to smell some lavender on the top, to brighten things up.

So basically, just to make things confusing, hundreds and hundreds of scents from that period all share the same basic notes. Only now, after years of sampling anything I can get my hands on, am I slowly becoming able to start to crack the code and smell any real differences, but I still find the whole genre immensely confusing.

Still the biggest mystery to me is how to tell which are the good ones and which are the bad ones when they smell so much alike. As far as I can tell, some set themselves apart by adding more ingredients on top of the ones listed above (like PDN New York adding vanilla, Yatagan's pine & celery seed, or Bel Ami's leather). Others apparently just combine these few common ingredients more deftly and set themselves apart by simply doing what everyone else is doing, but better.

Thankfully, a while back, a generous soul who is immeasurably more well-versed than me in men's classics sent me what basically amounted to a "best-of" package. Among them was the original Gucci Pour Homme from 1976.

As far as I can smell, Gucci Pour Homme is basically those ten or so ingredients put together in a better than average way. The most distinctive thing about it was a bright freshness on top (maybe lavender, or possibly even aldehydes). This brightness kept the lemon from ever smelling like cleaning fluid, and somehow magically paired with the verbena and the hawthorn to create an olfactory hallucination resembling an artful depiction of pineapple upside-down cake.

Really, aside from that, it's a masculine woody chypre. You pretty much know what it's going to smell like (imagine Equipage with a shot of that faux-pineapple brightness). As such, it's either the epitome of style and sophistication, or old man smell, depending on your personal biases. If you're into classics and can track down a sample, I'm sure you'll love it. If you don't really like classics and prefer the modern style, save yourself the trouble. As for me, I'll be the big dork in the corner sniffing himself and trying to figure out its secrets...

Thanks for playing along, DavidBond007! You sure like your Creeds...

So, I'd like to extend yet another WTF?!@? to Basenotes for f*cking up again, losing communication when I hit the post reply button and losing my review of Endymion...

The last two times I've logged in here and spent a long time trying to write something that's thought-out and interesting, it's lost them.

Trying yet again to successfully post….

Sunday, as promised, I broke open my Penhaligon’s sample pack and wore Endymion.



How odd. It seemed to go through three very distinct phases. The top was a textbook lavender-over-fruity-citrus marine fougère that had me worrying that it would turn out to be a Creed clone. Thankfully, a mandarin note that was strong enough to take it out of fougère territory came in quickly and took it in a decidedly fruity direction.

This fruity heart shifted between that mandarin and some strawberry-ish apple. This fruit salad stayed strong, eventually being joined by a leathery basenote (I’m only saying leather because that’s what’s listed – it stayed so fruity that it could really have been anything from wood to amber adding the darkness under all that fruit).

All in all, the fruity part wasn’t really my thing, and it was all a bit sweeter than I generally go for, but it was interesting. In response to an earlier question, I never smelled a “woody amber” drydown (meaning that note irresponsibly called woody amber that actually smells like chlorine or metal), but I could see that semi-leather easily being categorized as either wody or amber, if that’s what you meant.

Endymion kind of came off as unisex, in the sense that the topnotes smelled like a men’s scent, while the heart smelled like a women’s and the base was a strange mix of both.

Monday, I continued my Penhaligon’s kick with my very first trial wearing of Malabah.



It kicked off with probably the most realistic and wearable tea note I’ve smelled in a perfume - the perfect glass of brown iced tea on a warm day. Eventually, this gave way to coriander, which has sort of a berry tea smell.

Sadly, it lost me in the drydown, a too-sweet fruity-floral-esque cinnamony, orangey vanilla that paired with the lingering coriander to make a sort of over-sweetened fruity candy smell I’d expect more from Britney Spears than Penhaligon’s. To be fair, the tea lasted all day on my clothes, so that would seem to be the secret to Malabah – don’t spray on skin.

That being said, I could easily imagine that sweet base to be a matter of semantics. One man's luxurious citrus-tinged gaiac and creamy sandalwood is another man's orange creamsicle with cinnamon on it...

Tuesday, I tested Penhaligon’s Lavandula.



No surprise, it’s lavender. Strong, dirty (almost to the point of being fecal) lavender. In the heart, a pinch of citrus came through, as well as a bit of leather, but that faded and left a base of more lavender.

Needless to say, if you’re a lavender fanatic, you should check this out, but it’s hard to imagine anyone else going bonkers for Lavandula.

Yesterday, I tested Penhaligon’s Raquets Formula.



It kicked off with very classic-smelling leafy greens on top. I think it was tomato leaf, but I can’t say for sure. It’s not the stanky overly-strong tomato leaf of Stecca or the refreshing, bright, amazing tomato leaf of Eau de Campagne, but a stoic, mildly stuffy tomato leaf you’d expect to find in the corner of an aristocratic, wood-paneled library. I think they did this by pairing it with galbanum, but I’m not sure. My awkward descriptions aside, it’s definitely an old-world barbershop scent, albeit a very green take on the genre. Naturally, it had a powdery base, with remnants of the galbanum playing with lavender up against the powder.

I have to admit that this is much more what I was expecting from Penhaligan’s, as opposed to the borderline fruity florals I got with my first two. Of course, this will smell pretty dated when judged by modern tastes, but it’s pretty awesome as a barbershop scent.

Today, I’m testing Penhaligon’s Castile, the subject of much discussion in this thread.



Yup, it’s neroli. It’s sweeter than usual, which I guess is the rose you guys are talking about, but I never would have picked it out on my own. This reminds me a lot of Caswell Massey’s much-cheaper Greenbriar, which I’ll have to resniff now to check for rose…

The neroli note lasts well into the base, where a pinch of petitgrain comes through, joined by just a faint touch of powder.

As far as neroli scents go, this is perfectly nice, but they’re all similar enough that it would take a pretty epic arm-to-arm faceoff to determine a clear favorite. Maybe that could be a summer project…

Edit: When I got on a crowded bus this morning, the lady I was next to turned to her friend and said "something smells good - like green tea." I guess that counts as a compliment. And it pointed out how floral neroli silage can come off as tea-ish, too.

Emly, as for neroli vs. regular orange blossom, it's pretty easy to tell them apart. Try to give a sniff to Jo Malone's Orange Blossom cologne for pure orange blossom. It's definitely floral and indolic and feminine, but still has a touch of orange fruitiness to it. While neroli as a note is more masculine and not particularly floral, but more an intense green somewhere between an unripe orange and freshly-cut grass.