Prada’s Infusion d’Iris Absolue is just gorgeous, a luxurious and lush Parma violet powder bomb, enriched with orange blossom, on a bed of rich-smelling, puffy, doughy, cool, but not icy, yet also chocolatey orris butter, the latter of which is, arguably, the finest blending material on earth. This is a perfume review, not a lesson, but this perfume is such a successful celebration of all of orris’s inherent characteristics, that I think it is worth a detour, to explain what orris is, what is smells like on its own, and why it is such a big deal in the perfume world. Also, I cannot accurately describe this perfume, without delving into what orris butter is, what it smells like in its unadulterated form, so I hope the reader of this review will indulge me, and tolerate some technical discussion. I promise, I will come back to what the actual perfume smells like, after I finish what I will try to make the briefest possible explanation of this very special ingredient.
Used as a perfume base, orris butter has a relatively neutral scent profile, for its low volatility, compared with the assertive qualities of other plant oils and resins, or powerful animal musks. Yet, what can be smelled in orris butter, is startling, and complex, with simultaneous impressions of cool roots and powdered starch, icy vegetation and creamy butter, raw earth and purple fruit, crisp green and rich chocolate, boozy yeast and honeyed beeswax—the kind of olfactory oppositions that make, or break, a great perfume, and they are all there, in this raw material. I am not a botanist, but I am a gardener, and I recognize qualities of orris root in common, edible roots—the buttery scent of Yukon Gold potatoes, the floral sweetness of fresh carrots, or the bitter cocoa inflection of beets. It is the only ingredient I know, besides Vetiver, that is directly obtained from roots, and its rendering is almost as complex as the scent itself.
To obtain orris butter, the roots of bearded iris are steam-distilled, for their essential oils, a process with an extraordinarily low yield, as it requires a ton of orris root to produce about kilo of orris butter. These roots’ aromatic profile is enhanced by a prior three-year aging process, during which the root dries, allowing complex interactions between the root’s aromatic components, while the roots dry and their aroma is concentrated. Even in 2021, this process typically begins with hand-harvesting, although I have read that a more streamlined mechanical process, with a shorter aging requirement, has also come into use in the last decade or so, but I am embarrassed to say that I cannot now find my source of this information—and no wonder, as the perfume industry probably wants to keep this information on the qui vive, to preserve the illusion of scarcity and keep prices high.
So, fine hand harvested orris butter, which is the type used in Absolue, requires a striking amount of time and effort for small amounts of raw material. Despite the final result’s complex aromatic profile, it also has a mysterious, muffled quality, due to its waxy density. Bruno Fazzlari calls orris root “The Phantom,” and, I wish I had thought of that, because the metaphor is perfect. It a shapeshifter, that is elusive and haunting. Its scent holds intimations of most of my favorite perfume aromas. Orris butter also has a curious quality, of bringing harmony to other materials, likely because it has so many aromatic properties of its own that match, enhance, and marry with them, and its buttery texture enriches florals and smooths resins, and harmonizes them with other ingredients, including those that are lab-grown. If it is not obvious by now, orris butter is my favorite perfume ingredient, and learning about it, was the Road to Damascus moment, of my personal perfume journey. It is my white rabbit, and my financial white whale.
So, I have chased orris more obsessively than I have any other perfume ingredient, and I understand why the great houses of Chanel and Guerlain, have chosen to build their empires on perfumes that employ generous doses of it. I have watched as production of perfumes like Chanel’s No. 19, especially the EDP, has fluctuated, over the years, and I have read reports of the effects of climate change on orris production with concern. Most of my most expensive perfumes contain large amounts of orris, but, I love the stuff, and I hope this review will help explain why, as well as convince skeptics, of its beauty and its value.
I was excited, and relieved, when Prada first introduced its original Infusion d’Iris, a classic in its own right—excited that Prada was taking on an iris perfume, and relieved that it was excellent. It summed up many of the best qualities of Chanel No. 19’s green iris elegance, but added a couple of elements that softened No. 19’s unforgiving iciness, notably a smoky black streak of frankincense, and a soft, almost indetectable background thrum of tonka. It made iris more approachable, and it smelled contemporary, but not aggressively “modern.” Its profile is discreet, but distinctive, professional, and yet comfortable, a jersey tee-shirt that works equally well. under a structured suit, or over a pair of cutoff jeans. It was, also, shockingly affordable, on the gray market, and still is. It gave orris a new kind of approachability, both olfactory and financial. But, decadent, it is not, and, I suppose, the Absolue flanker, introduced as a limited edition, was, initially, an artistic foil to the first Infusion’s relative austerity.
Rumor has it that the basic Infusion, Mark One, and its Cedre relative, is made with industrially harvested orris, where the Absolue version uses the traditional hand harvested low-yield stuff. The market seems to bear this out, as Absolue appears and then disappears from Prada’s retail site and the gray and aftermarkets, just as Chanel No 19 and its ancillary products do. Whether this is manufactured scarcity or not, I cannot say, although I doubt it, as the mass perfume market that these houses play in depends on regular availability, because the casual perfume customer probably doesn’t want to bother with waiting lists, and will probably move on to something less troublesome, rather than wait. I believe that this other, large-scale produced orris, also goes into Dior Homme, but the perfume industry is not known for its transparency, and I cannot prove this. I point this out, because since Prada introduced the first Infusion d’Iris, I have seen more (relatively) inexpensive designer iris perfumes on the market, a sign that there is a consistent source of affordable orris butter that shares some of the expensive version’s aromatic, textural, and blending properties. Some of these perfumes are very good, and worth seeking out, but Prada’s Absolue is special.
As I mentioned at the beginning of this review, Infusion d’Iris Absolue opens in a rich, powdery haze, and I think it contains an extra helping of violet ionone, a component that is already part of unadulterated orris butter. It smells like a very rich cosmetic accord, the scent of dressing-table items, like setting powder and lipstick, and its violet has a deep purple fruity accord, that is joined by an equally rich orange blossom accord. This phase of the perfume feels especially luxurious, and it lasts for the first hour or two of the perfume’s life on skin. Adding orange blossom to the blend was a genius creative decision, as it lifts the naturally melancholy nature of orris and violet onto a sunnier plane, the same way that peach esters are often used in similar iris accords, including the legendary Iris Gris, or adds a youthful blush to severe chypres like Mitsouko.
As the fruity accords settle into the perfume’s persistent powdery musk, it feels like the clouds shift, to reveal an enhanced but lifelike orris accord, that shows all the complex and contradictory aromas of orris, both its cold and vegetal qualities, and its warm and buttery ones. Almost animatic yeast, pillowy dough, and then powdered chocolate emerge, and this pairs beautifully with the perfume’s
orange blossom, as orange and chocolate are natural allies. I notice a hint of raspberry, another great chocolate pairing, and a scent also inherent in the basic material of orris butter. This elevates the perfume’s profile to quasi-gourmand, yet relentlessly floral, luxurious and limpid, without feeling fussy or overstuffed. The only other perfumes that interpret the luxury of orris butter this successfully that I have actually smelled, are Chanel’s titanic Coromandel, and Serge Lutens’ scrumptious Borneo 1834, and these latter two lean further into gourmand territory than Infusion d’Iris Absolue.
Parma violet returns, as the perfume relaxes into a drydown that preserves the opening’s powder into its final stages. It conjures the same indigo-and-orange, sunset-with-clouds, images as Guerlain’s L’Heure Bleue, but it is less sweet, less spicy and medicinal, and I appreciate the way it punctuates the perfume’s opening accord. The perfume never loses its sense of almost velvety richness, and wearing it feels both indulgent and meditative. The only other perfume that captures this same quality of decadence and serenity is Stephane Humbert Lucas 777’s Khol de Bahrain, a fragrance that took me much longer to appreciate than this much more affordable offering from Prada, possibly because Khol de Bahrain’s immortelle accord is something of an acquired taste, I hated it at first, and wondered why I would spend more than three times the price of Infusion d’Iris Absolue. But, I chase orris, like Don Draper chased melancholy brunettes, and it eventually seduced me, too. But, that is another perfume, another review, and this one has gone on long enough.
I am not alone in my rhapsodic appreciation of this perfume, and I sincerely hope that rumors of it’s discontinued status, are exaggerated. It is certainly worth seeking out, as it is celestially beautiful, and extraordinarily wearable. People who find other orris perfumes, like Naomi Goodsir’s Iris Cendre, or Serge Lutens’ Iris Silver Mist, foo angular and fleeting, should try this, provided they have a high tolerance for powder and big florals. It is very, very, stereotypically feminine, as curvaceous as Guerlain’s best work, and as elegant as Chanel’s. It deserves a place on any list of great, and must-try, iris celebrations. I smell orris butter to the very end of its life on my skin, a technical miracle, with orris’s notoriously fleeting nature.
Infusion d’Iris Absolue is a fantastic performer. Its powerful powder musk makes it possible to overspray, and even careful application will give a it radiant projection and massive sillage. Wearing it is a serious, all-day-long affair, as it deserves to be enjoyed to the very last stages of its drydown, as it sets into a husky-voiced whisper, at least 14 hours after two or three initial sprays. It is elaborate enough for formal and evening wear, yet just sunny enough from its orange and violet to be welcome for day. I don’t think this perfume has a special season, but hot weather can bring it to almost deafening and choking volume, if I don’t apply it with care. It is one of the jewels in Prada’s perfume crown, as distinctive, and beautiful, as the house’s original Amber and L’Eau Ambrée, and it shows that modern designers can make classical style perfumes, that walk the thin line, between rich old vintage accords, and modern requirements for simplicity and cleanliness. It deserves 5 pave-studded stars, and two equally bejeweled thumbs up.