Month: April 2019

When I ordered this batch of samples, I was especially keen on getting A Lab on Fire’s “What We Do in Paris is Secret.” However, looking at other ALoF scents, I paused over one in particular: My Own Private Teahupo’o. It promised to smell like Tahitian surf and flowers. Hmmm…I said to myself. Maybe next order.

Well, wouldn’t you know it, “What We Do in Paris is Secret” was accidentally not sent (I did check and I had ordered it); guess what was sent in its place? Instead of contacting them, I decided I’d consider this fortuitous and get “WWDiPiS” next go-round.

Teahupo’o in Tahiti is the home of truly fierce big surf. It is legendary for it. Confession: I envy surfers. I really wish I could do that. I did in fact try it, and acquitted myself more than adequately on wee-bitty baby waves, and enjoyed the heck out of myself for the weekend. I got enough of a taste to understand what the fuss is about because it is enormously fun and you should try it if you haven’t. But alas, I did not live near the seashore at the time, and that was in another country and besides the wench is dead. Or at least old now. I’m content to just admire people surfing and enjoy it vicariously.

Moving right along: the idea behind this perfume is that one is inside the curl of a wave at Teahupo’o. There’s the clean crash and salt of surf, the breeze carrying the scent of frangipani and vanilla, the warm embrace of amber…you’re enjoying the surf of Teahupo’o entirely vicariously (without the deadly risks of big surf, or the expense and trouble of travel). the listed notes are sea salt, ozone, frangipani, salicylates, Tahitian vanilla bean, Amber Xtreme. Salicylates? No, no, it’s not an aspirin-scented perfume. Salicylates have a floral (and depending on the type, sometimes green) scent, and are used as a base for other florals. Ylang ylang itself has an element of salicylate. They round a floral composition, much as hedione exalts one. As for Amber Xtreme, it is a specific aromachemical accord, the amberest of ambers (allowing for market hyperbole.)

So how does this lovely South Pacific surfer-mermaid scent smell on? Like Shay & Blue’s Salt Caramel, it starts with salt. But this is marine salt, heavily marine; with a cold undercurrent like stone (I really am partial to that “stone” accord.) This perfume is all-marine for about an hour. It is a very brisk clean marine, but nevertheless was a little disappointing in its one-note feel. I’ve been overwhelmed by the surf.

And then, the flowers and vanilla appear right in the middle of the surf. The two together are a mix of coconut cream and sweet floral. Coconut sometimes goes a bit sour and flat on me, but this accord (which isn’t really coconut, but a vanilla-floral that evokes coconut somehow, probably thanks to the salicylates) is lovely, round, and creamy. The rich amber is there, just under the surface.

Unfortunately, within an hour, that’s faded to a little creamy memory, and something almost bitter shows up. The amber and vanilla are there still, but they’ve faded to the background, and what it returns to is a bitter marine. This does become the kind of “skin salt” that one finds in l’Artisan’s Batucada, where the perfume becomes something like the scent of skin after a day at the beach and in the ocean, but it doesn’t have enough over it to really carry it off for me. That creamy sweetness in the middle is lovely; it just didn’t stay long enough on my skin.

I have a note in my spreadsheet notes: try it again and see if we get more of the floral. I did this, and the answer is no. This is so heavily marine on me. Sure, it might be a mermaid’s perfume, but it’s not the perfume of the cute and sassy shell-and-pearl-wearing mermaid; on me it’s the scent of the feral mermaid who lurks about looking to start trouble with random humans and eats raw fish. Which, actually, is cool in its own way, but highly specialized in its appeal.

Reading other reviews, it seems that My Own Private Teapuho’o tends to go one way or the other on at least some other people: either it’s primarily vanilla-floral, or it’s all marine. I do get some of the pretty vanilla-floral, but it’s so overwhelmed by the surf.

When I think I’m not getting the right smell of a perfume on my skin, I put a drop or two on tissue and set it somewhere to sniff at frequently to see what it smells like neutrally over time. On tissue, the floral-vanilla heart unfolds in the marine spray in a way that is truly pretty. This, this is what I want it to smell like on my skin. Two days later, it’s a sweet vanilla with a whisper of salt.

I know that body chemistry varies so much and arbitrarily over time, so I’m going to try this again. And again, until I run out. The heavily-marine take it presents on me is interesting enough that I do like it, and I’m sure when I’m in a Morag the Seahag kind of mood (what? You don’t have those moods?) this is what I will want. It’s really quite nice. But…sometimes you want a floral-vanilla to last more than just fleetingly. Hopefully, I can get that working, even if I have to fake it with layering. I really would like to make that work; I think this is a beautiful scent, and worth the effort.

I’ve been testing things left and right, but honestly I like to test things more than once to get a real feel for them, so it’s taken me a bit longer to offer reviews of that wee pile of samples (and the F & M set). So, here now, a short review of a sample: 19-69’s Kasbah.

19-69 is a new house, with a set of offerings meant to evoke particular times and places.There is a certain self-consciously hip counterculture flavor to its copy and offerings, but I do quite like that the founder named it after his birth year, as a fellow Gen Xer born in 1969. The copy on Kasbah suggests it was inspired by the international jet-set party scene in Marrakesh in the ’60s and ’70s. This was the time when young Westerners were drawn by a breathless sort of Orientalism and the promise of cheap digs and plentiful mind-expanding drugs to places in North Africa (mostly Morocco), India, Thailand, et al. — parts seen as “Eastern.” But not too uncharted, generally. This whole movement upgraded from earnest and threadbare hippies to trust-fund bon vivants and sophisticated types: Yves Saint Laurent (with his beautiful Jardin Majorelle and its spectacular colors), Mick Jagger, assorted people named Getty. All of these folk are mentioned in the copy.

Thus, we know not to expect something that an actual Maghrebine would wear. We also know not to expect the true and unalloyed dirty smelly hippie scent. Both of these things will be evoked, but both will be filtered through the rarefied air of the haute-bourgeois bohemians.

The notes listed for Kasbah: ” Sweet orange, lime, white honey, geranium, amber, patchouli, vanilla, tonka beans, guaiac wood, leather accord, sandalwood.” Some of these come as no surprise: if you’re going to have an indulgent Boomer-era take on North Africa, of course you’ll have patchouli and sandalwood. Of course. They are ubiquitous for this kind of thing; good thing they’re lovely. Leather? Because you’ll be shopping in the souk. Surprised — a bit — that there’s no obvious evocation of kif or hashish, although perhaps that’s where the guaiac, with its tobacco tones, comes in. The sweets and the fruits are a bit less obvious, however.

So how does all of this smell? Well, it is a bit dirty hippie. It has to be, with that patchouli and sandalwood. But then it is actually surprising, and really quite fun to wear.

First, the citrus opener is really pretty brilliant. It’s unisex, crisp, and fresh. No mean feat for it to win out over over dirty-sweet patchouli. Then it has the sweetness of vanilla, honey, amber, and tonka smoothing and soothing the hippie heart within, with that dusty tobacco (guaiac?) note. Yes, this is the 60s and 70s in Marrakesh for the American and European kids on 5 dollars a day or 500 dollars a day, but it’s a beautifully smooth and bright modern interpretation. There is a sense of sunshine in this, helped by the sharp herbal floral note of geranium, which is quite distinctive.

The longevity on this is quite good (as to be expected with sandalwood and patchouli); the sillage should be addressed with caution (because hippie). The citrus is remarkably effective for a remarkably long time, fading to merge with the sweeter elements.

There’s little to this that really reminds me personally of North Africa (as I have my own particular and idiosyncratic smell library attached to Algeria…and it includes Algerian pizza, by the way), but I can see exactly what it is meant to evoke: a very particular someone else’s North Africa. And really, it’s quite lovely, and not just a stinky-rich-hippie scent at all, which would have been so so easy to do. Full marks, 19-69, for hitting an unexpected note here. This is at least worth a shot; I found myself wanting to wear it again.

P.S. I don’t have anything against hippies or anything. I just find the word and general concept of hippiedom enjoyable to deploy wherever appropriate, and there are many opportunities herein for that.

This is a review of 2 of the 3 “mystery” samples: Serge Lutens’ Fleurs de Citronnier and Ex Nihilo’s Lust in Paradise.

It’s fitting to put these 2 together for a couple of reasons: they’re both perfumes that while I like them just fine, I’m not going to look at them any deeper (the main reason for one being the tragically moribund state of the sample vial). They’re lovely, but not my thing. The other reason is that both certainly fall under the descriptive “pretty.” That’s not a bad thing at all; it may be hard to define, but you know it when you smell it.

Hélas, le pauvre “Fleurs de Citronnier”! There’s not going to be much chance to test this repeatedly, as while applying it to myself I dropped the vial onto the vial box. I panicked and grabbed at it and foolishly tried to pick it up by the wrong end, thereby dumping almost all of the rest of it out on the open box lid. I have juuuuust enough maybe for one more application. I sopped up as much of the spill as I could for a reasonable application, and got the rest up with a paper towel. The paper towel smells great. So will my vial box until I can get the scent out, as I really should. Sigh.

But here is what I gleaned today from Fleurs de Citronnier: this is a very light, white-flower scent without heavy indoles or base. Notes listed are lemon blossom, neroli, tuberose, musk. What little musk I can detect is that very clear “white” musk, I believe. How would I characterize this? It’s what I think of as an “expensive soap scent”: very pretty and light, the kind of thing that pleases other people as well as oneself, but doesn’t have a great deal of presence, so to speak. If I buy my own occasional large French-milled bars of soap as a budget treat (because they’re like 5 bucks for a large bar), they tend to smell like this. This reminds me a good bit of l’Artisan’s La Chasse aux Papillons: it does have very similar notes, with a switch from La Chasse’s linden flowers to the eponymous lemon flowers here. It’s super-pretty and cheerful. One CAN tell these are lemon flowers and not orange, but it doesn’t smell too lemony, which is a dangerous note anyway: it frequently and unfortunately evokes cleaning products if not handled just right. To smell sanitized is not the goal.

Lutens manages to keep it from going overboard on sweetness. Isn’t half-bad on longevity for such a dainty scent: I applied at 7, and it’s still adequately fragrant at 12:30. It just doesn’t have much oomph. Sillage is minimal, which is typical for these ephemeral, mostly top-notes white-flower scents. This would work fantastically on a young woman or teenage girl. I enjoy this kind of thing but it’s really something I’d apply at bed time, because it’s not going to last. Anyway, I have AT MOST one more application. Drat. Me and my butterfingers.

Moving along, Lust in Paradise:

Holy pinkness, Batman! The liquid in the vial is pale pink. The SCENT is pale pink. And so, so pretty.

Its listed notes are pink pepper, white peony, lychee, white cedar, musk, and amber. Peony is dominant, with an almost candle-like sweet pink pepper note dancing around it. The lychee adds just a hint of juiciness. This smells an awful lot like it has waterlily in it. The basenotes are barely noted, amber being the only one that really makes an appearance.

So pink. It’s not at all offensive and it’s really quite pretty; it just has not enough bottom to be called “lust” for me. Lust to me is a bit rude: a frigate bird, not a tame dove. This reminds me of something else, but I can’t recall what. When I first tried it, I was in a bit of a cranky, curmudgeonly mood and had the passing thought that “This is the kind of thing that a certain kind of basic beeyotch would have her husband buy for her so that when she wanted to cut loose on a cruise or out with ‘the girls,’ she could feel a mite daring and naughty.” But that is truly selling this lovely little scent quite short. It’s far too pretty to be for the basic beeyotches, who wouldn’t properly appreciate it as they get hammered with their friends.

As to how it can smell on the right (not basic) person: this smelled brilliant and delicious on my college-student daughter, so she received the sample. I mean, it went crisp fruity and sparkly on her. Positively effervescent prettiness. It’s not available just yet, and the stated price is rather dear. Still, so pretty.

To something I mentioned earlier, since it’s always a bit of a conundrum when you get lots of sample vials: sample vial boxes? This is what I use: ammo boxes. The size made for .38/357 caliber are perfect for standard sample vials. And they stack, they close securely, and the price is quite right. They may be a little outside your own aesthetic, however.

Last year, I fell in love terribly with Fort & Manlé’s Charlatan via sample. Chocolate, rose, pear, truffle…I have already mentioned all of the sweet, sweet pain of loving her, like the expensive courtesan she is.

Undaunted by that excursion, I recently ordered F & M’s discovery set; spray vials of all 10 of the Australian house’s scents. Knowing full well that if Charlatan was typical, I was going to fall in love with something beyond my usual pay grade, or possibly several such somethings.

Well. Speaking of expensive courtesans, I chose Harem Rose as my first sample to try. Its product description on Fort & Manlé’s site is a poem by Muhibbi, the pseudonym of Süleyman the Magnificent, to his beloved consort and later wife, the clever Ruthenian* redhead Hürrem. That sets something of a high expectation for the mood that is supposed to be evoked by this scent, doesn’t it? I mean, Hürrem was no ordinary harem occupant.

The listed notes appear rather straightforward: Amber, benzoin, vanilla, rose, cashmere woods, vetiver. Right, then. In simplicity lies beauty. Or something that could be modestly workmanlike, but nothing too memorable.

It’s the former: Harem Rose is glorious. It starts off with a rush of spice over rose. Clearly, there are notes not listed, as the spice is complex. Initially, it smelled clovelike, which gave me a few minutes of dismay; I’m allergic to clove. Fortunately, it wasn’t clove (I’d have known, anyway); it emerged as nutmeg and saffron notes. There was also a woody rather medicinal note, like cedar, lurking in the middle.

But the rose…let’s talk about this rose. It’s almost an old rose, a dried rose, but not quite. It’s not the fresh, dewy rose of the harem kızlar, the young women; this is the rose of the favorite. There’s nothing innocent about this one, really. It’s far, far too opulent for that.

After a few hours of wear, the woods recede. What remains is beautifully and deeply sweet, like rosewater, honey, and saffron over vanilla and aromatic wood. There are unplumbed depths to that sweetness. There’s a somewhat solemn, papery note, which I suspect is the effect of the benzoin, a vanilla-ish gum. And the vetiver, oh, the vetiver. On me, vetiver takes on a kind of industrial gun-oil quality. This can be good, or it can be dire. Here it is very good. It appears as a slightly metallic oil edge enhancing all the dry spicy sweetness. In an attempt to sum up the total effect, I wrote this elsewhere, which may or may not work for you (it may be something of a strained metaphor, although it is as faithful as I can get in description): “This is what it is: an old but still fragrant cedar box containing a dried rose wrapped in old paper which had been saturated at some point with a mixture of saffron, nutmeg, and benzoin, the edges of the rose’s petals singed lightly with the machine-oil scent of vetiver.” I’d go one better and say that the “paper” in question smells more than a bit like Papiers d’Armenie, the tear-off strips of benzoin-soaked paper one can burn as incense, before they’re burned, with a bit of added spice.

I’ve seen several reviews call this a “3-D rose scent,” which I get. It’s a scent skillfully composed of mixed media, artfully revealing all of these elements like different facets.

Ayuh, perhaps that’s a bit pretentious, is it? Sorry.

Harem Rose fades beautifully, just like roses themselves. It lingers for a very long time; wear is at least 12 hours on me. The sillage is not very big; it’s not a skin scent, but I think one doesn’t fragrance a room with it when one enters, unless one puts an immoderate amount on. Which I don’t. And I certainly don’t suggest it here; again this just is not a light, fresh, breezy scent**, and could be a real scentbomb if applied overenthusiastically.

As a comment, Fort & Manlé’s scents are generally unisex, though some skew more one way than the other. Unsurprisingly, Harem Rose skews feminine.

Harem Rose is not quite the swoon of wicked Charlatan for me, but she is very lovely indeed. Like the cunning Hürrem, she is a rose of many facets. I greatly enjoyed the introduction to her, and look forward to getting to know her better.

Meanwhile, I have several more scents to try from both Fort & Manlé and the assorted sample purchase…o calamity…

*Ruthenian = Russian? Ukrainian? Polish? It’s still up for debate what nationality can claim her.

** (in my opinion, and I was surprised to see any of those descriptors anywhere about this, but everyone’s got their own take.)