A selection of mini-reviews published on social media between January and March 2019. For more, please click here.
Opus XI from Amouage (Pierre Negrin; 2018)*
Now that the frenzied pitch of oud mania has abated, the air is clear for some genuinely interesting, innovative takes on the material. The latest is Opus XI, in which Amouage’s Creative Director Christopher Chong takes inspiration from fake news – and the fragrance industry’s heavy use of lab-made agar substitutes – to produce an ingenious mix of natural and synthetic ouds. With support from bitter herbs and spicy resins, the star ingredients form a rocket-fuelled inferno of a scent, somehow redolent both of smouldering plastics and body-heated leathers. Consider me convinced.
Santal Noir from Christian Dior (Francois Demachy; 2018)**
Smelling this you’re reminded that François Demachy worked at Chanel and was almost certainly well acquainted with Egoïste. That scent’s distinctive baked-fruit-plus-sandalwood identity is the backbone of Santal Noir. The rose note is an added twist.
Rose Kabuki from Christian Dior (Francois Demachy; 2018)**
The fine, white, sweet powders of theatre-land are convincingly sprinkled over a sheer, decorous rose. Ellena probably executed this concept more memorably in Rose Ikebana, but the lack of prominent fruity-watery notes makes Kabuki worth checking out.
Belle De Jour from Christian Dior (Francois Demachy; 2018)**
I love pears, but I concede that sometimes they feel like little more than mushy apples for little children. Their somewhat shapeless, inchoate personality is brought to the fore in this silly, far-too-sweet confection.
Dioramour from Christian Dior (Francois Demachy; 2018)**
A rare example of an all-out iris from Dior, here made translucent and paired with jasmine and violet-inflected, face-powder notes. Well done, but can’t compete with the likes of Iris Silver Mist or even the brand’s own Dior Homme.
Diorissima from Christian Dior (Francois Demachy; 2018)**
Oooh, choosing a name so close to Diorissimo is almost asking for trouble, but this wan, bloodless gardenia is unlikely to attract much controversy. Or attention. Indeed, according to some reports, it’s already been discontinued. No great loss.
Centifolia candle from Diptyque (2019)*
As many of you will be aware, there are plenty of excellent scented candles out there, but the new Centifolia from Diptyque is exceptional. Not only is its rendition of Rose De Mai absolutely spot-on – the pink creaminess, the plush, powdery-soapy quality, the unblemished innocence – but its ability to project its scent across a large space is second to none. Madame Persolaise and I have both been enraptured by its sheer beauty for the last few days, almost swooning at the persuasiveness with which it transports us to an endless carpet of rose petals.
Rive Gauche Pour Homme from Yves Saint Laurent (Jacques Cavallier; 2003)**
Easily one of the best fougeres of the century, in which Jacques Cavallier – under the direction of none other than Tom Ford – masterfully places lavender, geranium and rosemary over a striking, almost Middle-Eastern-feeling patchouli-amber base. Like all the best fougeres, it manages to be both muscular and gentle at the same time. Dark stubble across a delicate jawline.
Beautiful from Estee Lauder (Sophia Grojsman & Bernard Chant; 1985)**
I’ve been trying to think of what I consider to be some of the most romantic perfumes ever made, by which I mean scents with a grand, epic scope and an unashamedly emotional aesthetic. Maybe this is a sign of my age and upbringing, but most of my musings have brought me back to Sophia Grojsman. Paris, Tresor, Eternity – they all highlight not just her expert balance of florals and musks, but also her unmatched ability to sweep you away in a whirlwind of intense feelings and leave your heart euphoric with giddiness. Perhaps her crowning achievement in this regard is Beautiful (created with Bernard Chant) which places lilies, roses, carnations, mimosa and a whole host of other blooms within what can only be called a perfect bouquet. An aptly named fragrance, if ever there was one.
Aenotus from Puredistance (Antoine Lie; 2019)*
Unsettling, aggressive mix of piranha-sharp citruses, bile-soaked herbs and crass, synthetic sandalwoods. The scent of a City exec who’s burnt the candle at both ends for too long and is now lost and embittered.
Sesame Chän from Anima Vinci (Sophie Labbé; 2019)*
The upside-down, salty-amber structure of Hermès Eau Des Merveilles makes an interesting point of comparison with this similarly woody, nutty piece of work. Sadly, it grows sweeter as it progresses, to an annoying degree.
Le Sillage Blanc from Dusita (Pissara Umavijani; 2017)*
Perplexing name aside, this is a fantastically bitter homage to Bandit, with searing, metallic greens, butch leathers and assertive doses of artemisia, tobacco and narcissus. Purrs with hypnotic danger.
Eleventh Hour from Byredo (Jerome Epinette; 2018)*
Can’t help but chuckle at the fact that this was supposedly inspired by thoughts of the apocalypse, because it’s a figgy, plummy, boozy affair, with a huge dose of nuzzle-tempting Cashmeran. Amusing ourselves to death?
Feuilles De Tabac from Miller Harris (Lyn Harris; 2000)**
Starts as a promising, 70s style fougere – lavender-geranium freshness with bitter tobacco – but quickly reveals that the medallion around its hairy chest is made of tacky plastic.
Vetiver Insolent from Miller Harris (Mathieu Nardin; 2016)**
Decent stab at moving vetivert away from ‘clean masculine’ territory by linking it to a dark, hazelnutty facet and what almost comes across as angry tuberose. For once, the name isn’t entirely inappropriate.
No. 22 eau de toilette from Chanel (Jacques Polge; 2007)**
A friend recently asked me to recommend some “powdery” perfumes (by which people often mean aldehydic) so of course my thoughts immediately turned to one of the unsung gems in Chanel’s collection: No. 22. You could see it as a version of No. 5 that’s either stranger (the weird, plastic-firecracker fizz of those overdosed aldehydes), more androgynous (the mercurial interplay between the woods and the florals) or more ecclesiastical (that heaven-seeking incense note). But I’d say it deserves to be viewed on its own terms, as a statement on bottling the power of light. Like the collective power of thousands of stars illuminating a cloudless night sky, it makes you look up, higher and higher, into the endless expanse of the great beyond. And only the greatest perfumes can do that.
Persolaise
* sample provided by the brand
** sample obtained by the author
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