J•H•L Aramis 1982 Cologne

That Estée Lauder herself supposedly created this fragrance in the early eighties for her husband Joseph Harold Lauder (JHL) is a nice legend, but nothing more. The resemblance to the in-house ‘Cinnabar’ is too evident, and the signature of Bernard Chant is unmistakable. He had already created ‘Devin’ as a masculine counterpart to his own ‘Alliage’, ‘Aramis 900’ as a male counterpart to ‘Aromatics Elixir’, and ‘Azurée’ as a slightly more feminine version of his masterpiece ‘Aramis’.

In 1978, he composed ‘Cinnabar’ for Estée Lauder: a massive scent, hardly surpassable in its oriental opulence, which unfortunately always remained somewhat in the shadow of the closely related ‘Opium’ by Yves Saint Laurent. Now that we have all become completely tired of Opium everywhere, and this has also suffered severe damage after the last reformulation, Cinnabar - and in a way also Coco by Chanel - stands before us in full, unshaded, and fortunately still intact beauty; and recently, the no less magnificent, if not even better, at least more wearable for both women and men JHL has also returned. For a long time, it had disappeared from the shelves, although it was always claimed that it was still being produced in small quantities, but I had not seen a bottle of it anywhere. When one occasionally appeared on eBay in recent years, its price shot up to such dizzying heights in no time that further bidding was ruled out for rational reasons. Being highly sought after but unattainable was a fate that JHL shared for a long time with fragrances like Guerlain's ‘Derby’, Jean Patou's ‘Patou pour Homme’, Jean Desprez's ‘Vesailles pour Homme’, or Balmain's ‘Ebène’. Along with the impossibility of acquiring one of these fragrances, their fame also grew: ‘Derby’, ‘Patou pour Homme’, but also ‘JHL’ were reliably mentioned when the question of truly great men's fragrances was raised in well-known internet forums. The fact that these three fragrances, celebrated by perfume enthusiasts, were no longer available, or apparently did not have enough market success to create a loyal fan base large enough to save the fragrances through the stormy waves of rising and receding fashions, that is, that these supposedly best ones disappeared from the scene, is indeed a curiosity. Others with a similar reputation today, like ‘Egoïste’ or ‘Héritage’, just managed to survive over time - unfortunately not those three.
But fortunately, times have changed: the tsunami of Calone-laden, ozonic-aquatic waters has - thank God! - receded, the era of pastry-sweet gourmand fragrances is in its final phase, and a look back has been allowed again for some time, indeed it is almost opportune, as the many retro creations by Tom Ford and others show. Suddenly they are back, at least ‘Derby’ and ‘JHL’, and one wonders why they were actually gone (just as one wonders why Patou pour Homme is still not back - Procter & Gamble: shame on you!!).
Well, why were (and are) they gone?
Hard to answer. I now own several Derbys, both new and old, have acquired a vintage bottle of Patou pour Homme, and got JHL - and can say: what unites these three is a maximum of complexity, refinement, and sophistication - it doesn't get better than this. Perhaps this is where the explanation lies, because maybe they not only share a maximum of the mentioned qualities, but almost an excess: too much that can come across as arrogant and aloof, as it often goes hand in hand with an aristocratic, haughty demeanor. Who knows.

When JHL was re-released some time ago as part of the ‘Aramis Gentleman Collection’, I could hardly wait to test the fragrance after so many years. Finally, I was able to spray it on myself and was instantly so overwhelmed that I did something I had never thought of before: out of sheer fear that it might not be available tomorrow, I bought two bottles right away...
Although I knew ‘Cinnabar’, and many swore by its similarity to ‘JHL’, what rose from my wrist was even better: just as opulent and spicy-oriental as that, but not quite as voluminous and less sweet, underpinned by a distinct chypre accord and immediately recognizable animal facet. A deep-dark elixir that reminds one of old cognac aged for years in oak barrels and instantly conveys the impression that a master of his craft has poured only the very best materials into a brilliant composition (an impression I also had with the incomparably more expensive ‘Amouage Gold’, which I would easily place alongside ‘JHL’).

That this is a fragrance in Eau de Cologne concentration is indeed astonishing, given the richness of the aroma, but those who know the other Eau de Colognes composed by Bernard Chant for the Lauder/Aramis/Clinique house, like ‘Aramis 900’ or ‘Devin’, may be less surprised. For just like ‘JHL’, these have enormous potential and remarkable longevity. Perhaps, however, the term ‘Cologne’ does not even hide the categorization commonly used in Europe, but rather the designation of fragrances in general as ‘Cologne’ in America.
Whatever the case, JHL cannot be matched with the classic Cologne definition of fresh/citrus/woody anyway. The scent is almost the complete opposite: fruity notes combined with bitter orange peel and aromatic pimento - this is how the unusually ‘perfumy’ opening of JHL begins, whose heaviness is softened by airy aldehydes. Cloves and plenty of cinnamon, together with rose, jasmine, and ylang-ylang, form the spicy-floral heart of the fragrance, which is bedded on soft amber notes, resinous-sweet labdanum, a bit of musk and civet, smoky olibanum, as well as fine patchouli, vanilla, and benzoin notes. A very rich bouquet, but far from an oriental fragrance oil potpourri like ‘Ambre Sultan’ by Serge Lutens. No, JHL is much more refined, much more artfully woven: note for note harmoniously tuned and perfectly blended, yet still contrasting and charged with tension in the base accords of fruity-spicy-floral-animalistic. ‘Ambre Sultan’, to stay with this comparison, appears downright one-dimensional and clumsy - a rough fellow without manners, next to a fine and cultured gentleman.

Speaking of gentlemen: ‘JHL’ is generally associated with older, well-groomed gentlemen, or recommended for them. I cannot entirely agree: while I cannot quite imagine it on 15-year-old boys or girls, one does not need to be a gray-haired, well-groomed older gentleman to wear ‘JHL’. But a certain degree of maturity and decorum should be brought by the wearer to successfully showcase such a perfume opera.

For me, ‘JHL’ is in a class of its own: the quintessence of oriental perfume, and only comparable to the equally incredible ‘Shalimar’.