Chinese oud05/22/2025
ClaireV
731 Reviews
ClaireV
1
Hell no from me but a hell yeah from the husband
For anyone a little wary of animalic smells, Chinese oud is something of a shibboleth. I don't know which species of Chinese agarwood was used - Hainan, Sinensis, etc. but I do know that genuine wild Chinese agarwood is exceedingly rare, so if you do see some wild Chinese oil on the market, it usually is from someone's private collection, as the oil used in Chinese Oud seems to be (19 years old at the time of writing).
Now, I have been privileged to smell quite a few samples of Chinese oud oil in my time and I find all of them to be extremely animalic, but not animalic in the same way that a traditional Hindi is animalic. The big difference is, for me, that while Hindi oud oil smells initially like an animal stall that hasn't been cleaned in a while (but eventually relaxes into a warm, handsome leather and hay affair), Chinese Oud is one single, massive block of pungent smells that comes for you, and you don't sense that there's much light at the end of the tunnel either. The History of Chinese Oud smells like what I imagine King Henry's banqueting halls down the country must have smelled like, i.e., huge, dancing bears on chains, twenty years of fetid chicken bones thrown to the straw underfoot, raw, almost rotting animal pelts hanging on the walls, and the dense, unbearable stench of unwashed peasants. It smells more like a sample of 20-year-old Tibetan musk I once smelled than an oud. It is infinitely more animal than any wood juice has the right to be. Fur, fur, and more fur, but hugely filthy, mangy, matted, and excreted upon fur. If you like the sound of that, then this will probably be nirvana to you.
Me? I am not living my best life right now. The wall of scent is just too intense, too packed for me. However, I am aware that for most oud heads, Chinese oud is considered a pinnacle of the genre, so I squint through the pungent fumes, trying to find one small point of good that I can hang onto for dear life. But honestly, for the first four hours of Chinese Oud, it's like the Mountain from the Games of Thrones holding you down and choking the life out of you, and me casting around wildly for something positive to say (he has nice skin, I guess?).
Oddly, and I am not sure if this is just me and my perception is way off here, but there comes a point where the History of Chinese Oud seems to simply fall off the cliff. The change in pace almost gives me whiplash. One minute it is this huge, dense wall of scent mercilessly pounding your senses, like a roar of thunder, the next (past the five hour mark) the noise level has dropped to a whisper - a soft, barely sweet, resinous creature of great warmth, a hint of leather but mostly wood threaded through with pleasant, golden crackle of labdanum and red spice. The relief is intense, as is my surprise. The speed of this change makes me doubt myself somewhat, but I am really unwilling to do this all over again. Here's my plan: I am going to spray it on my husband. I'll be back later.
Now, let me update you. My husband LOVES it. Said, 'oh, that's so bloody good. God, that's great. It's not that animalic at all. Your senses are just too delicate.' Later, the aroma on his arms died down to a lovely, dry, cured leather scent that is honestly really pleasant (sweeter on my skin than on his).
My thirteen year-old son smelled it, said OH MY GOD, and a while later remarked that it smelled exactly like freshly laid manure out on the fields. My nine year old daughter, who is very loyal to her father and opposed to anything her brother says, told us all that she thought it was wonderful and interesting. (But she whispered to me, 'Actually, don't tell Dad, but it's disgusting'.)
It turns out that my husband is the only oud head in this family, and if you are anything like him, you will all love this. So, don't mind me and my opinion.
Now, I have been privileged to smell quite a few samples of Chinese oud oil in my time and I find all of them to be extremely animalic, but not animalic in the same way that a traditional Hindi is animalic. The big difference is, for me, that while Hindi oud oil smells initially like an animal stall that hasn't been cleaned in a while (but eventually relaxes into a warm, handsome leather and hay affair), Chinese Oud is one single, massive block of pungent smells that comes for you, and you don't sense that there's much light at the end of the tunnel either. The History of Chinese Oud smells like what I imagine King Henry's banqueting halls down the country must have smelled like, i.e., huge, dancing bears on chains, twenty years of fetid chicken bones thrown to the straw underfoot, raw, almost rotting animal pelts hanging on the walls, and the dense, unbearable stench of unwashed peasants. It smells more like a sample of 20-year-old Tibetan musk I once smelled than an oud. It is infinitely more animal than any wood juice has the right to be. Fur, fur, and more fur, but hugely filthy, mangy, matted, and excreted upon fur. If you like the sound of that, then this will probably be nirvana to you.
Me? I am not living my best life right now. The wall of scent is just too intense, too packed for me. However, I am aware that for most oud heads, Chinese oud is considered a pinnacle of the genre, so I squint through the pungent fumes, trying to find one small point of good that I can hang onto for dear life. But honestly, for the first four hours of Chinese Oud, it's like the Mountain from the Games of Thrones holding you down and choking the life out of you, and me casting around wildly for something positive to say (he has nice skin, I guess?).
Oddly, and I am not sure if this is just me and my perception is way off here, but there comes a point where the History of Chinese Oud seems to simply fall off the cliff. The change in pace almost gives me whiplash. One minute it is this huge, dense wall of scent mercilessly pounding your senses, like a roar of thunder, the next (past the five hour mark) the noise level has dropped to a whisper - a soft, barely sweet, resinous creature of great warmth, a hint of leather but mostly wood threaded through with pleasant, golden crackle of labdanum and red spice. The relief is intense, as is my surprise. The speed of this change makes me doubt myself somewhat, but I am really unwilling to do this all over again. Here's my plan: I am going to spray it on my husband. I'll be back later.
Now, let me update you. My husband LOVES it. Said, 'oh, that's so bloody good. God, that's great. It's not that animalic at all. Your senses are just too delicate.' Later, the aroma on his arms died down to a lovely, dry, cured leather scent that is honestly really pleasant (sweeter on my skin than on his).
My thirteen year-old son smelled it, said OH MY GOD, and a while later remarked that it smelled exactly like freshly laid manure out on the fields. My nine year old daughter, who is very loyal to her father and opposed to anything her brother says, told us all that she thought it was wonderful and interesting. (But she whispered to me, 'Actually, don't tell Dad, but it's disgusting'.)
It turns out that my husband is the only oud head in this family, and if you are anything like him, you will all love this. So, don't mind me and my opinion.
