05/20/2025

ClaireV
958 Reviews

ClaireV
2
Brings relevance and novelty to the oud genre
A stunning oud perfume that – for once – is bringing something new to the oud conversation rather than repeating what other, cleverer people have already said. I have to spray this over and over again to understand what’s truly going on here. There is something of the briny, inky plastic funk of Le Labo’s Oud 27, but this is immediately smothered with the scent of dying roses, their slightly overripe, fleshy scent walking lockstep with the deep, fungal-brown smell of the rot in the heartwood of the Aquilaria tree.
Unlike the goaty, bleu cheese sourness of the oud in Oudh Infini, the oud here is not animalic or creamy, but dry and deeply fragrant, like the aroma of oud wood heated gently over a burner. This accord is buffeted by wafts of gentle spices (saffron, nutmeg) and a sort of dried fruit nuance, but these notes stay in the background, their main role being to hustle the oud forward. Towards the end, the fragrant aroma of the oud wood grafts itself seamlessly onto a soapy, dried orris root powder that feels almost like a clean, white musk, but isn’t. It’s a soft, supple leather, clean of any animal fats or flesh.
The whole thing is set ablaze by a rubbery oregano note that performs the same role as in Ambre Sultan, which is to say it lends a spine-stiffeningly herbal, fuel-like twang to a mélange that might otherwise be too sweet or too soft. The oregano note makes Montri strangely edible, in a savoury kind of way. Parts of the perfume also smell like gripe water or hawthorn, a nuance I am crazy about. As time wears on, I recognize a distant kinship between Montri and Oudh Osmanthus (Mona di Orio), linked by that edible but watery dill-like nuance.
I think Montri is one of the best oud-themed perfumes to be released in the niche space for years for three reasons. First, despite being a rose-oud, it smells like a new variety. Second, it is full of character. Third, it smells great as a personal perfume – neither shockingly animalic or too out there to wear. I really love this and it has gone straight to the top of my wish list.
Unlike the goaty, bleu cheese sourness of the oud in Oudh Infini, the oud here is not animalic or creamy, but dry and deeply fragrant, like the aroma of oud wood heated gently over a burner. This accord is buffeted by wafts of gentle spices (saffron, nutmeg) and a sort of dried fruit nuance, but these notes stay in the background, their main role being to hustle the oud forward. Towards the end, the fragrant aroma of the oud wood grafts itself seamlessly onto a soapy, dried orris root powder that feels almost like a clean, white musk, but isn’t. It’s a soft, supple leather, clean of any animal fats or flesh.
The whole thing is set ablaze by a rubbery oregano note that performs the same role as in Ambre Sultan, which is to say it lends a spine-stiffeningly herbal, fuel-like twang to a mélange that might otherwise be too sweet or too soft. The oregano note makes Montri strangely edible, in a savoury kind of way. Parts of the perfume also smell like gripe water or hawthorn, a nuance I am crazy about. As time wears on, I recognize a distant kinship between Montri and Oudh Osmanthus (Mona di Orio), linked by that edible but watery dill-like nuance.
I think Montri is one of the best oud-themed perfumes to be released in the niche space for years for three reasons. First, despite being a rose-oud, it smells like a new variety. Second, it is full of character. Third, it smells great as a personal perfume – neither shockingly animalic or too out there to wear. I really love this and it has gone straight to the top of my wish list.