Similar to Penhaligon's, Floris is one of those houses that one hardly forgives when parfumological silverware is brought to market, only to place minimalist chic on the dining table, where design is everything but substance is nothing. At least, that's the suspicion. The mistrust is not unfounded, as Penhaligon's has proven that treading water in an attempt to remain relevant produces an overwhelming number of sometimes truly questionable fragrances. And what could one wish more from an old British house (regardless of whether it’s clothing, cars, or perfumes) than restraint and prudence, only to make a confident impact at the right moment? After all, the cousins on the other side of the Atlantic are already shooting at sparrows with cannons. But now, let’s lower the eyebrow and spray bravely.
The top note pulls out all the stops and even brings in a glockenspiel and a harp: Bright and radiant yet full and round, "Leather Oud" fills the room and delights the reviewer with a syrupy, slightly "liqueur-like" herbal shine (for example: Ricola dissolved in Retsina) on one side, balancing between medicinal, woody, and subtly fecal clean (artificial) oud on the other side.
The namesake leather is found only associatively, not as an actual note, as modern fragrances with "leather" in the name so often do. Here, Floris remains true to tradition: the leather scent is not recreated realistically but only summoned through the back door. Very pleasing!
After the top note fades, unfortunately, both the composer and the orchestra quickly run out of steam. One of my predecessors attributed a honey character to Leather Oud (which is actually strange, considering the sister scent from the same house is called Honey Oud...) - I found what was being referred to a bit more prosaic as a "Grafschafter Goldsaft note," mixed with a slightly medicinal woodiness. It doesn’t smell bad on its own, but the knot sinks too clearly after the triumphant overture: one trudges a bit sluggishly through the stage, and instead of real bee honey, the field cook can only provide substitutes.
The base is reconciliatory: what is present is pleasantly ambried without becoming sticky. So far, so good. But has this institution of Anglo-Saxon perfumery also succeeded in the excursion towards oud?
To be honest, I had to struggle a bit through this review. Oud, or contemporary woodiness in general, seems to fit into a classic European fragrance concept only reluctantly. Whether it’s AdP's "Colonia Oud," Penhaligon's "Marylebone Wood," or this attempt: somehow, despite all the weight and opulence, the image remains a bit expressionless, nuances are covered up. Yes, Leather Oud is certainly one of the more refined ouds I have had the chance to test, but it feels a bit like the distinguished great-uncle has bought himself a rattling BMW in his old age to impress the village youth. Touching, indeed, but somehow one also smiles a little pityingly.
The comment is a delight, but the scent would surely be a nightmare for me. I use Grafschafter Goldsaft for baking when it's gingerbread season. I wouldn't want to smell like that, and I'm not too keen on oud either ;-)
The image of Ricola dissolved in Retsina deserves a trophy. GraSchaGoSa is certainly an impossible thing. Better to stick with margarine and mixed fruit jam (simple).
Your summary would have been exactly what I wanted to write here, but now everything has been said. I agree. By the way, I still find Floris a little more likable than Penhaligon's, which has been relying too much on flashy concepts for years, with which they are (unfortunately and of course) successful. What really bothers me about Floris is the pricing, especially when you remember the old lower prices.
That doesn't sound too bad for my nose, since I only like Oud in moderation. Whether it suits Floris is something everyone has to decide for themselves. Oud trophy.
Grafschafter Goldsaft trophy