51
Top Review
To be discovered
Which fragrance enthusiast doesn't know those occasional wow moments? Just sprayed, it hits you like lightning: Wow, what a scent!
One of my deepest and most lasting wow experiences was provided to me many years ago by the old version of 'Dioressence'.
I first encountered 'LUI' about 2 years ago. The incredibly beautiful bottle made me reach for it, but this time nothing happened. No wow, nowhere. Instead, I sniffed a little perplexed at my wrist.
A Guerlain? Where was the typical DNA? What was special about this scent?
I found no answer and categorized 'LUI' as: boring, trying-too-hard modern, leathery oriental, already smelled a thousand times, lacking depth and special development.
How wrong one can be sometimes!
If 'LUI' hadn't been in this strikingly beautiful Art Deco bottle, I would probably have avoided it, labeled as such. But it kept drawing me back. Could it be that such a pretty little bottle contained such a boring and banal scent?
Yes, it could be. At least that was the conclusion of my subsequent tests.
Then, a few weeks ago, everything suddenly changed, for whatever reason.
I actually just wanted to see if the new 'Bois Mysterieux' still smelled the same as my old 'Songe d’un Bois d’Été', but there was no tester available. Instead, there was that seductively beautiful 'LUI' again. Rather bored and actually assuming I had already dismissed the scent as uninteresting enough, I picked it up again.
What was that? The handsome bottle suddenly released a seductive aroma!
What had happened?
Actually, nothing at all. The scent was clearly the same, but somehow a switch seemed to have been flipped. What I had previously found banal and boring suddenly became interesting and exciting: a wonderfully aromatic-powdery clove aroma, combined with a hint of fruitiness, lay over a smoothed, civilized leather note, lounging on a bed of resinous-balsamic benzoin - fantastic!
But: so far, so unremarkable. It really wasn't the first benzoin-leather scent. Suddenly, however, I had an 'open nose' for the true strength of this fragrance: its quality.
'LUI' does not score points with originality, does not throw itself into any niche oud, saffron, or immortelle hype, but also does not pander to any zeitgeisty mainstream synthetic.
No, 'LUI' is basically - as I experienced it the first few times - an inconspicuous fellow, whose advantages, yes elegance, do not really want to come to the fore. Luckily, it is in this stylish outfit - rarely has a bottle been such an eye-catcher.
Now that my nose has, so to speak, opened up to this scent, I actually feel no discrepancy between the beauty on one hand and the inconspicuousness on the other. Both, inner and outer, actually fit quite well together: In this bottle jewel, there is indeed a fragrance jewel. One that does not immediately jump out at the discerning consumer but rather wants to be discovered.
When reading reviews and comments about 'LUI', the question often arises what on earth this scent has to do with its sister scent 'LIU', that decades-old aldehyde bomb that once came in a very similar Art Deco bottle. In 1929, Guerlain launched this scent reminiscent of Chanel's 'No 5', inspired by a character from Puccini's then very popular last opera, 'Turandot'. Liu, the slave, resists all tortures and prefers suicide to revealing her secret. Only this strength, this courage, causes the ice shell of Princess Turandot to melt.
Aldehyde-laden fragrances like 'LIU', but especially the 'No 5' from Chanel launched 8 years earlier, were highly sought after by the flapper-dressed women of the Garçonne fashion. The flapper look and short hairstyles contributed to the rather boyish appearance of the Garçonnes.
Guerlain's 'LIU', however, came rather late. Once again.
As with 'Mitsouko', 'Shalimar', and later 'Vetiver', Guerlain showed that one did not need to constantly call upon their creative potential to reinvent the wheel. Sometimes it was simply wiser to demonstrate that one mastered their craft better than others.
What was achieved excellently with the three mentioned fragrances could not be repeated with 'LIU'. Chanel's 'No 5' remained unmatched, no matter how popular the opera character whose name was borrowed, and how beautiful the bottle was. 'LIU' did not become one of the great Guerlain legends, but it remained in the Guerlain catalog, probably due to its undeniable qualities.
Now then, 'LUI'.
No aldehydes, no rose, no jasmine, and no iris, but vanilla and woody notes that can be found in the wide fragrance spectrum of benzoin resin. Here, 'LUI' connects to 'LIU' and expands this spectrum with plenty of resinous and balsamic facets, adding leathery, powdery, aromatic, and subtly fruity notes, thus shifting the clearly feminine fragrance cosmos of 'LIU' in a decidedly more masculine direction. 'LUI' thereby becomes the male counterpart of 'LIU', but does not sever the bridges to the feminine fragrance language with benzoin, clove, and pear.
While a Garçonne of the 20s and 30s might have chosen Chanel's 'No 5' or 'LIU', a modern Garçonne would surely lean more towards 'LUI'. In my opinion, 'LUI' is indeed a modern Garçonne fragrance, even though it refuses to conform to fashionable trends and synthetics. Its modernity lies rather in adapting a nearly one-hundred-year-old fragrance concept to today's habits and preferences. Women have long been appropriating the woody, leathery, and spicy scents of their partners, adopting them for themselves - a 'LUI' is actually not needed for that.
'LUI' works a bit differently, not being a clear men's fragrance, just as it is far from being a clear women's fragrance.
In the true sense, it is not unisex either, as I perceive its basic tendency as rather masculine: a masculine fragrance, with an open flank to the feminine. Just as 'lui' in French usually means 'for him', but not always: it can also mean 'her'. 'Je lui dis' can mean 'I say to him' or 'I say to her', depending on the context.
Of course, 'LUI' does not offer a novel fragrance concept with these qualities. There are countless fragrances that evade the flat unisex label and play much more sophisticatedly with the Homme/Femme attribution. And yet, Guerlain has once again succeeded with 'LUI' after a long time in doing what this house has long stood for, namely not completely reinventing things, but simply making them better.
Bravo Guerlain!!
'LUI' has fantastic longevity, with moderate projection. Here, the rather masculine basic tendency reveals itself once again: according to classic understanding, a man should not olfactorily outshine a woman. She may fill the room with her scent. He prefers to convince through unobtrusive persistence.
Just like 'LUI'.
One of my deepest and most lasting wow experiences was provided to me many years ago by the old version of 'Dioressence'.
I first encountered 'LUI' about 2 years ago. The incredibly beautiful bottle made me reach for it, but this time nothing happened. No wow, nowhere. Instead, I sniffed a little perplexed at my wrist.
A Guerlain? Where was the typical DNA? What was special about this scent?
I found no answer and categorized 'LUI' as: boring, trying-too-hard modern, leathery oriental, already smelled a thousand times, lacking depth and special development.
How wrong one can be sometimes!
If 'LUI' hadn't been in this strikingly beautiful Art Deco bottle, I would probably have avoided it, labeled as such. But it kept drawing me back. Could it be that such a pretty little bottle contained such a boring and banal scent?
Yes, it could be. At least that was the conclusion of my subsequent tests.
Then, a few weeks ago, everything suddenly changed, for whatever reason.
I actually just wanted to see if the new 'Bois Mysterieux' still smelled the same as my old 'Songe d’un Bois d’Été', but there was no tester available. Instead, there was that seductively beautiful 'LUI' again. Rather bored and actually assuming I had already dismissed the scent as uninteresting enough, I picked it up again.
What was that? The handsome bottle suddenly released a seductive aroma!
What had happened?
Actually, nothing at all. The scent was clearly the same, but somehow a switch seemed to have been flipped. What I had previously found banal and boring suddenly became interesting and exciting: a wonderfully aromatic-powdery clove aroma, combined with a hint of fruitiness, lay over a smoothed, civilized leather note, lounging on a bed of resinous-balsamic benzoin - fantastic!
But: so far, so unremarkable. It really wasn't the first benzoin-leather scent. Suddenly, however, I had an 'open nose' for the true strength of this fragrance: its quality.
'LUI' does not score points with originality, does not throw itself into any niche oud, saffron, or immortelle hype, but also does not pander to any zeitgeisty mainstream synthetic.
No, 'LUI' is basically - as I experienced it the first few times - an inconspicuous fellow, whose advantages, yes elegance, do not really want to come to the fore. Luckily, it is in this stylish outfit - rarely has a bottle been such an eye-catcher.
Now that my nose has, so to speak, opened up to this scent, I actually feel no discrepancy between the beauty on one hand and the inconspicuousness on the other. Both, inner and outer, actually fit quite well together: In this bottle jewel, there is indeed a fragrance jewel. One that does not immediately jump out at the discerning consumer but rather wants to be discovered.
When reading reviews and comments about 'LUI', the question often arises what on earth this scent has to do with its sister scent 'LIU', that decades-old aldehyde bomb that once came in a very similar Art Deco bottle. In 1929, Guerlain launched this scent reminiscent of Chanel's 'No 5', inspired by a character from Puccini's then very popular last opera, 'Turandot'. Liu, the slave, resists all tortures and prefers suicide to revealing her secret. Only this strength, this courage, causes the ice shell of Princess Turandot to melt.
Aldehyde-laden fragrances like 'LIU', but especially the 'No 5' from Chanel launched 8 years earlier, were highly sought after by the flapper-dressed women of the Garçonne fashion. The flapper look and short hairstyles contributed to the rather boyish appearance of the Garçonnes.
Guerlain's 'LIU', however, came rather late. Once again.
As with 'Mitsouko', 'Shalimar', and later 'Vetiver', Guerlain showed that one did not need to constantly call upon their creative potential to reinvent the wheel. Sometimes it was simply wiser to demonstrate that one mastered their craft better than others.
What was achieved excellently with the three mentioned fragrances could not be repeated with 'LIU'. Chanel's 'No 5' remained unmatched, no matter how popular the opera character whose name was borrowed, and how beautiful the bottle was. 'LIU' did not become one of the great Guerlain legends, but it remained in the Guerlain catalog, probably due to its undeniable qualities.
Now then, 'LUI'.
No aldehydes, no rose, no jasmine, and no iris, but vanilla and woody notes that can be found in the wide fragrance spectrum of benzoin resin. Here, 'LUI' connects to 'LIU' and expands this spectrum with plenty of resinous and balsamic facets, adding leathery, powdery, aromatic, and subtly fruity notes, thus shifting the clearly feminine fragrance cosmos of 'LIU' in a decidedly more masculine direction. 'LUI' thereby becomes the male counterpart of 'LIU', but does not sever the bridges to the feminine fragrance language with benzoin, clove, and pear.
While a Garçonne of the 20s and 30s might have chosen Chanel's 'No 5' or 'LIU', a modern Garçonne would surely lean more towards 'LUI'. In my opinion, 'LUI' is indeed a modern Garçonne fragrance, even though it refuses to conform to fashionable trends and synthetics. Its modernity lies rather in adapting a nearly one-hundred-year-old fragrance concept to today's habits and preferences. Women have long been appropriating the woody, leathery, and spicy scents of their partners, adopting them for themselves - a 'LUI' is actually not needed for that.
'LUI' works a bit differently, not being a clear men's fragrance, just as it is far from being a clear women's fragrance.
In the true sense, it is not unisex either, as I perceive its basic tendency as rather masculine: a masculine fragrance, with an open flank to the feminine. Just as 'lui' in French usually means 'for him', but not always: it can also mean 'her'. 'Je lui dis' can mean 'I say to him' or 'I say to her', depending on the context.
Of course, 'LUI' does not offer a novel fragrance concept with these qualities. There are countless fragrances that evade the flat unisex label and play much more sophisticatedly with the Homme/Femme attribution. And yet, Guerlain has once again succeeded with 'LUI' after a long time in doing what this house has long stood for, namely not completely reinventing things, but simply making them better.
Bravo Guerlain!!
'LUI' has fantastic longevity, with moderate projection. Here, the rather masculine basic tendency reveals itself once again: according to classic understanding, a man should not olfactorily outshine a woman. She may fill the room with her scent. He prefers to convince through unobtrusive persistence.
Just like 'LUI'.
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13 Comments
And the Art Deco bottle is wonderful!