1
A Tea-Drinker's Nightmare
Oh boy, is Thé Brun's opening rough! It is incredibly antiseptic, and has a weird “the smell of a cast going on” top note, combined with a Bactine and slightly funky Band-Aid accord. I sprayed this on a piece of cloth first, to test it, and I was so off-put by the opening that I genuinely cringed and held my breath when I finally decided to put it on my skin. I’m not sure what notes are causing it, but I highly recommend that you don’t dive nose-first into this one. It is not at all pleasant.
After about five minutes, it does start to evolve, thankfully, but the evolution is not terribly much better, to be frank. One can just barely detect a waft of melon lending a touch of sweetness behind the “old hospital” top, which slowly opens up a bit, to a pretty in-your-face floral accord.
The first sign of the evolution is a slightly petrol-ish, leather-ish tone, that I have to assume is the violet playing with the other florals and cardamom. This gives away, slightly, to an old-school soapy feeling, heavy with lavender, lily-of-the-valley, and jasmine forming a kind of blossoming bouquet atop the omnipresent medicinal (and slight petroleum) vibe.
***
Notably, off clothing, the evolution is somewhat different, as this phase is sharp – almost tart – with bergamot and orange blossom being brought much more into focus, sitting above the “on skin” scent in a way that I’m afraid is really quite unpleasant to my nose. The combination of sharp, astringent fruit and medicinal flowers kind of reminds me of the smell one gets upon killing (or otherwise irritating) a brown marmorated stink bug. It’s sharp, it sticks in the throat and nostrils, and it has a slightly “acrid watermelon” feel to it that makes me involuntarily curl my lip in disgust.
…Then, just for fun, it goes full-on alcohol and antiseptic.
I cannot recommend highly enough that you do not spray this on your clothing. It’s horrible.
***
Thankfully, on skin, Thé Brun finally starts to turn into something that is vaguely wearable at around the 30-minute mark. At this time, it enters a phase that rather strongly reminds me of Eight and Bob’s “Cap d’Antibes”, which I am going to assume is due to the cinnamon and violet (flower here, leaf there) that they share, with a little underlying sweetness coming from vanilla. It is here, at last, starting at about 15–20 minutes into the evolution of the scent, and fully shifting at around 30–35 minutes, that it finally begins to smell somewhat pleasant. In fact, if you like Cap d’Antibes, this phase should be right up your alley – they are remarkably alike at this point.
Then, at long last, around 40 minutes into this tea-centric fragrance, one can finally pick up a discernible tea note – but it’s not a particularly pleasant one. It’s a black tea you forgot you had steeping, and when you go back to drink it, hits you with a blast of sharp tannin concentrate. Or the dregs of a pot of smoked green tea. Given that it’s what I came here for, it is, like the rest of my experience with this fragrance thus far, a massive letdown.
I’ve heard this fragrance being touted as “like an Earl Grey you can wear” and other similarly hyperbolic claims, and, well… if I ever received a cup of Earl Grey that smelled like this, I would immediately send it back, under the assumption that it had gone off.
***
In the end, the best thing that I can say for this is that, once the dry-down hits, it smells a fair bit like Cap d’Antibes, and therefore can be neatly covered up by the generous application thereof. My inner tea drinker viscerally recoils at the idea of ever being faced with a pot of tea emanating this sort of aroma, and I am properly befuddled that so many seem to find it so pleasant. Is it because it was made by Pierre Bourdon? If so, I can only shake my head in disappointment – better noses than he have created worse stinkers than this one, and he is not infallible, either (lookin’ at you, “Individuel”).
Even after letting this sit on my skin for another hour or so, and sincerely hoping it would turn into something worthy of the praise that it has received, I was only met with disappointment - and Thé Brun was met with a vigorous over-application of Cap d'Antibes.
Oh, well. They can’t all be winners, I guess, and at least I had the perfect antidote waiting in the wings.
2/10
After about five minutes, it does start to evolve, thankfully, but the evolution is not terribly much better, to be frank. One can just barely detect a waft of melon lending a touch of sweetness behind the “old hospital” top, which slowly opens up a bit, to a pretty in-your-face floral accord.
The first sign of the evolution is a slightly petrol-ish, leather-ish tone, that I have to assume is the violet playing with the other florals and cardamom. This gives away, slightly, to an old-school soapy feeling, heavy with lavender, lily-of-the-valley, and jasmine forming a kind of blossoming bouquet atop the omnipresent medicinal (and slight petroleum) vibe.
***
Notably, off clothing, the evolution is somewhat different, as this phase is sharp – almost tart – with bergamot and orange blossom being brought much more into focus, sitting above the “on skin” scent in a way that I’m afraid is really quite unpleasant to my nose. The combination of sharp, astringent fruit and medicinal flowers kind of reminds me of the smell one gets upon killing (or otherwise irritating) a brown marmorated stink bug. It’s sharp, it sticks in the throat and nostrils, and it has a slightly “acrid watermelon” feel to it that makes me involuntarily curl my lip in disgust.
…Then, just for fun, it goes full-on alcohol and antiseptic.
I cannot recommend highly enough that you do not spray this on your clothing. It’s horrible.
***
Thankfully, on skin, Thé Brun finally starts to turn into something that is vaguely wearable at around the 30-minute mark. At this time, it enters a phase that rather strongly reminds me of Eight and Bob’s “Cap d’Antibes”, which I am going to assume is due to the cinnamon and violet (flower here, leaf there) that they share, with a little underlying sweetness coming from vanilla. It is here, at last, starting at about 15–20 minutes into the evolution of the scent, and fully shifting at around 30–35 minutes, that it finally begins to smell somewhat pleasant. In fact, if you like Cap d’Antibes, this phase should be right up your alley – they are remarkably alike at this point.
Then, at long last, around 40 minutes into this tea-centric fragrance, one can finally pick up a discernible tea note – but it’s not a particularly pleasant one. It’s a black tea you forgot you had steeping, and when you go back to drink it, hits you with a blast of sharp tannin concentrate. Or the dregs of a pot of smoked green tea. Given that it’s what I came here for, it is, like the rest of my experience with this fragrance thus far, a massive letdown.
I’ve heard this fragrance being touted as “like an Earl Grey you can wear” and other similarly hyperbolic claims, and, well… if I ever received a cup of Earl Grey that smelled like this, I would immediately send it back, under the assumption that it had gone off.
***
In the end, the best thing that I can say for this is that, once the dry-down hits, it smells a fair bit like Cap d’Antibes, and therefore can be neatly covered up by the generous application thereof. My inner tea drinker viscerally recoils at the idea of ever being faced with a pot of tea emanating this sort of aroma, and I am properly befuddled that so many seem to find it so pleasant. Is it because it was made by Pierre Bourdon? If so, I can only shake my head in disappointment – better noses than he have created worse stinkers than this one, and he is not infallible, either (lookin’ at you, “Individuel”).
Even after letting this sit on my skin for another hour or so, and sincerely hoping it would turn into something worthy of the praise that it has received, I was only met with disappointment - and Thé Brun was met with a vigorous over-application of Cap d'Antibes.
Oh, well. They can’t all be winners, I guess, and at least I had the perfect antidote waiting in the wings.
2/10
Dzarsos
