Osmanthe Kōdoshān Maison Crivelli 2021

I do enjoy diaphanous scents more than the average enthusiast, and can forgive for what might be perceived as a lack of "performance" if I am moved, even if for an hour or so. Osmanthe Kodoshan opens with the lightest impression of black tea tannins, astringent and tart, and the osmanthus starts to whisper, yet it volume never quite increases to an "under the tree" level.

It dries down with an intimacy that while pleasant and pretty, leaves much to be desired. It's all quite cohesive, yet its sparse translucency belies the potential of an osmanthus accord in a fragrance. Even the tobacco in the dry down is too anemic and only suggests what could've done with this concept if the perfumer only pushed out of her comfort zone a bit.

You’re hiking through the Peruvian Amazon, and when dusk arrives, you stop to make camp and brew yourself some tea. Your soft leather satchel contains only a few dried osmanthus petals and some brown dust that could be anything from black tea leaves to aniseed or the remnants of your last tobacco pouch. You’re so tired at this point that you sweep everything into the rickety little tin pot. And your tea tastes correspondingly gruff and careless – a tart, tongue-stripping intake of earth and undergrowth full of matted grasses, tobacco, dirt, twigs, with a pop of what tastes like mint or licorice.

The cleansing rinse of camphor or eucalyptus up top, coupled with the brown, earth-toned notes, is what makes Osmanthe Kõdoshãn such an interesting take on osmanthus. It carries the same sort of attractively mossy dankness as Moena 12 | 69 (Carta) or Bohea Bohème (Mona di Orio), where the matted base materials offer a rich undergrowth from which the brighter notes are eventually sprung free. And this is what eventually happens with Osmanthe Kõdoshãn too. In time, a tangy, almost sour tea note, like black tea brewed twice over with dried orange peel and strained through a damp linen cloth, breaks free of the sturdier base materials. The result is a brackish fruit tea, quite weak and watery, but with enough starch in it to stand your shirt collar up straight. Really wonderful.

The votes on this feel accurate — you squarely get an even amount of all 3: fruity osmanthus, soft star anise, and tea.

The combination of all three remind me of traditional Chinese herb and tea shops where you can purchase ginseng and tea by the pound from giant jars. If you're in LA, think Wing Hop Fung. With that said, I think it's a soft and pretty scent. Anise isn't normally a note I gravitate towards (too sharp and cutting), but it's very fluffy and gauzy here and adds something a bit special. I have to agree though that the longevity & performance is a bit lacking.