Ambilux

50 ml d'Ambiguïté

Marlou 2017

…this gives me a perfect entry point into the commentary on Ambilux, as the good Friedrich would say. Because actually, instead of "animalic-spicy," it should rather say "human-spicy" in the fragrance classification. There is nothing here that smells like an animal. No fur, no pee, no dung. But indeed, as several commentators before me have noted: It smells like a human.

Thanks to the travel letter circulated by Sir Lancelot, I had the opportunity to test the 3-sample set from Marlou (thanks again at this point!). Among the three fragrances, Ambilux was by far the most exciting for me. In Poudrextase, there is a similar human note as in Ambilux, but combined with a rose that is already slightly past its prime, which ultimately gives it a relatively high potential for annoyance for me, while Carnicure is an overall harmless, albeit slightly soiled musk-and-flower scent (certainly the most wearable of the three in everyday life).
Ambilux, however, is a fascination. I can't stop marveling at how perfectly the perfumer has managed to replicate the intimate scent of a human body with a combination of fragrance materials, none of which have anything to do with the human body even remotely - perhaps just evoking it; I’m not quite sure whether the scent actually replicates a natural scent very well or cleverly calls up the corresponding associations that make one believe they are smelling human skin.

Intimate scent is, by the way, to be taken quite literally. Ambilux does not come across in my nose as harmless as simply unwashed skin and hair, as perceived by others here. It smells distinctly of the lower regions for me, and more of the lower regions (female) than the lower regions (male). A little salty, a little sweaty, but by no means unpleasant. Like the body of a woman you know well and love.
Associations with wild nights of passion do not come to me. Despite this clearly sexual scent note for me, Ambilux is gentle and rather quiet. More like morning cuddle sex, when you just have to turn over and stretch a bit under the covers to reach the other body, just as unwashed as your own. If I had to assign a color, it would be light gray-pink-white, with a texture like airy cotton muslin. The scent does not overwhelm but gently envelops. I have also noticed the effect mentioned by several others that it seems to merge with the natural scent of the skin.

Recently, I learned what "my lips but better" means, namely a lipstick color that is very close to the natural color of one's own lips, so that you look not made up, but subtly optimized. This is what I thought of with Ambilux: "my scent, but better." It is a smell I know from myself, just somehow more concise and concentrated and made wearable. It is really hard for me to pick out individual scent notes. At the very beginning, I think I can smell pink pepper and a little bit of incense, but after just a few moments, everything blurs into this indefinable body scent cloud, and that’s how the scent remains until it fades after about 7 hours on me. Not even the cumin with its unmistakable, characteristically sweaty note is perceptibly isolated.

I am maliciously tempted to suggest that anyone who smells 14-day-old underwear is certainly also part of the target group for intimate deodorants and panty liners with fresh scents. On the other hand, the noses and olfactory centers are so differently tuned and react accordingly so variably that it wouldn't be fair. It may well be that Ambilux presses some very sensitive olfactory buttons for some (…I just have to remind myself of my immense disappointment when testing "Maai | Bogue," which is highly praised here and which I was determined to like, but which immediately and without hesitation literally induced nausea in me). Nevertheless, I can say after the test that I would at least recommend giving it a try, as the scent really doesn't jump out at you, even if you don't like it. And as an experience, it is interesting enough to at least try it.

By the way, I was also charmed by the wonderful name, as ambiguity as a general state of being and tolerance of ambiguity as a useful means to address it are among my preferred topics that I ponder in quiet moments and enjoy discussing in a like-minded circle. How could the ambiguity drawn on a bottle not make me curious?

I am not sure if I would really wear Ambilux solo as a perfume in the usual sense. It might be a bit too quirky for me, at least given the not exactly low price. However, I can imagine that it would work well for layering, to give scents that I like but find a bit trivial some more underlying oomph. Maybe I will eventually go on the hunt for a decant. For now, though, I will let the scent experience settle and am curious to see how the other participants of the travel letter fare with the fragrances.