Luce Meo Fusciuni 2013

Luce is like a plain girl whose face suddenly transforms when she smiles. Full of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments that shuffle so quietly underneath its sweet, minty beeswax skin that you’d be forgiven for writing it off as an amber, this is a scent that rewards close study. My first impression is of sugared aniseed and vinyl set against a dark green backdrop of fir trees, underscored with a touch of adiposal fat coagulating on a dead animal. Somehow, this works – a multi-dimensional taste at the back of your tongue that draws all the bickering fresh, bitter, fatty, medicinal, and plastic notes to a warm, soft bosom that stifles all sound, let alone conflict.

It is only later, when Luce has moved on from its camphoraceous to its long, sweet, powdery drydown that I realize that this is an essay on benzoin. No wonder people look at this and think ‘amber’. But to me, benzoin on its own smells at once more subtle and more complex than when it is placed in an amber accord with vanilla and labdanum. Here, shorn and unadorned, it smells uniquely of itself – slightly ‘gippy’, like dampened potato flour, minty-camphoraceous, and of course, like incense, specifically unlit papiers d’armenie, those little strips of porous paper dipped in benzoin resinoid. This accord is attractively moldy or even ‘musty’, a quality your brain doesn’t normally associate pleasantly with a perfume but switches gears when it smells the same thing in a library full of old books, wafting decaying lignin spores into the ether.

Much of the same in the drydown, except for a hawthornish suede accent – think elegant Chamois glove leather – that lends the bookish dust some much needed structure. There is also, in my mind, a memory link between the hawthorn note and the anise note at the beginning, something hauntingly gripe-watery, sweet, and herbal. Luce feels very original to me, but of course, as I write and sniff, three fragrances with similar vibes jump to mind, namely; Guerlain’s Bois d’Armenie (those sweet, dusty incense burning papers), Mona di Orio’s Bohea Boheme (a slightly bitter, camphoraceous benzoin-tea scent with a powdery drydown), and Guerlain’s Cuir Beluga (the same white, creamy hawthorn suede). Quiet scents all, but Luce is quieter still. In fact, sometimes, I strain to hear its little voice at all. I rarely ask for scents to be stronger than they are – because someone somewhere will inevitably hear that as a plea for more Norlimbanol or Clearwood – but in the case of Luce, I would love the volume turned up by 30%, please.

Luce? Nah. Give me the nocturnal ones. But last week I passed by my niche perfumery, and decided to give it a try. I'm glad I did - the opening surprised me. It wasn't light at all, but quite heavy and dark! The leather was the absolute protagonist of the first act, and I liked it! Sadly, I saw where the light was coming as soon as it started evolving; the dry down is unpleasant to me, it loses its dark charme and just lingers something soft. Good concept, unfortunately, it doesn't meet my tastes.

Luce... Light...
Meo Fusciuni is known for his nostalgic perfumes — filled with languor, melancholy, sometimes even deep sadness.
So I approached Luce with great curiosity.
How does the master of shadows handle light?

With shadow itself.

Here, notes usually associated with darkness are arranged to create the illusion of light.
Not like Turner’s glowing skies — more like a painting by Georges de La Tour, where light comes from within the darkness.

And the illusion (because it is one) is almost perfect:
benzoin brings a glowing softness,
patchouli restrains it,
leather projects it outward.

The result is a luminous scent, yes —
but one that puts darkness at the center.
An euphoria grounded in sorrow.
Perhaps the most psychological perfume in his collection.
Absolutely sublime.

Insta: switzer_scent

[Subjective]
I’m eating liquorice whilst sitting on an old, thick, almost carpet-like couch.

The signature “Meo” Patchouli is preserved inside a slightly amber sugar crystal. On my skin, I get much more (pleasant) sweetness than woodiness. A unique combination of vanilla and fresh bitter herbs, and to my nose, a light anise freshness that I didn’t expect. The evolution and depth of this fragrance are really fun to explore; you can kind of choose your own little adventure, whether you want to focus on the patchouli, the benzoin-vanilla situation, or the smutty animalic notes hidden deep inside this creation.

[Development]
Opens with almonds, vanilla and a beautiful tobacco leaf. On my skin, the leather comes in later and is quite subtle, reading more like an indolic floral note. Classic dense and powerful “Meo” opening, just much more serene than his usual style.

Shortly after the bitter herbs and patchouli make themselves known, this feels similar to the 1# Nota di Viaggio (Rites de Passage) but less earthy. Patchouli and camphorous notes are surrounded by a gentle sweetness that transports you into dreamy territory. It’s at this point that I sense an anise/liquorice note that melds into the benzoin and continues all the way to the drydown.

[Performance]
The scent clings and melts into the skin beautifully once the rich opening fades. Performance is adequate and lasts about 4-6 hours. Definitely more of an intimate experience.

With this fragrance, I find it extremely difficult to find the right words. It is generally hardly possible to convey a scent impression verbally. It can only ever be a more or less vague approximation or description.

Nevertheless, I want to try because I find it very beautiful and special.

It is (in my perception):

complex, green, yellow, dark brown, woody, contradictory, light and dark at the same time, spicy, bitter, sweet, herbal, natural, forest-like, smoky, serious, unwieldy, interesting, characterful, original, calming, peculiar, daring, deep, protective

It is like a quirky but friendly forest spirit.

I see this image before me:

A deep enchanted forest with deciduous and coniferous trees;
thick moss cushions grow on old stones;
apart from the gurgling of a small stream, there is absolute, dense, and palpable silence;
sunlight filters through the treetops and bathes the place in muted, green-yellow light;
it smells of damp wood and aromatic forest soil;
the air is cool and dewy fresh;
the atmosphere is mystical and very peaceful.

I will not write about the individual notes, as the whole is far more than the sum of its parts. This is especially true for this creation.

The longevity is very good. Over time, it becomes rounder and sweeter; the beginning is quite bitter.

Now for a second opinion, which once again shows how subjective our scent perceptions are:

I asked my friend what he thinks of Luce.
His answer was: "What is that? Brake cleaner?"

:DDD