Perle Rare Ambre Carthage

L'Ambre de Carthage

Panouge 2011

‘L’Ambre de Carthage’ was once again one of those impulse buys - I didn’t really want to, but there I was again in front of the shelves, and I had no idea what I was looking for or should test. The lady assisting me, after several ‘I already know that’, ‘I already have that’, ‘that’s not really my thing’, etc. was at her wit's end and left with the words ‘if you need me, just let me know’. Two fragrances did catch my interest, one of which even made its way into my bag: ‘L’Ambre de Carthage’.

I’m not really a big fan of amber - most of them, like many musk or patchouli scents, are too hippie-like for me, and I’ve also grown quite tired of the eternally same, resinous-sweet amber-vanilla combo.
But there are exceptions: ‘Ambre Fétiche’ by Annick Goutal is one, or ‘Ambre 114’ by Histoires de Parfums - amber scents that offer a twist into the unusual: the first is dry-leathery, the second spicy-refined.
‘L’Ambre de Carthage’ is yet another one, this time with a significant twist into the fruity-floral.

However, the name of the fragrance might initially suggest an oriental heavyweight like ‘Ambre Sultan’, but that’s far from the truth. Sure, the amber is there, from the beginning to the end of the scent’s progression, but its aromatic-resinous aroma carries nothing heavy or excessively sweet - it is light, almost transparent, and harmonizes wonderfully with the woody nuances of patchouli and sandalwood. What is truly special, however, is the combination with the osmanthus flower, which is primarily found in Asia. Its fruity-floral accord - reminiscent of ripe white peaches, but also of Hermès’ ‘Osmanthe Yunnan’ with its tea nuances - takes away all the burdensome, dark, and oily aspects of the amber (a mix of spicy-aromatic resins; not to be confused with ‘grey amber’ or ‘ambergris’, the sperm whale secretion) and provides bright colors and a fresh breeze. Some slightly bitter-citrusy bergamot, as well as a fine tea note (reportedly jasmine tea), contribute to a nice breeze and plenty of sunshine flooding the hippie shop - it feels good, really good!

Interestingly, ‘L’Ambre de Carthage’ is labeled as a ‘Parfum pour Homme’ (though one can safely forget the ‘Homme’ - it is just as much ‘Pour Femme’), so neither ‘Eau de Toilette’ nor ‘Eau de Parfum’, but actually ‘Parfum’. Another indication, namely that the fragrance has an 80% alcohol content, suggests that the perfume oil content is around 16%, which would indeed allow for the designation ‘Parfum’, although one would rather have to speak of an ‘Eau de Parfum’.
Whatever the case - ‘L’Ambre de Carthage’ is quite highly concentrated, and you can tell: top, heart, and base notes all develop a similar volume, which stands in stark contrast to loudly appearing but quickly weakling ‘Eau de Colognes’ or some ‘Eau de Toilette’.
Thus, the rather moderately fresh, floral-fruity opening is not really room-filling, but at the latest in the darker and resinous middle part, and especially during the infinitely long-lasting dry down, you feel the immense power of the fragrance, a power that lies more hidden than it displays itself ostentatiously.

Ultimately, a opulent, woody, and warm aroma remains on the skin, revealing distinctly smoky nuances. This beautiful and sensual mélange finally has something vaguely masculine, ‘finally’ because the fragrance up to that point exhibits nothing typically ‘masculine’. Now, however, in its last seemingly everlasting phase, it reveals a somehow well-groomed-old-fashioned, virile character that reminds one of such famous creations from the pre-war era as Caron’s ‘Pour un Homme’, ‘Knize Ten’, or even ‘Zizanie’ - this woody-powdery warmth, this smoky-leathery aura. But it is less the scent itself that connects to these classics of perfume history; it is more its attitude: tailored suit, flower in the buttonhole, Adolphe Menjou mustache, cigarette tucked in a short tip - classic male elegance with a touch of dandyism, far removed from puritanical post-war austerity or wild-lustful 70s machismo.

Reintroduced in 2011, today’s ‘L’Ambre de Carthage’ likely has little more than a loose kinship with that namesake fragrance from the 1920s. Rather, it seems to be a fairly free reinterpretation of the old fragrance concept, comparable to the revival of ‘Sycomore’ - albeit without reaching its class.

A good fragrance, but not an outstanding one.