Le Canotier Rogue

The Canotier is a straw hat with a straight brim that was particularly popular in the first half of the 20th century.
The fragrance of the same name, although created decades later, fits wonderfully with this hat. Both convey the impression of "being outdoors," of sun and wind, of country life, of being in nature.

Manuel Cross, the scent rebel from California, uses all sorts of green-smelling, but also bitter and fruity citrus notes, bright aromatic accents, and a few flowers to transport this association. Blond tobacco, fresh-grassy violet leaf, and green-spicy vetiver initially form the heart of the fragrance, accompanied by hay and tart fruit, before the classic chypre base increasingly grounds the scent and a hint of ambergris gives it body and delicacy.

When I first sprayed 'Le Canotier', I was a bit irritated by the chaotic jumble of individual notes that somehow didn't seem to want to amalgamate. It wasn't exactly a cacophony either; the different voices do sing a similar theme, but they have considerable intonation difficulties: entry, rhythm, volume, everything seems not quite coordinated and uneven. Especially when I remembered which fragrance 'Le Canotier' reminded me of: it was Patricia de Nicolaï's 'Vie de Chateau'. Another scent that celebrates sunny country life, wonderfully fitting with Claude Monet's 'Breakfast in the Open'.
However, Madame's fragrance is perfectly orchestrated. She, who grew up at Guerlain, can blend the notes seamlessly like no one else and still let them appear natural. Because despite all the sophistication of the composition, her fragrances never give the impression of artificiality and strict structure, but always maintain a natural aura and unforced liveliness.

'Le Canotier' is also lively. Nothing about it is static; everything is in motion. But it lacks a bit of the guiding hand, the director in the background, who invisibly pulls the strings.
But, so what. The fragrance is beautiful all the same. It just lacks a bit of polish, or rather, centering. At first, I didn’t even know where the fragrance wanted to go, what it wanted to be: a tobacco-hay scent, a vetiver, a woody chypre?
After a while, I sensed that it wanted to be everything, but due to the awkward blending, it doesn’t become clear quickly. The fragrance is in constant danger of falling apart.
That it ultimately doesn’t completely disintegrate is thanks to the use of an enormous amount of oakmoss. Not IFRA-compliant oakmoss, which can still fully serve its purpose as a fixative thanks to atranol and chloratranol. The unrestrained use of this material, so beloved by Manuel Cross, ultimately brings calm and order to this fragrance and allows it to end on a conciliatory note.

For oakmoss fetishists, 'Le Canotier', like some other fragrances from Rogue Perfumery, is an absolute must and a true revelation. One can study what this fragrance material is capable of (or was capable of here), and what meager substitutes we have become accustomed to by now.
Fortunately, the situation is slowly improving for us - more adequate substitutes are being used, as well as a fragmented but still usable oakmoss. However, when one sniffs 'Le Canotier', 'Chypre Siam', or 'Fougère l’Aube', one can still get the impression that Manuel Cross is playfully sticking his tongue out at us across the Atlantic: Ha! Look here: this is what a real chypre smells like! You can’t do it anymore, but I still can.
True to his motto "Bureaucrazy destroys art!", he scoffs at bureaucracy.
He is right!

Nevertheless, I remain with Madame de Nicolaï's wonderful 'Vie de Chateau', which reliably elicits a little 'Wow!' from me, as good as the fragrance is.
'Le Canotier' cannot do that - oakmoss or not...