La myrrhe Serge Lutens 1995

When the three wise men from the East make their appearance in Monty Python's classic "Life of Brian," gold and frankincense quickly win over the hospitality of Brian's shall we say "rather stern" mother. However, myrrh meets with similar skepticism as the esteemed visitors did before. Even the explanation that it is a valuable balm does not really convince her. Such a thing could be contagious, and she has heard of germs that have feelers and bite. The gentlemen are welcome to drop by anytime and leave gold and frankincense, but they should rather smear the myrrh in their hair next time.

As I sniff my generously perfumed wrist with Serge Lutens La Myrrhe, I realize that I feel quite similar to Brian's mother: Sure, I can imagine what gold smells like, and I can easily recall the scent of frankincense both in resin and smoke form from my olfactory memory. Myrrh, on the other hand, is a great mystery to me. I have read that it is a tree resin that mainly occurs in Somalia and is used for ceremonial and medicinal purposes as resin or oil. So much for the theory. But what does myrrh actually smell like?

Serge Lutens Myrrhe initially provides me with no answer; I can only say that this balm truly bites. What I have dabbed on my skin smells, at first, exclusively like the worst kind of hairspray. I’m talking about the stuff that hasn’t been sold for decades because it destroys the Earth’s atmosphere, and I only know it because my grandma still hoards remnants of it in the attic. Responsible for this is a salted portion of aldehydes that I don’t even recognize in this concentration from Chanel No 5. About fifteen minutes in, and the aldehydic meteor shower has settled, five more minutes pass, and I dare to bring my wrist to my nose again - and what a reward awaits me! Ice-cold, airy anise cookies, flavored with a hint of bitter almond oil, float towards me, paired with a citrusy glow. Am I being influenced by the orange color of the perfume, or do I really smell mandarin?

The scent is cool and spicy and silky. A golden glow emanates from it, as if one unexpectedly sees a campfire glowing in the distance during a walk on a frosty winter night, without feeling its warmth. Well, if myrrh smells like this, the three wise men can deposit their supplies, which Brian's mother has spurned, with me anytime! I can't stop sniffing my wrist. La Myrrhe is enchanting! But also demanding, complex, uncompromising, and so contrasting that its magic certainly does not reveal itself to everyone.

Would I wear La Myrrhe more often? Oh yes! Constantly, even. I gladly endure a few minutes of hairspray headache for this scent. I just prefer not to think about what happens if one makes the fatal mistake of spraying instead of dabbing.