Bois d'Iris The Different Company 2000

BOIS D'IRIS has a sharp, dark quality completely missing from the members of the Prada iris trio: Infusion d'Iris edt and edp, and the Jean-Baptiste Grenouille composition, Infusion d'homme. I suspect that the dark woodiness—almost incense-like quality—may appeal to those who find the Prada compositions too light and frivolous—or simply too polite!

I, however, as an amateur of the Prada trio, find this creation a bit heavy handed. It's certainly not a big carrot-iris (à la Hermès HIRIS), but it does have its own unique earthy funkiness, which is bound to vary in expression from wearer to wearer. I do think that the spicy bois dominates the iris here, and the sharp quality makes the overall effect less appealing to me than, say, Acqua di Parma IRIS NOBILE or even Yves Rocher IRIS NOIR.

Update: I tried this in an atomizer, and it smells SO MUCH BETTER sprayed than dabbed. It smells more woody and less spicy, and I like it this way. I have changed my evaluation from neutral to positive...

This fragrance opens with the delicate smell of powdery iris on base of earthy vetiver. Bergamot adds a touch of sweetness to the first, whereas cedar emphasises the woodsy qualities of the latter. As the scent dries on my skin, the iris note merges with the wood and grass to create a clean, polished masculine accord. This calm elegance, however, is temporarily disturbed by narcissus and geranium which on my skin cause the fragrance to intensify its spicy qualities until its smells like cinnamon. This odd development does not last long, because soon the accord becomes its wonderful pale powdery-woodsy self again and remains so until the dry down. Unfortunately this fragrance does not last long on my skin, after roughly three hours it is gone.

7:02 AM: Fragrance applied - It opens with a carroty freshness. Not too strictly iris-like, rather almost carrot-sweet. During the test of TDC's Sienne d’Orange, I became clearly aware of how much olfactory similarity exists between carrot and iris.

7:07 AM: Coriander and geranium, initially bitter-sharp, but quickly milder and somehow warm. But not for cuddling, the warmth is not a cozy fireplace to close your eyes in front of, but it glows, smolders, and requires - ready to flare up - observation.

Around 7:12 AM: Pepper! A kinship of Bois d’Iris with Rose Poivrée seems undeniable to me at this point.

Maybe 7:39 AM: Suddenly you are iris-cool again. Distant and strict. Directly on the skin, the daffodil that TDC mentions on the bottle is downright brutal; only from a distance does it merge with the buttery-powdery iris. Very elegant, albeit aloof - a diva.

Possibly 9:20 AM: And again the spice breaks through. Coriander and pepper, along with the wicked daffodil, make me grimace while smelling on the skin. What is Mr. Ellena slapping me in the face with? What have I done to deserve this?

Sometime around 11:30 or 11:45 AM: Finely balanced contrast between the airy-powdery iris and the round-scented spice - not sharp at all. Did I once find this sharp?

Early afternoon: A warmth like the wonderfully pleasant "finish" shortly after enjoying a spicy seasoning. Here to stay! Gone it is.

Later in the afternoon or early evening, it doesn't matter: Finally, the fragrance is sweet. Sweet like a sip of water from the shower right after a swim in the sea. I greedily absorb this strange sweetness and am grateful wax in the master's hand.

The scent of iris (various species of irises) is not easy to obtain. The lengthy cultivation of the plants, the difficult harvesting of the roots, followed by a multi-year storage of the roots to allow them to develop their aroma or ferment, and when all that is done and successful, one must realize that only a small amount of fragrance oil (iris butter) can be extracted from the gnarled roots. An iris root must mature for at least 3 years after harvesting, but 5 years is better. Perfumes with iris roots aged for 10 or even 20 years are likely only found in royal houses, among mafiosos, or investment bankers.

A properly distilled milliliter of essential iris root oil already costs around 200 euros in regular retail, and the longer the storage and the more skillful the distillation, the price scale opens up higher.

A 100 ml bottle of ordinary iris root oil would thus cost around 20,000 euros. Even Mr. Clive would get weak knees in light of his comparatively cheap fragrances.

This fine essence is now contained in Ellena's Bois d'Iris, and anyone who has ever smelled pure iris root oil (even if not purchased) will immediately recognize that this perfume actually contains a serious amount of the real luxury oil.

Actually, one must say that iris root oil does not smell as sweet and powdery as one might think (often sweet or artificial notes are added), but rather somewhat purple and herbaceous with a delicate violet-like elegance and a unique ethereal scent resolution, and yes, there is also something rooty and deep, something powdery, a hint of sweetness, woodiness, a whiskey-like quality, and something elegantly earthy, and so on.

And exactly that can be sniffed in Bois d'Iris, where the iris root is finally not plastered with all sorts of sweeteners (only a little at the beginning); however, one needs a bit of patience, as the iris root essence has a very significant advantage: it is very, very long-lasting. Therefore, it is also crucial with this perfume to give it time before judging. My recommendation is to spray plenty of Bois d'Iris on a sweater and then set the sweater aside for 2-3 hours, as this is when the iris root begins to separate from all the embellishments and shines in its own elegance unobstructed. And personally, I am not aware of anything better, finer, or more noble than this ethereal radiance of the iris root in terms of scent.

When I imagine the perfect wearer of the iris root essence, the Elven king from The Lord of the Rings comes to mind most readily. (The book, not the film)

My rating for Bois d'Iris:

Directly after spraying 70 out of 100
After one hour 90 out of 100
After 2-3 hours 100
After 5 hours still 100
After 10 hours still 100
After 3 days (jacket) still 100
After 5 days still 100

Many consider Jean-Claude Ellena to be the greatest living perfumer. One may share this view or not, but it is probably indisputable: he has achieved greatness, created significant works, and found a unique olfactory language, a style aptly described by the term 'minimalism'.
He sees himself in the tradition of his great teacher and role model, Edmond Roudnitska, who, like Ellena, worked throughout his life on shortening formulas and their sublimation. Both started with grand symphonic works, ultimately finding their appropriate form in the string quartet.

Bois d'Iris is such a string quartet, far removed from the grand orchestral apparatus that Ellena needed for his 'First' from Van Cleef & Arpels, but still quite a distance from his latest work 'Voyage d'Hermès', which has been reduced to such an extent, so minimalized, that one might think the small group of strings is playing only a single note - and doing so very, very softly. No, Bois d'Iris is still a pulsating, albeit in a small framework, opulent work. Jean-Claude Ellena created it in 2000, as the first fragrance of a small niche company called The Different Company, of which he remained the house perfumer for several years until larger tasks called and Hermès could engage him exclusively. From then on, his daughter Celline Ellena acted as the 'nose' of the small but fine company. However, between 2000 and 2004, Jean-Claude Ellena created four fragrances for The Different Company, which I personally count among his best: Bois d'Iris, Rose poivrée, Osmanthus, and Bergamote - four truly magnificent fragrances in sensationally beautiful and noble bottles. Bois d'Iris is, with a tiny margin ahead of Rose poivrée, my absolute favorite, closely followed by Osmanthus. Whenever I unscrew the bottle of Bois d'Iris and smell it, I think: Wow!
I have always been a big fan of iris fragrances, and Chanel No.19 is certainly the most beautiful, unmatched, and a class of its own, but it is just a crucial bit too cold, too aloof for me - I cannot wear it. I can spray No.19 on my wrist and let myself be almost narcotized by this magnificent iris aroma, but I cannot wear this scent. Bois d'Iris is different - I could bathe in it!

Cool iris (iris palida) in the opening, together with dry-green vetiver, citrus-fresh bergamot, radiant geranium, on a base of cedarwood and a hint of musk. All in all, it sounds rather fresh and airy, but the fragrance has substance. The fragrance extract of iris is primarily obtained from its roots, called 'rhizomes'. Bois d'Iris apparently uses such a high proportion of iris absolute that the iris achieves an almost buttery intensity. Supported by cedarwood and vetiver, the fragrance gains a light and irresistible whisky aroma, which is certainly tolerable even for those who absolutely cannot stand whisky - and I love whisky, especially those from the Isle of Islay! However, Bois d'Iris does not smell quite as strictly peaty, but the fragrance does lean just a tiny bit in that direction.
As for the fragrance progression, it is not particularly surprising for a perfume in string quartet dimensions: right from the start, the viola and cello can be heard, increasingly blending into the play of the violins, picking up their melodies, varying them, and towards the end, the full, dark string tone resonates, permeated by the echo of the violins.
The fragrance has excellent longevity and is still distinctly perceptible after several hours, delicate and unobtrusive, neither shy nor intrusive - a fragrance of nearly perfect proportions!

Whether it should be worn more by a man or a woman is, in my opinion, completely irrelevant - it can be claimed equally by both genders, as it has nothing distinctly feminine that would not also be found in the masculine realm and vice versa - it stands for itself: a dry-delicate, buttery iris with light whisky hints. A beautiful melody, sprinkled with some contrasts and disharmonies, but those are known to be like the salt in the soup - they provide the spice!

How wonderful it would be if Jean-Claude Ellena would only remember the time when he created this and the other fragrances for The Different Company, instead of composing fragrances today that hardly deserve the term 'fragrance' and could rather be described as 'a faint whisper of nothing'. Sublimation to the point of self-dissolution does not have to be, Mr. Ellena - please reach back into the depths a bit more! You can do it!