Grizzlyscent

A word of caution, to start off; don't be fooled by the bottle and its seemingly innocent appearance. The elixir within is far removed from any semblance of purity.

ToyBoy is an interesting fragrance. That's the simplest way to explain it. Interesting. Unfortunately, however, ToyBoy is anything but simple. It's complex, nuanced and a head scratcher (and turner) to say the least.

Now I haven't had the pleasure, or privilege, of putting my nose on many (or any) particularly high end rose fragrances, so I won't be able to comment on how it compares in terms of quality. However, for something so inexpensive, it doesn't smell too terribly synthetic to my untrained nose, nor does it smell like your traditional, deep red rose (a la American Beauty). No this is a greener, less mature flower. And that's what makes it so decidedly erotic in my opinion.

It smells like the remnants of an encounter of the most personal nature, like walking into a gathering after indulging your baser instincts only minutes prior. And in this specific scenario, it's decidedly feminine. However the fragrance as a whole, is absolutely not. The "green" smelling rose is mixed with a spicy clove accord that flits through, taking from the delicate nature of the rose and adding something rugged to it. And as the scent goes towards it's dry-down, the clove and rose is joined by a warm, woody musk, and something bitter and earthy, to flesh it out even more. The rose accord stays throughout, and is prominent, but is tempered by the other more traditionally masculine notes coming into play. Don't get me wrong though. This is anything but a subtle seductress. It is powerful, and lays claim to your body as its own, so be prepared to wash it off and burn your clothes to get rid of it.

I wouldn't say this is a unisex scent. It is masculine, no doubt about it. But it takes a certain kind of man to pull off, and it's definitely not everyone's cup of coffee. It takes a great deal of confidence in yourself and your sexuality to pull this scent off. But if you're unapologetic, then the salacious blend of taboo and carnal want that is ToyBoy will definitely suit you. ToyBoy is risqué, unapologetic, and evokes imagery of the least appropriate nature for mixed company.

Is it worth trying? Absolutely.
Is it blind buy worthy? Most definitely not.

To summarize: Erotic. Bold. Unapologetic.

"How can one attend the coronation of Satan without ever once having tasted sin? Oud and labdanum come together to create a diabolical and sumptuous veil of indulgence and remorse for a first transgression." is how the Lutens website describes La Couche du Diable, a name that, quite aptly, translates to "The Devil's Bedsheets"

If ever any of the hyperbole used in the marketing of fragrances was true, it would be here. And if sin had a scent, it would be this. So much so, in fact, that I was, and am, compelled to remark that the 7 deadly sins were bottled Christopher Sheldrake in this scent. And be warned, it truly is a devilish delight, but absolutely not for the faint of heart, or the novice nose. And embody them, it does.

Pride; Wearing this fragrance brings about a change in the way one carries themselves, almost unconsciously. One smells regal, untouchable and proud. Almost as if "above" those around them.
Greed; A spray, perhaps two, but no more. Every drop, something precious and rare, not for mere mortals, but only for those that have dined with Lucifer in the fires of hades.
Envy; An abstract thought, and perhaps one difficult to articulate, but the feeling evoked whilst wearing this, is one that is missed in a manner almost cruel after the fact, as if the person adorned by this fragrance is another version of the self, unbothered by the opinions of the crowd, instead choosing to care only about luxury and indulgence. And it is that feeling that one is envious of.
Gluttony; The fragrance itself is gluttonous in the extreme, filled with precious material, every waft a rich, warm and opulent aroma, the distinct smells of luxury moving through it.
Wrath; As the color suggests, this fragrance is anything but kind. Nay, it is angry, like the fires from whence it's been inspired. It is the color of rage...of passion.
Sloth; As bright as the it burns, it is also a test of patience. It is slow to develop, to reveal its secrets and hidden pleasures. It is languid and ever present, savoring every sin as you indulge.
Lust; The sin all are familiar with, and that requires no further explanation. Anyone who smells it, will understand immediately.

Now my own rambling hyperbole aside, I must move on to how the scent smells, more than what it evokes, although for me, the latter is often more important than the former.

La Couche du Diable is opens with a cinnamon-boozy accord, with a citruses going through it, lasting for a good while, as the fragrance evolves, bringing with it a metallic, almost blood like tang, as the amber, labdanum and woods begin to take center stage, turning it warmer and more austere. The oud in this fragrance is something I can barely detect, except to say it smells, somewhere in its evolution, like warm skin. There are no discernable Top, Heart or Base notes to me, instead it flits and evolves from one sin to another, staying true to its amber-spiced core, with notes of flowers, citrus fruits and woods coming and going as they please. It toes the line, almost crossing into middle-eastern perfumery, but remaining firmly planted within the west.

This scent is best suited for fall and winter, and you wear it for yourself, since it is unlikely to garner many compliments, especially from the masses, that prefer the blue fragrances to anything even remotely creative. The longevity is excellent, but it stays close to the skin, which I believe is quite appropriate, since only the "chosen" will get to smell it. And smell it you must, not only to experience truly daring perfumery, but also to understand the plethora of feelings this concoction evokes.

To summarize, dark, indulgent, and sinful. Sweet and spicy. Unique in the extreme. Stunning.

"A fire fanned by the wind, a desert in flames. As if bursting from the earth, Chergui, a desert wind, creates an effect that involves suction more than blowing, carrying plants, insects and twigs along in an inescapable ascent. Its full, persistent gusts crystallize shrubs, bushes and berries, which proceed to scorch, shrivel up and pay a final ransom in saps, resins and juices. Night falls on a still-smoldering memory, making way for the fragrant, ambery and candied aromas by the alchemist that is Chergui." is how Lutens describes Chergui, and in this case, unlike with La Fille De Berlin, the lyricism is far from excessive. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it is entirely accurate.

Chergui, like the other Lutens fragrances I've tried, is as philosophical and introspective as it is easy to wear, which makes for a strange dichotomy that carries over to the fragrance itself, from top to base. And it is a journey that I could take a thousand times over, and discover something new every single time. At its core, Chergui is an Amber, Tobacco and Honey based fragrance, and looking at the notes/ingredients, you'd be hard pressed to understand why something so apparently simple has such tremendous complexity. But it does.

Chergui opens, on me, like a storm in a teacup. Powerful, thrumming with vibrant intensity, yet contained and incredibly well put together. Dry, spicy, sweet and floral. It's something that's hard to describe, and there's so much more to it. Therein lies the resinous scent of wild honey, far from fresh, that's mixed with amber from ancient trees, peppered with leaves of a blonde tobacco. It's unlike any other tobacco note I've smelled, warm, fresh and pure, without even a hint of smoke. It is tobacco in it's unadulterated form. And within this symphony of sweet and spice, is the slightest hint at a rose, like an oasis in the middle of a dessert.

A while into the wear, the sweetness disappears. Chergui becomes almost entirely dry and bitter, but not in a disappointing way. More in the way that a connoisseur would enjoy. It's still dark, and the resinous scent of the amber is shines through beautifully, with the tobacco becoming more prominent now, coupled with a distinct, if muted, hay note. And within this darkness, at the edges of my olfactory reach, something begins to develop. Something that I can't quite place my finger on, but it is there.

And as this development becomes more prominent, Chergui changes yet again. The sweetness returns, mellower now, but no less complex and nuanced than it was before, almost as if the dried honey was melted by fire and has acquired a smoked character, to compliment the smoke coming from what I can only identify as incense of a sort you'd find in the remnants of an abandoned church in a forest, underneath the same ancient trees from which this beautiful amber/honey accord comes from. A dark, rich incense, with a distinctly floral character.

As the dry-down arrives, it brings with it its own characteristics, unique, but no less enjoyable. Chergui changes almost entirely from the initial spray, while still remaining true to the opening. The honeyed sweetness and tobacco settle and intermingle in the most beautiful way, combined such that it's hard to tell them apart, but they can still be found, dancing with the rose, flirting with something visceral and animalic, wild, untamed, but understated. And yet, as wild as it is, there is a coziness to it, a warmth and familiarity that makes makes little sense, and yet, fits perfectly!

To summarize, Chergui has an interesting, clashing, duality to it. It's bright, uplifting and cozy. But also dark, mysterious and unapproachable. It makes for a beautiful olfactory experience, and the intrinsic romanticism of this scent, suits the description given by Lutens both in spirit and in implementation. Truly a masterpiece, and one that everyone should smell at least once in their lifetime!

"She’s a rose with thorns, don’t mess with her. She’s a girl who goes to extremes.
When she can, she soothes; and when she wants … !
Her fragrance lifts you higher, she rocks and shocks." is how La Fille De Berlin is described by Lutens on his website. And this, despite the slightly superfluous lyricism (of which I myself am guilty more oft than not), holds quite true.

LFDB is a rose fragrance, and one quite unlike many others. The rose found here is, to my nose, a dark red, almost black rose. One that you would find alone, with no other blooms around it, in a dark room somewhere, illuminated by a flickering light. It is austere. It is dark. It is powerful, but mature. And this same rose passes through the latter half of its life within this fragrance, from the peak of it's majesty, to it's ultimate demise. My own desire for exasperating lyricism and philosophy sated, let's move to the fragrance as a whole.

Now, as is no surprise, LFDB opens on me with a rose. It's not sweet per se, but there is a sweetness of sorts, flitting through the top, accompanied by an interesting and fresh green note, not vegetal in the slightest, but light enough to cut the power of the rose, whilst softening it at the same time. Underscoring this, there is a woody background, not overtly prominent, but enough to give the opening a body, and remove any sense that this would lean "Arabic" at all.

A short while later, a touch before the mid arises, the rose takes on a fruity, almost cherry like characteristic, spiced with a dry pepper, and balanced with a bitter patchouli. An aspect that is as unexpected as it is welcome, giving depth and character to it in a way that is difficult to classify or explain. I can't say why it works, only that it does so, masterfully well.

A few hours later, in what is most definitely the dry down, the fragrance takes on yet another face. Going from bright and vibrant, yet unmistakably dark, to the austerity that I find most beautiful. It is cold, aloof, and slightly metallic, yet warm simultaneously. It presents as something that could be considered animalic and almost debauche, but the rest of the composition is so incredibly refined and well put together, that this strange "naughtiness" is completely reasonable.

The musk, the dry rose, and the light woodiness, warmed by an almost caramelized amber, with the strange metal and animalia that I can't quite put my finger on, brings to bed the olfactive journey that this scent is, in the most satisfying way.

La Fille De Berlin, in short, is a perfectly androgynous rose scent, wearable equally by men and women. There is no leaning. It simply is, truly genderless.

To summarize, for anyone who like rose scents at all, this one is a must have. To anyone who doesn't, this one must be tried.

For me, it lasts quite a while, but is never intrusive or brash. It is just strong enough to make itself known to you and remain unforgotten, which is poetic since the scent itself is truly unforgettable.

"A sensual perfume, powerful yet perfectly controlled, dramatic and mysterious. Composed by Maurice Roucel as an “act of seduction and generosity”, Musc Ravageur is an uncompromising Oriental, which trumps current fads. Its explosive departure of bergamot, tangerine and cinnamon is set against a backdrop of vanilla, musk and amber. A sexy, turbulent perfume, in one word: ravageur."

I can't tell you how much I enjoy reading the superfluous, often false marketing that perfumers and brands come up with to describe their fragrances. Partly because I too, am afflicted with the same disease of verbose nonsense, and in part because they're often wildly off base, and a less evolved part of my being enjoys laughing at them in secret. However this time, it is all too accurate. Abstractly, perhaps. But accurate nonetheless.

Musc Ravageur is an incredibly difficult fragrance to describe. It is deceptive, and takes great pleasure in tormenting me, and every time I think I've got a grasp on it, something throws me for a loop. Is it frustrating? Hardly. No, the experience is very much enjoyable, like trying to catch a glimpse of something mythical and fleeting.

Musc Ravageur is incredibly simple, yet infinitely complex, and it is within the nuances and depth, that Musc Ravageur truly shines and displays itself as it is. And it needs a great deal of observation to truly appreciate it in it's entirety. One needs to smell and smell again (hardly a difficult task) to find the bite of cinnamon, the heat of cloves and the deliciously edible vanilla, but the impression, by and large, communicates a delicate mirage of soft skin, silken sheets, cashmere blankets, hushed whispers, and low lighting. It is sensual almost to the point of debauchery. It is warm, inviting, criminally seductive, almost like (and please pardon my bluntness) an erotic novel unfolding on the skin. Truth be told, if Casanova had a fragrance, this would be it.

Onto the fragrance itself, in slightly more detail, before my train of thought drags me further off track.

The fragrance opens with a blast of citrus and spice, in the strangest manner. It can't be described as fresh, it can't be described as spicy. The opening is fleeting, but it sets the tone for this (admittedly bottom heavy) fragrance in the perfect way. It is difficult, if not impossible, to explain how this is the case, but it is. They come, they tease, and then they disappear, giving way very quickly to the cinnamon and clove in a beautiful symphony of warmth. And just as the spices truly begin to bloom, they're joined by musks, vanilla, woods and amber.

And here, in the "base" is where Musc Ravageur truly becomes the legend it is known far and wide as. Every note mingling in perfect harmony, becoming something that transcends "just perfumery" and becomes art in earnest. The spices, the deep amber, the sweet vanilla, the warm musk, makes for a blend that defies all description.

The vanilla is sweet, almost like ice cream, and would perhaps be too much by itself. But the dark, almost bitter woods balance it, lending a bite to the base, even as the amber adds depth and gives the impression of a golden twilight on supple skin. And supple skin is truly what shines through as the light dusting of musk makes it's way through the blend, trickling through, almost ghostly in it's prominence. And the musk itself, while hardly animalic, is far from neutral, just raw enough to pay homage to it's name.

The dark, velvety cloak of seduction that one dons when they wear Musc Ravageur is truly dangerous, to others, and to the self. It smells unapologetically of carnality, and unmistakably of sophistication, and in doing so toes many lines, between prim and debauche, between soft and loud, between innocence and sin, and between mortal and the divine.

There is nothing quite like this, to my nose. And I seldom wear it, not for lack of want, but for fear of being enslaved by it's soft whispers. I have rarely, if ever, called a fragrance flawless. But to me, Musc Ravageur is just that. True perfection.