Hektor

During my last stay in Hanover (June 2016), I spent some quality leisure time in the company of a very nice lady who earns her salary as an employee in the well-stocked perfumery Liebe. I had a bit of time on my hands, wearing shorts and hiking boots, and was particularly surprised at how easily we fell into a very entertaining conversation, which surprisingly brought visible joy to her, despite my casual attire.

Over the next good two hours, she managed to present me with all sorts of unknown exhibits from every conceivable corner of the shop, despite my indication that I was just a simple fragrance enthusiast with no intention to buy. She handed me test strips one after another while I provided her with the pleasure of guessing what scent notes might be deciphered from what was presented to me. This seems all the more astonishing, as I am not exactly a Houdini in this exercise. However, I supplemented my rather unremarkable, yet still amusing guesses with comments about fragrances I already knew, such as "this smells very similar to" or "could this be," to prolong this performance a bit. In the end, she also brought out Mentha Religiosa from Dear Rose, "brand new and really good," stating that they had only made women's fragrances so far, but this one was also for men.

And thus we arrive at the incident that drew my attention to a fragrance that, until last week, only one Parfuma and now also a Parfumo have in their collection (as of today). The comments and statements truly leave no good word about the work of Chantal and Alexandra Roos. This stands in contrast to the good rating (7.8 from 17 reviews), which is why I feel it is important to support the good numbers with a corresponding comment.

If you only sniff at the spray head, you mainly smell incense-laced petitgrain with a hint of mint. If you buy fragrances like in the old days, by just sniffing around the spray heads before making a purchase, you would probably not reach for your wallet here. The test strip also does not reveal the full range of this artwork; that only happens on the skin.

After spraying, the impression you get from the spray head is intensified. However, the incense recedes in favor of the mint, which stands out much more strongly, something I find very interesting, as mint fragrances are rather rare. Combined with the essential oil of bitter orange, a pleasant blend emerges, harmoniously complemented by bergamot aroma.

The fact that bergamot, petitgrain, and mint do not create a (actually expected) refreshing opening is likely due to the incense, which I cannot explicitly detect, but which takes the freshness from the top note and instead gives it more warmth. During this phase, the fragrance lingers for a good half hour, during which the iris noticeably pushes to the forefront.

In hardly any fragrance before has it happened to me that I could so clearly distinguish individual phases of the pyramid from one another. This is because the scent of the iris is very clearly recognizable at this stage and distinctly sets itself apart from the petitgrain-dominated top note. The mint accompanies the entire pyramid in the background, thus giving the heart note a touch of freshness, while the still perceptible, yet very subtly acting incense successfully complements the powdery aspect of the iris.

We reach the base after long hours, during which the iris scent recedes more and more, before a spicy-woody base is reached, in which patchouli-laced cedar wood is predominant. Only at the end of this very beautiful, varied, and almost "grandiroosen" fragrance journey is musk increasingly recognizable. Soft and gentle, it releases its aroma and provides warmth and comfort until the fragrance breathes its last after more than ten to twelve hours.

All in all, this is a prime example of the possibilities that the art of perfumery offers when one puts in the effort and masters their craft. And this is particularly demonstrated by mother and daughter Roos.

What I keep asking myself during all the hours I have spent and will continue to spend here in my life is why some perfumes are praised so highly. I could list countless fragrances that I eagerly acquired as samples or, because they were available at a good price, as blind buys in a bottle, only to find them nothing but a single disappointment.

Almost always, I was left with a puzzled expression. Is it the amount of coffee that others drink, which I do not? Or do they smoke so much that their perception is clouded? Who knows?

I do!

Because smoking, just like excessive coffee consumption, significantly affects the skin receptors, taste buds, and thus the sense of smell. This is scientifically proven! The lessons I have drawn from this are that

most things that others find incredibly great are nothing for me and
most things that others find bad or average, I really enjoy.

Thus, we come to Amyris, a fragrance that stands in the shadow of the "big hits" of the house in the average Parfumo ratings: A meager 7.4 based on 116 ratings (as of 12.02.2017, 17:22). Anyone thinking in classic swarm intelligence systems and aligning their actions based on algorithms will think: Uh-oh, this must be a terrible little water. And then put the smartphone away, but not before quickly listening to some charts on Spotify. "Wonderful, this great music! If it's at the top of the charts, it must be good." And then put on some Interlude Man. "Ah, how lovely. The fragrance has an average rating of 8.1 based on 315 ratings (as of 12.02.2017, 17:32), so it MUST be good. Right, darling? Why do you suddenly look so pale? One moment, sweetheart! I'll add something else!"

However, one should add something, but for some reason, the average Parfumo turns up their nose at Amyris. Yet, for me, Amyris is one of the best creations from the house of Kurkdjian.

In the opening, Amyris unfolds wonderfully sweet-mandarin for me. The top note also hints at a slightly friendly wood, which will only come into its own later in the base. Additionally, the scent of the namesake flower of Amyris beautifully comes through here, stamping its mark on the entire fragrance journey just like the wood note. This phase lasts quite a long time for me, beyond two to three hours, and I would classify the fragrance so far as fruity-floral-sweet.

What surprises me a bit is the bold mention of iris in the pyramid. If there is really iris in here, then only in a tiny dose. I have always perceived the scent of iris quite differently; it usually imparts a certain "powderiness" to fragrances in smaller amounts. However, the hyped and supposedly primarily iris-scented "Iris Silver Mist" by Serge Lutens did not smell powdery to me but rather quite different. A somewhat musty-carrot-like, concept fragrance that I find unbearable and anything but beautiful and cuddly.

The adjectives "beautiful" and "cuddly" fit much better with Amyris. After the phase described above, where nearly the entire pyramid resembles an extended top and heart note (here especially the Amyris note), more and more of the woods from the base slowly come through. However, I find it difficult to say what recedes into the background instead; most likely the mandarin. So, it is rather the totality of the scent notes I just described that withdraws in favor of the wood note, but only a little. One could also say that the overall scent progression is quite one-dimensional, with the base note "woods" becoming more dominant over time. Here, the fragrance for me is sweet-floral-fruity-woody.

After almost eight hours, I can hardly perceive the fragrance anymore, but it is definitely still there. The sillage in the first hours is such that one is well noticed, but not overwhelming. It is just as I like it.

For me, Amyris is the good summer mood in a bottle, a perfect companion for days with temperatures above 20°. So, if you haven't had Amyris under your nose yet, feel free to test it. Especially in times when one of the most famous Armenians is said not to always reinvent the wheel and only make "so-so" things (as of 12.02.2017, 18:15).

That is the question that must have been asked at some point at Chanel. The result is a brilliant stroke that, believe it or not, will celebrate its tenth birthday this year.

It seems to be a daring experiment to put patchouli so prominently in the foreground at this price point. There must have been quite a few discussions about it, as that fragrance ingredient still carries the prejudice of being associated with goth culture in many places. The common folk say that worn-down bodies in scene-typical attire like to scent themselves with it.

What the common folk generally have to say is usually relatively irrelevant to me, just as it must have been to the responsible perfumers. Sheldrake has a free pass with me anyway, having created many brilliant works of art for Serge Lutens. So together with Chanel's in-house perfumer Jaques Polge, they dared to take on this project.

Right from the opening, the two play strongly and occupy the center with the (probably) Indian labiatae (Wikipedia). The scent thus dominates the entire fragrance pyramid, but never in such a way that one is directly confronted with it. It happens rather subtly. When patchouli is unleashed, it usually overpowers everything else, as in Malle's "Monsieur," which I personally cannot appreciate at all. No, here they have created a skillful bed to capture it.

Maison Francis Kurkdjian created something similar with "Lumiere Noire," which came to market two years later. A coincidence? Was "the Armenian" perhaps inspired by Sheldrake and Polge? A patchouli scent, domesticated and made suitable for salons, thus interesting in the higher price segment for both ladies and gentlemen? Let the conspiracy theorists figure that out. While at MFK it is the roses that take away the dominance of the patchouli, with Coromandel it is initially the citrus top note.

Since I am inherently rather simple-minded and not very gifted in such matters, I cannot distinguish the individual citrus scents separately. It is just that the interplay of this top note forms the aforementioned bed for the patchouli, or one of the beds, as I believe that after a period of a quarter to a maximum of half an hour, a different scent profile emerges that remains for the rest of the fragrance's presence.

Now patchouli is re-bedded, from a citrus bed to a room with a sweet bed, in which a hint of incense is lightly swirled. The sweetness mainly comes from the vanilla; I cannot identify the musk and the other fragrance notes from the pyramid. However, they may certainly contribute to the fact that a very flattering scent still radiates into the surroundings.

Since I only apply the scent to my wrists and upper body, it always comes out slightly from under my clothing, so I have little significant information to report about the sillage. However, when applied prominently on the neck or elsewhere, it can certainly be room-filling.

The longevity is appropriate for a fragrance with this ambition and in this price range. It easily lasts through a workday, and I always feel well taken care of by it (and that as a man). Currently, it is in the hands of women about 3/4 of the time. However, it is also quite interesting for all those men who are interested in "tamed" patchouli scents and, for example, do not find the aforementioned "Lumiere Noire" too bad.

Before the Master of the Scent Universe answers this question from his congenial collaborator, here’s a brief introduction... We find ourselves in some place in a long-forgotten time. For some inexplicable reason, the protagonists are native Chinese speakers. Lu 'Tens is regarded as the scent ordinarius in the Middle Kingdom and is admired by the whole world. Since no one can pronounce his Chinese name, he is simply called the Master. However, those who know him better can report that his empire is not only based on natural raw materials sourced from all over the world and good word-of-mouth advertising, but also on the expertise of his partner, whom the Master once hired as a coolie for menial tasks. By chance, he discovered Drake's great talent, and after some proper scent experiments under the guise of Master Lu's Japanese branch ("Shi Sei Do"), he elevated his protégé to the status of partner. Since then, Drake has always worn a white shirt with a black blazer as his trademark.

The goal was to create a scent that would flatter the Western neighbors in the Orient. The long-established contacts were to be bundled into an olfactory presentation. Let’s listen in on the conversation...

S.D.: Master! Scent finished! Quality of the spices really looks good. Looks, looks good! See Amb'e Sultan. Smells good, Master!
L.T.: Ajii yes. Agreed. We have managed to make it look good again, want to sell to all people like sliced bread.
S.D.: Amb'e Sultan is now finished, Master. Where shall we put the remaining spices? Many spices, Master!

Let’s note: These two scent noses, known and admired in almost the entire scent-savvy world, have conceived a fragrance intended for the wealthy noses in the West: "Ambre Sultan". Those who know it appreciate it very much, although it has often been reformulated since 1993. However, it seems that a mistake was made during the ordering process. In the corner of the scent office, bags full of oriental odds and ends are piling up.

S.D.: Master, Master! So many spices!
L.T.: Put a new pot on! We make an experiment, put a lot of hot fat on, pour in all the bags. All that are still there. All! Let it sit for a long time. From that, we make a new scent, also send it to friends from the Orient.
S.D.: Ajii yes, dangerous experiment, Master!
L.T.: Don’t want to know! Light a fire, do it quickly!

Oh dear, what was the good Master Lu thinking? Were his scent compositions not meant to evoke pleasure? This daring experiment had to fail... When the scent is finished, Shel Drake takes a first whiff.

S.D.: Ajii yes! Smells like a lawless piece of dog meat at a whimsical spice market. Can't recognize individual ingredients... and here comes the Master! What to do?

You can actually hear Master Lu coming up the stairs. And... there he is.

L.T.: Well?
S.D.: Good scent, Master! Surely can sell well...

After Master Lu had to admit that this experiment had gone awry, they decided to offer it anyway. After all, someone would always find it appealing.

I had the greatest difficulty discerning individual components while wearing the scent. Where other fragrances are excessively sweet, this one is simply... spicy would be too little said and would not reflect this impression in the slightest. In short: You are overwhelmed by a sack of spices.

I don’t know where I could wear this scent. At a Christmas market? That would be like trying to put on some kind of invisibility mask. In the scent chaos that generally prevails there, this scent would certainly stand out the least. For home? The scent is too demanding, too exhausting for that.

I have often read that one must "work" on scents to understand them. I really tried here. But as much as I appreciate and love Serge Lutens, I am not up to this scent.

Let's assume that money would no longer matter from one day to the next. What would I order first? Buying would be too mundane for me. Who wants something that SOMEONE ELSE has chosen? No, nothing used goes into the bag. So, I would place an order. A house? I already have one, I like mine. A more expensive car? Everyone does that. I've got it: It has to be a line ship, that former pride of the seas. With that, you can show off, even in times of oligarchs with their mega-yachts. You just have to find someone to build it for you and then hire a crew... who will then set up really nice cabins on board and keep them in top shape.

Why am I writing this? I imagine that it would smell of freshly built wood everywhere on deck, and that smell would last forever. Teak would be fitting, although of course no nature lover would appreciate that. And this wood, I imagine, exudes exactly the scent of Oud Silk Mood.

Why do I make the comparison with something so decadent, so fantastic?

Oud Silk Mood is for me the epitome of a refined, absolutely high-quality fragrance that radiates pure exclusivity. Never before and never again have I smelled an oud fragrance that plays so finely with the theme, that is so special.

You can naturally smell oud (not medicinal!) and above all a strong, rather masculine rose. The papyrus seems to be responsible for the high-quality wood association. That's all it needs. The whole thing comes in the usual 70ml size, with the bottle not only made of cut glass but also featuring a plate on the front. The oud fragrances also come in a jumbo-sized cardboard box with an extra function for pulling out the bottle.

The sillage is so overwhelming that you should be very careful with the dosage (definitely not on the neck!). No comparison with the regular "oud" from MFK. The longevity is phenomenal as well. I can still perceive the scent on my clothes for weeks, the hefty amount of money is well invested here. One bottle should last a lifetime.

For me, the most beautiful oud fragrance from MFK. Period.