Hüzünra

Warm and rich, cozy and comforting, wooly-thick oranges and maroons and lavenders, in deep, darker shades, touched with coffee and rose and resins, reminiscent of 'perfume oils' - that is how Berlin in Winter welcomes you upon its kingdom. Captivating and pleasant, immediately inducing the feel of familiarity, helping to relax tense muscles in awaiting of the fragrance attacks of the new perfume…
Do I value this reassuring perfume composition ? Or do I want an olfactory adventure in the land of tried and tested, often tired, land of 'rich-and-warm-orientals'? Yes, and yes, or no…
It boils down to the mood of the moment, of your particular mindset frame: what are you looking for right now? Sometimes we choose to walk a well trotted perfume path, coiled in the shawl of easily recognizable olfactory themes.
At other occasions, we crave that moment of being arrested by the unexpectedness of the perfumery calling, that shout that oozes from the bottle onto your body, and shakes you in the 'WOW!' moment.
Panta rhei! (Gr.): nothing is settled, everything flows…, even thought Berlin in Winter is rather linear perfume without any significant developments through time. My impression was that in the early moments coffee was a little more pronounced, while a little later an excellently blended accord of lavender, myrrh, and leather plays more central role in bringing all the notes together.

Baruti's perfume gets you body and senses slow down: the world around melts into resinous stillness of winter seen from behind the stained glass of fireplace-warmed interiors. And what I especially appreciate is the lack of vanilla or benzoin, or any other sweetener; general avoidance of the 'sweet' in creating the warming atmosphere of the fragrance. Now that the autumnal season is on, and the winter is coming (sic!), we sure are to observe a pull from all corners of the perfumery world into all those 'cozy winter' perfumes, overkilled gourmands, vanillalikes, and so on, and so forth. Over that sweetly-sick possibility, Baruti's perfume is more than welcome, confidently flaunting into our noses that 'warm' in the olfactory universe, does not have to be 'sweet', thank Goddess!

And the only issue I have with Berlin in Winter is that it impels the description which sounds more tacky and not as compelling as the actual redolence of the wondrous perfume itself.

The first whiffs that hit my nose are those of peppery flower rose, with quite intriguing and nicely captivating the attention, plastic tonalities. I would think that they would develop eventually into something of a leather quality, pleasantly cold smell texture of the new leather canvass. Let's see if that is the case. For now, an additional hint of minty-mandarin, indistinguishable in their own, yet, clearly identifiable as one concoction makes its mark on the sniffer.

With time and the arrival of the middle notes, the interplay of iris, violet, and abstract flowers takes the centre-stage. It is quite graceful and balanced an elixir, not tipping into either - iris or (abstract) flower - and managing the two floral faces of Une Belle Journée perfume in tandem; just enough to make each note appreciable, yet not allowing any of the two to egotistically push itself in front of the other.

The greater pronunciation of the iris (with some violet) in the middle parts of the composition reignited my appetite for that promise of leather I read in the plasticky tonalities of the peppery rose from the opening. However, it is clear by now, that it was more of my hunger for that 'dirty twist' speaking through that connotation, rather than the perfumer's intentions. Helas!

Another aspect of Une Belle Journée from Paul Emilien which I miss, is a coda, an ending. Just like some songs are slowly muting down the volume instead of clear ending, so is the this perfume. In awaiting the base to develop, the fragrance is quietly waning down, making an unnoticed exit from the flower party, very much à l'anglaise.

Another offer in the Huitième Art line of perfumes from Pierre Guillaume is Liqueur Charnelle, which opens up… well, liqueur’sh. Quickly after the initial spay, the delicately fruity liqueur aroma hits the nostrils, and the tongue begins watering for the maturated in alcohol fruits (plum? raspberry? non important). However, similarly quickly, this good, nice impression is covered with the powdery, somewhat sued’ish feel. Next, a quick wave, we are back to the opening maturated fruit liqueur; a short hit’n’run, nice surprise. And then back we are again to that delicately powdery cloud of spiced up roots. Could it be the ‘blond tobacco’? There is a hint on that, similar to the other Pierre Guillaume’s offering: Bois Blonde (Parfumerie General).

Huitième Art has offered this time a ‘flat’ perfume – an 1,5h on, the fragrance remains in the same registers, presenting no further development (well, at least on my skin!). While this is not necessary anything bad, it may actually be more of a challenge; since the fragrance is designed to stay on a one line and not develop through phases, the challenge for the perfumer is to design it in such a way that its bouquet will charm us from the very first sniffs, and remain charming and interesting all those hours of wear later. Will the Liqueur Charnelle stand to that challenge? Let me smell in few hours and decide.

This offering from Pierre Guillaume reminds me of olfactory impressions from Chambre Noire (Olfactive Studio), which is also about powdery-sweet, warm sensual impressions. What distinguishes them is promise fulfilled: Liqueur Charnelle’s some softly piquant undertone of liqueur manages to remind me of cognac-maturated fruit liqueur, while Chambre Noire fails, overall, to fulfil on its promise of leather (at least on my skin).

Overall: Liqueur Charnelle has an interesting opening of what would be called the first ‘head’ notes. But as it is designed as the ‘flat’ perfume, its core fragrance is not, unfortunately, standing the test of time on my skin, and after few hours, it doesn’t surprise nor appeals enough, to keep sniffing…