Julieta

Rarely have I experienced such a stark contrast between the top and heart notes of a fragrance as with Pavillon d’Or, and along with that, a drastic turnaround from “not at all” to “somehow very beautiful.” What I smell during the first half hour after spraying evokes a shady, green park. The mint is likely responsible for this, possibly in conjunction with the thyme. However, I cannot perceive the mint as such. Instead, the scent reminds me a bit of ivy growing in places where the sun rarely reaches and it is always a bit damp. This is certainly not meant negatively. It smells fresh, green, and moist in a homely, entirely un-exotic way.

Unfortunately, the fragrance is personally unpleasantly sharp for me at this stage. I have the same issue with the scent of real ivy, so it may be due to a very individual aversion on my part. During the first test spray, I had already written off Pavillon d’Or because the sharp green is dangerously close to the headache threshold.

But then something extremely interesting happens. Relatively seamlessly, the green opening gives way to a beautiful floral scent. I wouldn’t have thought of honeysuckle on my own; however, it is absolutely plausible, as I seem to perceive a slight honey sweetness typical of honeysuckle.
I had to look up Boronia, as I was not familiar with it at all. Commonly referred to as “fragrance star,” I read that the plant is native to Australia and Tasmania, its extract is quite expensive, and it emits a pleasantly floral-herbaceous scent. Although an exotic element has been integrated with Boronia, the overall impression remains entirely Central European for me. It smells subtly but spicy of meadow flowers, mixed with the honey note of the honeysuckle. No heaviness, no loud tropical blooms, but summer meadow.

While the fragrance is cool to damp-cold in the initial phase, it has turned 180 degrees in the heart note and is now spicy-warm and slightly powdery, with the heliotrope noticeably softening the initially sharp scent for me. The floral heart lasts about 4 hours, during which it becomes increasingly close to the skin. Only towards the end do I perceive a slight woodiness. I couldn't identify sandalwood here, but perhaps it contributes to the scent becoming increasingly creamy towards the end.
The longevity is in the middle range for me (about 6-7 hours), and the sillage is noticeable but not loud.
Overall, the first association I have is of a perhaps somewhat overgrown park, with shady corners and a few sunny spots where the flowers grow. Calm and idyllic and entirely situated on this continent.

Pavillon d’Or is an unusual fragrance; I wouldn’t know where I have smelled something similar before. I probably wouldn’t wear it, as the scent language doesn’t quite fit me. However, I find it remarkably noteworthy in its versatility and uniqueness, and I would definitely recommend testing it for that reason alone.

For Dehn al Oud Mubarak, I must for the first time add a comment to a statement retrospectively. And also correct my previous rating of 8.5 upwards. Because this thick little gem has unexpectedly and steadily become a quiet favorite over the past three months (I just ordered my second bottle because I have actually almost emptied the first one).

When I first smelled it, I primarily perceived ethereal-menthol notes, but the scent impression has completely changed since then. Not that the first impression was bad. However, after wearing it more frequently - almost daily at times - I now primarily perceive one thing, namely a deep, leathery warmth that has an incredibly calming and grounding effect on me.
Mubarak is one of the scents I also like to wear entirely for myself at home when I’m not feeling well. The scent doesn’t change my emotional state, of course, but it comforts and slows me down immensely. I have found that the best way to apply it is not classically on the side of the neck, but rather to rub a little on the sternum, belly, and in the nape of my neck. It gains immensely from the warmth of the body under clothing and (in my case) under long hair, forming a protective scent bubble around me that I can perceive for hours.

By the way, I don’t smell any of the “sweet notes” indicated in the pyramid; just Oud, Oud Oud with a pretty authentic leather note. One of the statements below describes it as “like inside a tobacco pouch,” and I find that image extremely fitting. The Oud is not dusty, bitter, or medicinal, but rather darkly woody in a warm way and, without being able to explain further what I mean, more moist than dry. That’s exactly how I want “my” Oud to smell!
Recently, I had the great pleasure of testing some pure Oud oils as well as the legendary Oud Yusuf. And of course, Mubarak is not Yusuf. There are certainly more complex Oud scents, but they are also far, far outside the financial reach of my meager social worker salary. In the rather low-priced segment (although, calculated per 100 ml, this one also costs around 600 euros), it is by far the best I have smelled so far. According to Swiss Arabian, at least partially, natural Oud is also processed. However, in what quality and quantity, nothing has been said about that yet. But to be honest, Mubarak does not smell in any way like the synthetic Oud used in some high-priced fragrances, and it has much more in common with the natural oils I have been able to test so far.

With the quite accessible price, it is also not a crime to experiment with layering it with other scents. My hit so far has been Mubarak as a base and "Trade Routes Collection - Halfeti | Penhaligon's" on top. Yes, that’s Rose and Oud, but very different from already composed Rose/Oud fragrances. I have received compliments from several people of both genders for this; the feedback was mostly that the Halfeti/Mubarak combo smells elegant and luxurious. Experiments in the search for a suitable jasmine scent as a layering partner are still ongoing.

Another big plus point of Mubarak, whether worn alone or layered, should also not be overlooked: On the person I occasionally share my bed with, the scent has a noticeable, strongly erotic effect. I would be interested to know if this is a lucky hit with the combination of personal scent and fragrance as well as the other person’s scent preferences, or if other users have noticed similarly pleasant effects. Since it seems everyone is looking for the ultimate “panty dropper”…

All in all: If you like Oud in general, I believe you can take a risk with a blind purchase here. The price-performance ratio is truly excellent, and Mubarak is the perfect choice for those who want to wear a good, naturally smelling Oud fragrance but can’t just throw a few hundred euros at an Ensar or something similar.

And if it doesn’t, it would be wise to start right away! There are fragrances that I liked immediately, there are those that have slowly but steadily developed into loyal companions - and then there’s this: hot love, instantly. Vintage mini captured, the first drop applied, and I almost fainted from delight.
Everything, simply everything fits here for me. The start is bitter green from the galbanum, the transition to the heart of sweaty, heavy jasmine, and the incredibly beautiful vanilla base. Not even the hint of neroli, which occasionally brushes past me, bothers me here, even though we are usually not friends at all. It fits perfectly among all the sweet and heavy notes.
I am amazed at how a fragrance can make such a one-eighty-degree turn from the start to the base and unite such contrasting notes without ever falling apart or feeling uneven. How it can be so heavy without the slightest bit being overwhelming. So highly erotic, without ever coming off as vulgar.
A fragrance like an expensive fur coat, a silk negligee, a beautiful evening gown, with which I immediately feel several categories higher on the attractiveness scale.

Since I was too young to wear perfume during the years when Must celebrated its greatest public success, it passed me by at that time. I don’t associate it with memories of wild nights; had I been 10 or 15 years older, it would have definitely been my scent for the hunt.
Must - even the name draws me in. Just like the fragrance fits my skin, the name fits my being, everything intense and pressing and full of unconditional imperatives, everything that life has to offer, to be enjoyed to the fullest.

I can’t believe that in all the years I’ve tried to find a fragrance to alternate with my beloved Hypnotic Poison, which I wore for many years until I was sick of it, not once did the perfume staff think to recommend Must to me. That we are only getting to know each other now. But better late than never.
Now I’m stocking up on minis so I never have to be without Must again. Luckily, they are all quite sufficient in this case. By the way, I’ve noticed that for some reason, the perfume performs better when dabbed than when sprayed. I transferred one mini into a spray bottle, but it seems to me that the projection isn’t as tight as when applied in drop form. Speaking of projection: it’s wonderful. Not a wallflower, that wouldn’t suit the fragrance (nor me, by the way).
I have to thank Parfumo for finally bringing Must and me together. For me, it’s heaven in a bottle and seems made just for me.

…this gives me a perfect entry point into the commentary on Ambilux, as the good Friedrich would say. Because actually, instead of "animalic-spicy," it should rather say "human-spicy" in the fragrance classification. There is nothing here that smells like an animal. No fur, no pee, no dung. But indeed, as several commentators before me have noted: It smells like a human.

Thanks to the travel letter circulated by Sir Lancelot, I had the opportunity to test the 3-sample set from Marlou (thanks again at this point!). Among the three fragrances, Ambilux was by far the most exciting for me. In Poudrextase, there is a similar human note as in Ambilux, but combined with a rose that is already slightly past its prime, which ultimately gives it a relatively high potential for annoyance for me, while Carnicure is an overall harmless, albeit slightly soiled musk-and-flower scent (certainly the most wearable of the three in everyday life).
Ambilux, however, is a fascination. I can't stop marveling at how perfectly the perfumer has managed to replicate the intimate scent of a human body with a combination of fragrance materials, none of which have anything to do with the human body even remotely - perhaps just evoking it; I’m not quite sure whether the scent actually replicates a natural scent very well or cleverly calls up the corresponding associations that make one believe they are smelling human skin.

Intimate scent is, by the way, to be taken quite literally. Ambilux does not come across in my nose as harmless as simply unwashed skin and hair, as perceived by others here. It smells distinctly of the lower regions for me, and more of the lower regions (female) than the lower regions (male). A little salty, a little sweaty, but by no means unpleasant. Like the body of a woman you know well and love.
Associations with wild nights of passion do not come to me. Despite this clearly sexual scent note for me, Ambilux is gentle and rather quiet. More like morning cuddle sex, when you just have to turn over and stretch a bit under the covers to reach the other body, just as unwashed as your own. If I had to assign a color, it would be light gray-pink-white, with a texture like airy cotton muslin. The scent does not overwhelm but gently envelops. I have also noticed the effect mentioned by several others that it seems to merge with the natural scent of the skin.

Recently, I learned what "my lips but better" means, namely a lipstick color that is very close to the natural color of one's own lips, so that you look not made up, but subtly optimized. This is what I thought of with Ambilux: "my scent, but better." It is a smell I know from myself, just somehow more concise and concentrated and made wearable. It is really hard for me to pick out individual scent notes. At the very beginning, I think I can smell pink pepper and a little bit of incense, but after just a few moments, everything blurs into this indefinable body scent cloud, and that’s how the scent remains until it fades after about 7 hours on me. Not even the cumin with its unmistakable, characteristically sweaty note is perceptibly isolated.

I am maliciously tempted to suggest that anyone who smells 14-day-old underwear is certainly also part of the target group for intimate deodorants and panty liners with fresh scents. On the other hand, the noses and olfactory centers are so differently tuned and react accordingly so variably that it wouldn't be fair. It may well be that Ambilux presses some very sensitive olfactory buttons for some (…I just have to remind myself of my immense disappointment when testing "Maai | Bogue," which is highly praised here and which I was determined to like, but which immediately and without hesitation literally induced nausea in me). Nevertheless, I can say after the test that I would at least recommend giving it a try, as the scent really doesn't jump out at you, even if you don't like it. And as an experience, it is interesting enough to at least try it.

By the way, I was also charmed by the wonderful name, as ambiguity as a general state of being and tolerance of ambiguity as a useful means to address it are among my preferred topics that I ponder in quiet moments and enjoy discussing in a like-minded circle. How could the ambiguity drawn on a bottle not make me curious?

I am not sure if I would really wear Ambilux solo as a perfume in the usual sense. It might be a bit too quirky for me, at least given the not exactly low price. However, I can imagine that it would work well for layering, to give scents that I like but find a bit trivial some more underlying oomph. Maybe I will eventually go on the hunt for a decant. For now, though, I will let the scent experience settle and am curious to see how the other participants of the travel letter fare with the fragrances.

Sometimes, when the scent perception deviates so extremely, it seems like you must have smelled a completely different perfume than the rest. That's how I feel about Qaa'ed. The good news: that's not a problem at all, because what I smell is so good that I will definitely be getting a full bottle. Even though it is neither what is listed in the pyramid nor what the majority of commentators have detected.

Oud? I don't smell any at all. Leather? Also a no-show. Sandalwood and vanilla I can let slide, with a bit of imagination even nutmeg. What really surprises me: Why is there no lavender listed? I would have at least expected it in the top notes. And why has no one chosen "powdery" in their classification? I'm getting some kind of powdery fougère vibes here, by whatever magic hand that comes from.

Do you know Felce Azzurra? The Italian body powder in the blue bottle? What comes next smells to me like the oriental cousin of Felce Azzurra. Felce 2azra2, so to speak (I can't type Arabic characters on the keyboard, hence transliteration - amusingly, it shares a few letters with Azzurra, as if to confirm my impression again, ha!)
It has a bit more spice than the blue one, which would probably be nutmeg and saffron. Spicy fits, but above all, it is powdery and ethereal. Overall impression extremely well-groomed, like freshly bathed and enveloped in spicy powder. And the scent remains like this until it fades many hours later.

I don't know if my nose is broken or if I'm just lucky with my subjective perception of Qaa'ed. But what comes to my nose is absolutely wonderful and exactly my thing for days when it needs to be spice-powdery-clean-groomed.

Unisex? Definitely! It works equally well for all genders. Since apparently so few ladies have dared to try it so far: Go for it! It's so beautiful.

Sillage is perfect. It doesn't overwhelm, but it's also not skin-close. A pleasant, noticeable scent aura around the wearer. Longevity 8-9 hours. You really can't say anything against that. And all of this at the price - not even 20 euros! They really know what they're doing at Lattafa. And this proves once again: Good doesn't have to be expensive.