MiaTrost

Ambre Russe is supposed to be an opulent tribute to the flamboyant spledour of imperial Russia. Images of blaze and glory, champagne and vodka are portrayed on Parfums d’Empire’s site. Albeit, how the latter is supposed to smell is beyond me, for vodka of high quality is characterised by absence of smell amongst others. The also referenced scent of tea brewing in a samovar in a cosy dacha, melding with flavours of herbs, spices and leather, pictures a rustic side to it. Whether those stereotypes appeal to you or not, they do imply a contrasting theme.

Ambre Russe’s boozy beginning features a herbal, slightly medicinal facet and constitutes a captivating impression – opinions differ on this opening without doubt. Swiftly amber tunes in as undercurrent and initially presents itself a tad too pale for my liking. Presumably this is ambergris’ doing, although I know it to bring about luminous charisma rather than being feeble. However, all is made up for as the scent further unfolds. A smoky element emerges with a dusty incense nuance and plays cleverly at a dry side, thereby attaining refinement. Glances of that boozy-medicinal facet counteract intriguingly, making for a sleek and accomplished contrast.
Whilst the amber morphs into a more profound appearance, it keeps the parched spices and herbal character. Compared to other ambers, its herbal trait is less opaque than it is in Ambre Sultan and Ambre Précieux is more luscious. However, when the leather comes into the picture, mingling exquisitely with the incense, Ambre Russe becomes a seamless and rather sophisticated composition and eventually does play off that smouldering note of vanilla-sweet.

Ambre Russe features a brilliantly polished contrast of succulent and dry. It is elegant and despite its complexity never excessive. I do love its finesse and ingenuity and if it was not for that pale interlude, it would be a perfect take on amber in my book.

The name of the fragrance derives from the Giardini Botanici Hanbury, a botanical garden located in northern Italy. Established on a small, steep peninsula jutting southwards into the Mediterranean Sea, the garden is home to a wide flora that thrives in this mild climate. Hanbury is Signora Gentile's take on a fragrance profile of the garden in springtime, when its bouquet is blended by a soft and warm sea breeze. Trained in Grasse, she uses a very high ratio of natural essences in her creations.

Hanbury opens with sweet yet fresh lime, making for a green and succulent entrance. Swiftly neroli and orange fuse into it, adding a bright, warm and velvety facet. As the lime slowly fades from the spotlight, greenish and shimmering-sweet accents of acacia blossoms emerge, leading into the core. Next, I believe, is calycanthus. It smells intimate, a little herbal with a twist of dried fruit. As mimosa tunes in, beaming and reminiscent of honey, the impression becomes more profound and glowing. A balsamic, slightly burnt benzoin delicately shores up the base but Hanbury keeps the floral character, well into a subtly musky finish that persists for a very long time.

Altogether Hanbury is a chamber ensemble, rather than orchestra, and never fails to please me. It moves effortlessly from note to note, lingering on each one but never losing its guiding theme. It made me understand what classic Italian perfumery is about: simplicity, in this instance elegant and superbly done.

In Letters to a Fellow Perfumer, a series of open letters, Mandy Aftel and Liz Zorn discussed their experiences and thoughts on how to approach common challenges and solve creative problems in the process of crafting works form the same starting point. During their ‘creative joint venture’, each chose one ingredient – Mandy Aftel went for galbanum and Liz Zorn picked ylang-ylang – and both set out to compose focusing on these two as their main building blocks.

Haute Claire is a bright brainchild, a slick juxtaposition of galbanum and ylang-ylang, where the former’s green sharpness is smoothed by luscious blooming of the latter.
The overall theme is verdancy, starting out bright and green with a whiff of lime in a fleeting appearance. Maintaining brightness, the fragrance moves on to centre on balsamic notes, ranging from sweetening of ylang to earthy-woodiness of the gum resin and sage. This pas de deux closes with a combination of vetiver and subtle vanilla, reinforcing the green facet as well as mellow characteristic in a suave drydown.

Haute Claire stays close to my skin and features good tenacity - for a natural perfume quite impressive. But I wish the crisp element in the opening had dwelt just a little longer.

In Letters to a Fellow Perfumer, a series of open letters, Mandy Aftel and Andy Tauer discussed their experiences and thoughts on how to approach common challenges and solve creative problems in the process of crafting works form the same starting point. They centered their ‘creative joint venture’ around linden blossom CO2 and each one came up with a unique take on the subject. As for Mandy Aftel, it was Honey Blossom, a pristine liaison of buoyant linden blossom, mimosa and orange blossom, all swirling around a translucent yet distinct honey theme – nomen est omen.

The airy sweetness of linden nectar is lined with mimosa and orange blossom, which adds warmth. This beaming and light-hearted ménage à trois is bedded on a balsamic whiff of benzoin and paired with ambergris' radiance. It is a well-balanced blend with a feelgood factor. Overall Honey Blossom is never sugary but always delightful, and comes across like early summer in a bottle. Alas, as it is not bolstered up with synthetics, diffusion and volume are not enough for my liking.