NosyCat

I love smoky fragrances and have a few in my collection, so whenever I perceive notes of something burning, I am very keen to investigate their source further. This is how I discovered ‘Révolution’ by Trudon.

One dab from the tester initially gives me the coniferous, zesty scent of juniper and fir, which is quickly joined by a smoky note. It’s the genuine smell of freshly chopped wood when after a long hike you’re sat around the campfire with friends in the evening, having just finished dinner and perhaps someone from the company is about to whip out a guitar and strum a few cords and you all sing ‘Free Falling’ or ‘If You’re Going to San Francisco’. Even though you’re out in the wild, surrounded by nature, you still feel safe and protected - you ensured there is no danger on this patch of grass within the circle of light from the fire.
With time the smoke becomes less dominant, with resins and woods taking over; the cistus is a nice addition - it softens the fragrance and makes it less pungent. It becomes balsamic before shifting again to a slightly more leathery note - more like nubuk, dry and durable, rather than smooth delicate lambskin. Then the fragrance becomes creamy and luxurious, before giving another nod to the smoke from earlier; and ends in rich warm woods and leather - an altogether sweeter amber scent.
‘Révolution’ immediately gives similar vibes to ‘Tonnerre’ or other Beaufort perfumes for that matter; but where Beaufort is brash and bold and goes all-in - and runs the danger of becoming a love-it-or-hate-it scent, this one is slightly more universally acceptable (within the realm of smoky fragrances of course).
The projection is good, again nothing in comparison to Beaufort - it’s more dignified in a very French way; but that shouldn’t come as a surprise, since the nose behind the fragrance is Lyn Harris, whose philosophy is that perfumes shouldn’t dominate the room, but be noticeable to those close to you or people brushing past.
The Harris DNA is all over it - it’s well balanced, natural, and doesn’t impose itself on you, but as so often in her fragrances something is missing, a component that really hooks you and reels you in. The composition feels a bit safe and smells like so many fragrances from a multitude of organic skincare brands.

Contrary to what the name suggest, the fragrance is no revolutionary - I have a feeling it tries to be more likeable and appeal to a wider demographic and by doing so it fails to make a bold choice that would set it apart from many other smoky scents. It’s not something I haven’t smelt before, but if you don’t want to smell like you’ve been in a cigar parlour or spent the entire day curing and smoking ham, then this might be just the right amount of smoke in an otherwise well-balanced resinous, woody fragrance.

A literal translation for ‘Bois d’ascese’ would be ‘ascetic wood’ - and this is exactly what you can expect from this fragrance by Naomi Goodsir. If not entirely ascetic, it is definitely reserved and convinces with its quality, rather than by screaming in your face.

Initially I get resins and smoke; then something sweet and spicy like cinnamon creeps in. It remains for a brief fleeting moment, just long enough to make you aware of its subtle presence, before tobacco and cedar wood take over. This tobacco note is dry and herbal - not like the stuff you find in cigarettes; it rather reminds me of smoking a pipe - where the slightly spicy scent of hot tobacco leaves is interlaced with the woody, tarry smell of the pipe. It becomes sophisticated and somehow comforting. It also evokes images of someone’s private library perhaps, where you can sit down in front of the fire with a cognac and a cigar, perusing ancient tomes taken from bookshelves filled with vintage treasures; or an antique book shop, where fist editions are sold and where amidst the smell of leather binding, varnish and printing ink, books are lovingly restored.
The base of the scent becomes peatier and dryer; there is more resin and oak - almost like a barrel of whisky, which has been left maturing for some time.
To me ‘Bois d’ascese’ shows similarities with D.S. & Durga’s ‘Bowmakers’ with its coniferous notes; in its peaty smokiness it also reminds me of Beaufort’s ‘Vi et Armis’, however where ‘Vi et Armis’ is punching harder, this one is much more toned down.

All in all it’s a warm, dry, smoky woody scent, which would be best suited for the colder time of the year. It also sits on a more masculine side of fragrances and even though it doesn’t have a huge projection, it is definitely noticeable once you get closer. It’s elegant without being loud and has the quality of a mature, experienced, educated, well-read and well-travelled man-of-the-world. He knows what he is talking about and easily leads the conversation without dominating it. This sophisticated gentleman would know exactly when to stay quiet and he keeps his dignity even when everything around him gets increasingly drunk and loud - and so does the scent: on skin it remains long enough to still be perceived even after many hours of wearing it, should you desire to check; but it quickly tones down the projection and stays in the background rather than being the most prominent thing in the room. If you wear perfumes for yourself, then it’ll be a perfect balance - if you want the scent you have put on to be noticed, you might be disappointed.

My aunt is a painter. When I used to visit her as a child I always liked spending time in her atelier. It was quite a small room, but there were paintings and brushes and colours in tubes, in little jars, on paletts, and even on the cupboard. It was an almost sacred space. And what I recall very vividly, what I always associate with my childhood and those visits, is the smell. The smell of oil paints and varnish; of wood and turpentine. It is comforting and familiar, yet at the same time intriguing - like something one shouldn’t be smelling too much of, but it’s addictive and you just can’t stop.
This was my initial reaction to ‘Burning Barbershop’ by the American brand D.S. & Durga. At first I couldn’t put my finger on why exactly it got me hooked - but when the memories began to resurface, it all made sense.

Immediately the fragrance is balsamic, resinous. To me that’s the smell of turpentine - the liquid solvent painters use to mix with oil-based paints - and not at all in a bad sense: turpentine is derived from distilling tree resin and has this characteristic smell of tree sap. There is a zesty note in the opening - as so often in fougere perfumes - but it’s not dominating, it’s rather supporting and even emphasising the main chord of the fragrance, which is smoke. Now, smoke can have a variety of scents, depending on what material is burning. Here it smells to me like an old oil lamp has been switched on - and it is this oil smoke that gives the fragrance its unique characteristic. There is also spearmint in the opening, however for me it seems more prominent on clothes; less so on my skin.
As the fragrance develops, it turns into something softer and sweeter - lavender and Turkish rose apparently. I can’t really distinguish them in the mix, which isn’t to say they aren’t there. Perhaps it’s more to do with the fact how incredibly well blended this fragrance is - the different components work together so well that somehow a true unity is achieved. What I can distinguish however is the vanilla in the background - but never in a thick ‘gourmand’ way. The smoke becomes more pronounced throughout and creates a spicy, warm base, which yet still manages to keep a subtle grassy freshness.
‘Burning Barbershop’ has a good projection; you will definitely get noticed - and the scent lasts a decent time (about 8 hours for me). I would recommend it as a rather masculine smell and say that it’s best suited for colder time of the year.

The fragrance is multi-layered and complex - and yet it never strays far from the main idea. It manages to stay within that story that begins with its very name and continues developing every time you smell it. For me, once experienced, it is ever-present in my memory - and yet….and yet I keep wanting to smell it over and over to compare the actual fragrance to the way I remember it.

“How many times, good Good, have I not wished it were possible to attack the sun, to deprive the universe of it, or to use it to set the world ablaze”. This Donatien Alphonse François Marquis de Sade wrote in his infamous ‘The 120 Days of Sodom’. Knowing that ‘Attaquer le soleil’ - a direct quote from that - was inspired by this famous libertine, who is the very name giver of ‘sadism’, one expects unheard-of levels of decadence and debauchery. Behind it however is a chypre-style perfume which is perhaps less outrageous than the name leads to believe, but….but all in due course.

The opening is strong, with an explosion of coniferous zest; and immediately one senses the direction the fragrance is heading in. It’s balsamic, it’s resinous. It even goes beyond that zesty note, almost to the point of sour unpleasantness - the slight whiff of decay would be the best way of describing it, which might be off-putting for a lot of people. It doesn’t bother me however; it’s somehow part of the fragrance and I accept it as one of its natural sides. Those head notes settle quickly and its woodier, slightly musky middle notes gain prominence. Cedar-wood and resin are at the core of it and develop after a little while into something warmer and sweeter; it’s getting dryer and woodier in the base, yet keeping a subtle zest at the same time and even gaining a gentle floral note, perhaps lily.
It’s earthy and mossy, like a forest after the rain in early autumn - with the smell of fallen leaves already starting to decay, wet soil and trees getting ready for winter. You have your wellingtons on and walk through branches, twigs and foliage the colour of rust; the crisp air still bears the rest of the earlier warmth, but is definitely getting fresher.

The real surprise? The fragrance is constructed around one single note - labdanum, derived from cistus or rock rose, a shrub commonly found in the Mediterranean - and it is this simplicity that becomes interesting when the scent unfolds, when one realises what a variety of shades and colours one ingredient holds. It is simple, yet rounded at the same time; the total opposite of flat and I cannot stop asking myself, how can one single note be so complex? And this is perhaps where the name comes back into play - like the eponymous marquis the fragrance breaks barriers of what one considered to be the limit.
To me it is the smell of nature and as such the fragrance really relies on imagery and emotions from memory - it might not mean anything for some people and therefore be just another chypre scent even to the point of being repellent; but if it triggers something deep inside you, it proves to be so much more than that.

There are lots of fragrances from big fashion brands and independent manufacturers alike that one can describe as simply ‘nice’ or ‘pleasant’. Far fewer aim to be great. And an even smaller amount of perfumes one encounters are exceptional. When I was walking past a counter of the South American brand Costa Brazil - previously oblivious to its existence - I saw a wooden cube that turned out to be a perfume bottle; the first and only scent they have. I almost kept walking - since it seemed like an attempt from yet another skincare brand to generate more sales - but something about this cube made me curious. And boy, did I not regret this decision.

It has everything I like in a fragrance. I love in a fragrance. I long for in a fragrance and rarely smell. There is the smell of pines, of coniferous trees, of a forest after the rain on a warm summer morning, when the woods have retained some warmth from the previous day and before the sun starts blasting down again. When the nourishing rain has provided the much needed relief and left behind a crisp freshness….There is a zesty note, much like when you rip a few young needles off a fir tree and rub it between your fingers releasing the oils; or when you accidentally touch a pine cone, which is still covered in sticky fresh resin…..These are the images ‘Aroma’ evokes. The citrusy note is not tangerine or neroli, it has more bitterness, like grapefruit. Then the grasses take over, but in a gentle way, never aggressive, with vetiver skilfully hidden among cedar wood and patchouli and in the base there is a slight nod towards musk - an indication which is never allowed to dominate. It instantly reminded me of Aesop’s ‘Hwyl’ - that one however is darker, has more wood and therefore more sternness of a Nordic forest, whereas ‘Aroma’ is lighter, more playful in a very South American way and even though I have never been to Brazil, it instantly reminded me of a walk in the forest in a southern country: Italy, Greece.
The projection is good, not overbearing but noticeable and even after 5 hours of wearing it, I still get a whiff every now and again. It would work at any time of the year; personally I would use it more in spring and in summer, since it is a brighter, greener scent; but it also wouldn’t be wrong in the cold time of the year.

You wouldn’t be surprised after discovering who are the noses behind this fragrance - David Seth Moltz, the D.S. in D.S & Durga and Frank Voelkl, who is responsible for of some of the best Le Labo scents. ‘Aroma’ showcases what they do best, namely telling a story with their creations. This fougere/chipre perfume does precisely that - it evokes memories of a place where the beauty of the surroundings is not majestically unreachable, but familiar, yet somehow obscured by the time that has passed since you last visited; but it gives you an urge want to get lost and become at one with nature once again.

It might have had the potential to become a truly great scent, if it weren’t for the price. It seems like being a niche brand and not widely available is not enough nowadays; the price tag has to be made higher and the bottle smaller. Shame.

*Update on the price: the refill bottle of this, which is actually a proper spray bottle, is considerably cheaper - even though it’s not a cheap perfume to begin with, at least it’s in a similar price category of upscale niche fragrances. So unless you absolutely want the beautiful wooden cube, get the refill bottle instead; it’s a much better deal.