Perfume Reviews by gimmegreen

Live 'n' Loud by Jusbox

Bangin’ it ain’t, despite the name. What starts like a sat-upon-by-prunes amber soon lets some cardamom and cashmere light in, but it’s a strangely polite experience. The dry fruits and leather accents do nothing to drag this into the more intense territory they often signal. Easy wearing, mildly puzzling in the sum of its parts, this does seem like Dom Ropion on an off day. The spice warms up in the drydown but it’s so folded into the smooth ambery sweetness the ‘snooze’ button stays depressed.

La Fumée Classic / La Fumée by Miller Harris

La Fumée is the scent of delicious dirty secrets in a shaded, velvet-draped room. It has a sense of dreamy Orient cliché about it, all opium-puffing languor and tailored pyjamas, with a heart of sweet spice that promises all kinds of nice naughtiness. Perfumed smoke curls through the air, the lacquered casket is opened to reveal golden ambery treats infused with fresh and chewy cardamom, and the more carnal cumin, a touch of nutmeg, dark bass woods. Steep in its dreamy haze and let all manner of filth lazily cross your mind.

Khanjar by Oman Luxury

Khanjar has one of those ‘did you wipe your bum properly?’ ouds, dirty and decadent, giving the wearer an air of someone to look out for else they will have their wicked way with you. But that’s not all: after the initially queasy start where there is an unmistakeably vomitofaecal streak characteristic of many a ‘means business’ oud, it begins its dark settle into a bewitching three-way between the sleazy oud, the piercing herbal bitterness of artemisia and, cleverly tucked away right at the back, the sweet nudge of rose, which brings the whole thing into the realm of the human. In a trick pulled by many Middle Eastern houses, there are gusts of freshness blowing through the composition too – lavender, clean musks – which, curiously enough, integrate perfectly with its murky and brooding main impression. The khanjar is a ceremonial dagger that symbolizes national pride for Omanis; this perfume, named after it, does make me feel like puffing out my chest and strutting, bottled confidence and mood enhancement that’s not to be sniffed at.

Empire des Indes by Oriza L. Legrand

Buxom amber in the old hug-my-fatty-deposits manner, a favourite aunty keen to ply you with rich treats. The surface has both powders and waxes thus conforming to Oriza’s antique ethos. The composition itself is a loaf of sweet balsamic resins – vanillic benzoin and the plusher tolu with its merest hint of sweet spice playing in harmony with opoponax, which casts its golden light over proceedings. I am reminded of Les Nereides’ version of the opoponax note in a perfume with a similarly colonialist nostalgic name – Imperial Opoponax (now rechristened, dropping the grandiose epithet, I hear) – but its candied orange counterpoint is here replaced by the cherry-almond marzipan languor of heliotrope which emerges steps by step from the shadows during the evolution. A plump, reassuring amber that will reward fans of this family of perfumes by its steadfast refusal to take even the tiniest step out there.

Court of Ravens by 4160 Tuesdays

Irresistibly named, speaking to one’s inner goth – all that lusty doominess so indicative of a will to a certain kind of dark life rather than the tombstone tendency normally ascribed to this club. Any perfume would find it hard to live up to such a billing but Court of Ravens is a good stab – presenting a red-wine and somewhat withered rose in an ancient wooden casket filled with similarly past-their-sell-by-date (or, more kindly, ‘aged’) resins. Combine this with a difficult to place tartness, some half-powder half-earth dustiness and desiccated herbal, skin and mossy notes, and one has a beguiling perfume that tempts with many delicious discomforts but remains eminently wearable. It’s a tough trick to pull off and I think the quality of the rose and iris notes in this offering provides the silken thread that so skilfully stitches everything together. One of Ms McCartney’s best.

Athenaeum by Jorum Studio

Jorum craft elaborate mood texts for their offerings, with note lists that promise tempting surprises. The perfumes, however, are all about modest novelty – they rarely project beyond a few inches, the stories they tell are rather less embroidered and often told succinctly. Nonetheless they are worth bothering with. Take Athenaeum that opens with a hay storm – dry, grassy, milky, woody, with a memory of green – rendered in a somewhat ozonic manner, with a tang of salt, and a slightly queasy inkiness at the bottom. Puffs of fennel mix with the ink – and, voila, for a period of time, a strange leather emerges. But the spirit of Athenaeum veers towards the marine and silty in the drydown. It’s a curious thing, unlike most others out there – and this time the house’s customary moderation works in its favour, as one really does not want a tidal wash of this trailing in one’s wake.

Amira Gold by Al Haramain

Here’s an object lesson in perfume pricing. I bought my 12ml bottle of this attar for 12.50 euro. The bottle is encased in blinged out heavy metal. Then consider the manufacturer’s cut, the retailer’s cut, transport and manufacturing costs. With all that factored in, what kind of budget is left for the perfume materials themselves? 50 cents? A euro at a push?
And yet it is possible to send out a decent – not stellar – product into the market which will keep many a wearer happy. Amira Gold’s mode is syrupy abstraction – there are musk and powders here, comforting vanilla in the base and peppy orange to begin, a light woody smokiness, all slathered in sweet. None of it need smell remotely natural and yet it satisfies, as there are depths to it not just a run of the stuff dripped on baklava. What others will smell on you will be quite a persuasive rich, possibly sensual thing. Fine as a winter comfort scent, even better if you can unapologetically enjoy ultra-sweet scents.

1978 Les Bains Douches by Les Bains Guerbois

So defies expectation (based on declared notes) that I wonder whether my nose, after suffering daily perfume promiscuity, has decided to go on strike. Far from the boozy oriental delivered with finesse (Duchaufour is the nose, so one can be forgiven for assuming a certain polish as a given) I thought it might be, this turned out to be an amorphous cloud of what I first took to be ambrette but is probably the dried-out mate note/accord lightly infused with a vague melancholy sweetness (likely the heliotrope). Everything else – the tobacco, the citrus notes, the mildly spicy myrrh – seems to be in homeopathic doses. Alas and alack, a near-total dud on my skin apart from the improvement in the deep drydown when it smells of rose-inflected pencil shavings for a while before sinking into a kind of vague bubble gum sweetness – all with great timidity as far as projection is concerned.

Mrs Gloss & The Goss : Lemon Sherbet by 4160 Tuesdays

Zesty mixed citrus with plenty of peel (giving it something of a lemon verbena accent) underlaid by a good glug of sweet vanilla to live up to the ‘sherbet’ promise in the name. I prefer my citruses staying sharp or even going down the refined soap route rather than nestled among marshmallows, as here. There’s no denying that this delivers on what it promises, but in the end, the sweet fluffiness is mostly what remains with just a touch of desiccated citrus.It ain’t enough for me.

Medullary-ray by Jorum Studio

The thinking behind this one may be high concept – an ‘olfactory encounter between crafted-wood and lazily harvested Tuscan fruits’ anyone? – but the resultant thing scratches an unusual itch to utmost satisfaction. And that is a persistent wish of this perfume enthusiast for something that ticks the following boxes – wild, raggedy botanicals, woods, and resins – without turning up the temperature to uncomfortable levels. Leavened by a fruity sweetness that starts off somewhat like dried apricots, then morphs to plummy tobacco and then turns into just an ethereal presence in the mix, Medullary-ray settles in a pile of autumn leaves and the memory of a soft leather coat while maintaining a baby-soft muskiness that positively cuddles the wearer.

Mariya by Oman Luxury

A rose with the softest of centres – all elements work towards its melting heart of gentle Bulgarian rose. Brasher elements like geranium and bright citruses mentioned in the notes list, perhaps provide a bit of backlighting but are completely unobtrusive. Even that old bruiser patchouli is here in its most clement incarnation, lending depth without drama. A cream toffee and vanilla duo in the base is handled with a light touch – not tipping the composition into gourmand territory, but serving to enhance its overall velvety feel. Things do change by degree in the drydown, with the darker elements including smooth woody tones engulfing the rose, but the tender quality remains. Keep for days when one needs kindness.

Evernia by Ormonde Jayne

Quiet complexity in the Ormonde Jayne style, the layers of the thing beguile but do not quite gel for my taste. If Evernia’s theme is dry mossy greens, they are immediately offset by peppery spicing which lend them an air of Japanese incense – later this impression will resolve in a dessicated sandalwood note and the ploy begins to make sense. Soon after, a counter-theme of muted florals in a kind of orris crème emerges in a gourmand almost pudding style, the impression of something milky scented with cardamom is difficult to shake off. Then there is a divergent impression of something snappily chemical reminiscent of the dentist’s chair, which thankfully gets lost in the architecture of this perfume after a short while. The settle is dry, smoked and woody – so the Japanese incense theme lives on – but also spiced in a lactonic manner. Make of that what you will; it keeps me alert but gently feathers the pleasure button rather than pressing it.

Tabac Oud Cardamome by La Closerie des Parfums

Nice, all-purpose ‘gents’ mix of a gently spiced tobacco-woody with a certain briskness about it provided by the bergamot and herbal notes. A bit of a throwback to the day when several perfumes aimed at the men’s market had this well-groomed broad spectrum of notes. An underlying humid mustiness that slowly reveals itself as artemisia is a plus, but this falls more in the ranks of the serviceable and well-executed rather than the exciting. Little by way of ‘oud’ about it.
However, I must temper my lukewarm response – a result perhaps of my constant grazing at the buffet table of perfumery – with a more enthusiastic one by someone else. A co-participant at an evening class I attend followed me down the corridor flapping her hands towards her in an attempt to gather up more of my trail in the air, before exclaiming: ‘Oh, you smell yummy! Such a lovely, subtle perfume you have on.’

Bois Oud Safran by La Closerie des Parfums

Sometimes it pays to take a punt. Among the conveyor-belt parade of niche aspirants entering the market, it can be difficult to tell who’ll come up with some kind of goods after all the effort expended on branding and bluster. I decided to try some of La Closerie des Parfums ‘ouds’ because, refreshingly, they don’t lay any claims to including the ingredient in their notes’ lists. This suggested a certain confidence upon entering an overcrowded space and that merited having a try.
So, to Oud Safran, which turned out to be surprisingly good. From an enticing gasoline-fumes kind of start of bracing factory leather imbued with rose and a bit of discreet spiciness (that could have been saffron or something else entirely but seemed to fit right into the composition) it developed, adding smoke effects and bitter woods, the rose getting more and more luxurious and soft, like an unguent prepared for a princess, until all scepticism on my part was extinguished. Novel it may not be, but it is solid in compositional terms, combining its elements harmoniously, radiating just right without overwhelming, and providing a lush, layered scent that seems right for most occasions if you’re a woody rose kind of person. That’ll do nicely for me.

Malatesta by V Canto

In the increasingly crowded field of perfumes featuring a fresh, airbrushed orris-suede combo enters Malatesta. This style of perfume seems to be shorthand for luxury for quite a few top-dollar brands as the scent profile evokes high-end leather goods combined with the powders and lotions arrayed on glitzy cosmetics counters. If they were to waft something along these lines in the halls of the snobbier department stores, it would be perfect mood music for the nose. Such matters aside, the orris-suede theme remains supremely easy to get along with and one would have to be a grinch to resist its sweet nothings. Malatesta doesn’t veer from the template, but the execution is sleek and accomplished with some diffusive clean musk to give it extra lift and a hint of zesty citrus peel deep in the mix offering a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of colour now and then. The throw of this perfume has a light pink floral accent which is quite a surprise seeing as it isn’t evident on one’s skin. Be prepared however for a dive to a skin scent after the first two to three hours.

Le Petit Grain by Miller Harris

Petitgrain is my go-to citrussy essential oil – bearing just a hint of the blossoms, this extraction from the leaves and twigs of the bitter orange tree is usually alive with green and woody nuances that complement the orangey smell perfectly. Miller Harris’s cologne-style perfume plays up the oranges and foliage, and is full of zest, but goes lighter on the spicier, woody aspects of petitgrain. Indeed, while weighty stalwarts like vetiver, patchouli and oakmoss are declared as base notes their presence is unobtrusive – this is a lively, invigorating offering with a suggestion of fresh field herbs on its breath which in true cologne style offers up its energy and ahhh for a few uplifting hours and then discretely makes its exit.

Geranium Odorata by Diptyque

Simple brushed geranium leaf odour, rosy and minty, with a bit of crushed pepper thrown in for interest. It’s a casual wear-and-go thing, which I would have forgotten about had it not been for some nice lemony uplift in the drydown and the red-cheeked sweetness of the geranium continuing to shine.

Beyond The Wall by Gritti Venetia

Beyond the Wall is your old-fashioned powder compact style perfume delivered in the currently fashionable oozy, thick-as-mud style. Riffing on the dough-meets-plastic sweetness of iris, it sadly doesn’t go into the more interesting facets of the note – earth, wax, nuances of carrot, all seem absent. Instead, the opening impression is more of heliotrope but coupled with some serious air-freshener type diffusive elements, all coming through as a dense seepage. So far, so unpromising.
The settle is better, but in a formless, mellow-sweet way. Slight hints of a spiciness peek through and the density gives somewhat. Intriguing that something so safe feels so odd; I put it down to the fog of the thing and that very little of it smells in any way natural.

Smolderose by January Scent Project

Smolderose was so what I wasn’t expecting when I first wore it that all thoughts of reviewing it were banished in a fug of ‘is that it?’ disappointment. This is one of those perfumes that had a near-perfect – for my taste – notes list and knowing the unafraid assertiveness of John Biebel’s other creations my expectations were raised. So, on first go the disappointment was that that the smoke was light and aerial rather than heavy, the rose similarly thin and clear rather than heady, and – oh woe – no saffron to be detected, far less the agarwood.
I revisited knowing a bit better what to expect and setting aside hopes of something smouldering – and it was worth it. While by no means anywhere close to being one of my favourite rose perfumes Smolderose nonetheless has its moments. It wrongfoots the wearer almost immediately by coming on quite airy and light, but then uncoils to offer the lovely BDSM temptation of freshly polished black jackboots that brings out my inner masochist, combining it with an almost reedy smokiness and that thin, rose water kind of sweetness that trickles through it. The cade keeps wanting to drag the thing into sordid, tarry depths, with the patchouli valiantly attempting to beef up the rose, but the rest strains the other way, pulling into the light. And that makes for a certain dynamism that enlivens the wearing experience – there is the ozonic tug of the sea at one end combined with the grease and fumes of the automobile workshop at the other, with bang in the middle a ritual involving starched white robes and the sprinkling of rose water.

Spiceair by Hermetica

Another in the line of Hermetica’s miserable duds, Spiceair misfires on so many cylinders it’s a wonder it doesn’t blow up. A nauseous, headache-inducing aquatic-aromatic concoction in the pushy manner of masculine ‘sport’ offerings of yesteryear, this is about as synthetic as they come. Piney green notes in the manner of floor cleaner mix with bilge and ‘herbal’ accents in cloying Cool Water mode. Spice? Nada. Air? Yup, I’m gasping for it.
Full disclosure: this one was so unremittingly awful I couldn’t bear to give it my usual full-body wear, settling instead on the backs of my hands. From whence it kept sending my poor head instructions to seek painkillers.

Unique Wood by Novellista

The consensus seems to be that this is a Sauvage copycat (so much for the ‘unique’ part of its name) but with less bang for the buck. As the original Dior beast is but a dim memory – I sniffed it once instore, whereupon it was quickly filed under ‘not for me’ and I moved on – I can approach this with innocent nostrils.
Well, said nostrils are disappointed. This is the umpteenth über-generic, masculine-targeted peppery-woody done in a ‘fresh’ style. It’s that freshness that particularly offends – a kind of mixture of bilgewater aquatics and thyme accents using nose-searing synthetics that is nausea-inducing and alas all too common nowadays. I’m sure the note they’re aiming for is lavender and it’s buried in there somewhere, but the pure chemical surge of the thing makes my stomach heave. Whether this bears relation to Sauvage I cannot tell you. But it is also, most definitely, ‘not for me’.

Saffron Superfluide by Les Eaux Primordiales

A smooth operator this one, but those on the lookout for a proper saffron-centred perfume will be disappointed. This is saffron done in the cool suede manner – just a nod to the fragrant spice in what is a gauzy, air-con leather. A nice puckish fruity top note is a point of interest, as are hints of some almost floral thyme. A pale milky-floury feel lazes at the bottom. The significant thing about Saffron Superfluide seems to be less what it is – the umpteenth soft suede – but the perfectly frictionless mode of its delivery during the first hour or so; it drifts through one’s perception as an ever-uncurling wisp of chilly vapour. After that, it gains weight and becomes quite similar to any number of propulsive suedes à la Tuscan Leather or Aoud Leather.

Serenity by Oman Luxury

Serenity is the scent of a good day’s work ended, to my mind, time to sit back and think of what was achieved. In its first few hours Serenity centres around a weary leather – weary because it is refuses to blare and harry as some leathers can, and also due to the sweaty cumin as support player. It is presented in full repose, with a heavenly, smoky – and equally subtly calibrated – oud clearing the mental headspace and the siren song of roses wafting in from the room next door. This is the fascinating thing about this Pierre Negrin creation – that it has presence no-one can deny, but everything about it seems measured and proportioned, so despite the plentiful sillage, it doesn’t bludgeon. A sweet gourmand undertone doesn’t detract; think of it as the small portion of dessert presented on a silver platter with a cooling drink. As the hours go by – and this one lasts until the next morning – the hazy, mildly spicy but rose-infused oud harmony becomes its essence and all weariness slips away; it gets softer by degree and more beguiling, embodying the name it was given.

Untitled by Hendley Perfumes

I was having an ill-assorted kind of day with several loose ends, so it seemed like as good a time as any to try something called ‘Untitled’. Well, what to say? If you’ve got a decent quality sandalwood or vetiver oil in your hands, you’ve got half a perfume already – the latter especially is so rich in earthy sonority that I often wear a drop or two on its own on a cool day and feel snug and centred. ‘Untitled’ combines the two, and whether that’s a case of two halves making a whole, I don’t know, but the result is mighty good. The sandalwood is first to sing out before the humidity of the vetiver creeps up and then they both start playing peekaboo until one is left wondering: ‘Is that the sandal coming across all earthy or the vetiver going all creamed wood?’ It’s the interplay of course that’s so beguiling, and if you love warm, unfussy woody perfumes then this will be just the thing. Therein a word of caution – whereas the quality here is akin to that of a fine attar, there’s a simplicity of expression that may leave some wanting more. There’s a smoothing smudge of iris running through this perfume but it’s a backing player leaving the central duet to take the spotlight. And it’s a duet that takes its time, unfolding across the entire day in supreme comfort.