Tubéreuse Impériale
BDK Parfums (2016)

Those who know me well may also know that I am not super-enamoured with tuberose unless done exceptionally well, like with classics such as Joy Jean Patou (1930), but in BDK Tubéreuse Impériale (2016), founding perfumer David Benedeck does good by the note. Those who may have watched the X-Games on ESPN might know of a snowboarder named David Benedeck; I assure you this is not the same person even if the idea of such a second-stage career shift seems funny, and perfumer David Benedeck seems to know his way around a perfumer's organ the same way the erstwhile sportsman knows a frosty halfpipe. Tubéreuse Impériale seems an awful lot like a classic mid-century aldehydic floral for women, but modernized a bit to both meet IFRA regulations while also being realistic about the tastes of its target audience, and that's what I like most about it. Tubéreuse Impériale doesn't try to be something its not ever going to live up to being, and does instead what many Bruno Fazzolari takes on classic subjects do, by bending the "rules" to suit where we are now, versus trying to take us back to where we were. The older perfumes still exist to do that, so this one doesn't have to, and instead does something all its own by blending new and old rather than walking in the footsteps of "giants" to its own critical doom. Ultimately this is still about tuberose, so make sure that checks the right box before going in.

This perfume is no "terrible tuberose monster" like a great many 80's perfume that carry similar theme, or at least Sophia Grojsman hadn't snuck her "hug me" accord into it, so expect a mild uplifting of aldehydes into the opening of geranium, oft-abused pink pepper, and tuberose. From there, the soft fleshy tuberose is shaped by musky indolic ylang-ylang, jasmine sambac, and a touch of iris to keep it from getting too "bordello", while the geranium adds a rose-like clarity without the usual tell-tale sharpness of rose. The base is where you figure out this is no vintage chypre, because oakmoss is replaced entirely by cashmeran, it's fuzzy woodiness replacing the buttery green plonk of oakmoss one might expect. Old heads might find this a dealbreaker, but honestly they all checked out of exploring new perfumes 15 to 20 years ago anyway, so I don't expect their echo chamber of dissent to matter much against the overall reception of this perfume. For everyone else, warm vanilla and benzoin greet the nose like an old friend, softening the tuberose further, while the usual denatured patchouli and sandalwood molecules keep everything on skin. Wear time is over 10 hours, with intense sillage and moderate projection, and Tubéreuse Impériale reads rather romantic to my nose, so it's best for evening wear or quiet autumnal days if your career has afforded you your own office space. Something like this may stifle or feel too emotional for a communal work place.

BDK Perfumes is a niche house, so the prices can be expected to sit above what you might expect for a perfume of comparable quality to be, and $200 is a ballpark figure for what you might pay at retail, if you can find it (so sample first if unsure). BDK Perfumes in general reminds me of a more-modern Marc de la Morandiere in the way the various perfumes come across "middle of the road" in their use of mixed natural and synthetic media, capture very specific themes or vibes, and seem all about the perfume itself rather than the pomp and circumstance of ownership like so many "luxury" themed niche houses in today's market. That's to say, you don't have to feel like a total Chad buying into this brand, but at the same time, you likely won't anyway unless you're a guy who enjoys genderbending as this specific BDK reads very feminine in demeanor. BDK Parfums Tubéreuse Impériale does the rare feat of making me like a tuberose-forward fragrance, and I think exactly why has more to do with all the meticulous blending of notes around the flower in support of making it feel more abstract and inviting, rather than punching beating you over the head with a clutch with aldehydes or burying you in fruity syrup tones. Gabrielle Chanel (2017) would try to be like this with orange blossom in place of tuberose, claiming to be an ode to a fictional flower, but seems much less resolute and lays it's seams bare, something David Benedek avoids like a tree on snowboard course. Thumbs up.