For a brief introduction to everything earthy, herbal, spicy or aromatic in attar, mukhallat and concentrated oil perfumery, see a handy primer here. Now on to the reviews!
017 (Hyde & Alchemy)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
No. 017 is an unusual scent. It opens with a strikingly dirty mint-citrus accord, which manages to feel both fresh and dilapidated at the same time. It then unravels into a semi-poisonous cherry and clove drop heart. It smells see-through, like a boiled candy, flavor RED in all caps.
Many BPAL perfumes treat cinnamon notes in this syrupy, bitter manner, with a lurid intensity that signals a lack of sophistication. This is no different. Unlike BPAL perfumes, to be fair, there is a minty effervescence in the background that smells different and attractive. But the composition would clearly have been better served if either the listed birch or patchouli had turned up and done their part.
026 (Hyde & Alchemy)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
No. 026 is a fresh, foresty affair that initially feels like placing your nose against a frost-covered window. Bergamot, lavender, and pine show off the coldest, most bracing parts of their collective character, creating a dry ice effect that has been cleverly pinned against a dusty, warm cedarwood accord for contrast. Cedarwood is not listed, but its presence is felt far more strongly here than the advertized sandalwood, which doesn’t even bother sticking its head around the door.
There is a strange, but not unwelcome, hint of staleness to the dusty woods here, like the scent of a log cabin being kicked back into life at the start of the summer season. Radiator dust, stale-smelling sheets, clean wood, unwashed hair, and the burnt-sugar crackle of homemade caramel popcorn on the stove. I like that this scent encompasses both the smells of the forest and the comforts of the inside.
Cozy and reassuring, No. 026 would work well for hikers, naturalists, and crusty dads who just want to go up to the summer cabin with the kids and not have to shower for a week straight.
019 (Hyde & Alchemy)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
There is no patchouli listed here. And yet, weirdly, the opening is all patchouli, momentarily spinning me back in time to when I slathered the oil neat onto my skin as a teenager, staining my t-shirt cuffs a dirty nicotine-yellow. The musty patch note subsides quickly enough to make me question my own sanity, leaving in its place a minty lavender and iris combo that smells mineralic, like water flowing over stones.
In an unusual effect, No. 019 smells both crystalline and foggy, as if the stream of water is catching here and there on nuggets of golden amber resin strewn over the riverbed. The scent’s herbal overlay gains warmth and body from the amber, but is not weighed down, remaining bright all the way through.
I like No. 019 because, unlike many of the Hyde & Alchemy oils, it is not afraid to make a statement. The patch-heavy opening admittedly smells a little headshoppy. But the lavender and iris materials can be perceived quite distinctly, and it is these more sophisticated elements that shift the scent out of the headshop and into ‘earth-mother-and-CEO’ mode.
1001 Nights, or Alf Lail o Lail (Ajmal)
Type: concentrated perfume oil, based on the traditional distilled attar known as ‘shamama’
Photo by Joshuva Daniel on Unsplash
1001 Nights is a smoky, woody-animalic take on the idea of shamama, the traditional Indian attar that combines over sixty different notes and materials, and for which the recipe varies from family to family, attar company to attar company. It is difficult to pinpoint the main features of shamama attar, such is its complexity, but traditionally, a shamama will contain an array of (vegetal) amber notes, aromatics, flowers, spices, bitter herbs, musk, and saffron. Some shamama attars smell earthy, sweet, and grassy, whereas others are damp, medicinal, and woody. All are very rich, sharp, and potent.
This is the only shamama attar I have ever smelled, however, that transmutes the vegetal into the animal. 1001 Nights takes the foundation of shamama and twists it into the semblance of civet-soaked piece of wood, whose basic aroma mimics that of raw Hindi oud oil. The opening reeks of sour barnyard, smoke, damp hay, urine, and freshly tanned leather, keening like a banshee with a high-pitched bile note as effective as amyl nitrate in snapping the wearer to attention.
Given time, the sharp Hindi opening slowly drifts into a complex series of interlocking notes such as hay strewn with bitter green herbs, dry aged woods, smoky vetiver, grass, and spicy red pepper. Henna and saffron feature too, their mustiness adding a dulled, ochre-yellow spice tonality. 1001 Nights smells erotic, troubling, and naughty.
Spiritual? Yes, that too, particularly if you already use Hindi oud for meditative or spiritual purposes. 1001 Nights smells as ancient as the red earth on the banks of the Ganges and as piercingly animalic as the hordes of people gathering there, in Varanasi, for Diwali. There is an awkward type of beauty here for those patient enough to listen to, and catch, all the nuances of the perfume. By corollary, 1001 Nights is not for the faint of heart or for those looking for a dumbed-down, non-confrontational snapshot of the genre.
Aanandha (Alkemia)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: Gul-hina Flowers and Rare Mitti Earth – A special blend for perfume connoisseurs combining concentrated extraits of Mitti and Hina blossoms in meadowfoam oil.
Aanandha is the second in Alkemia’s series of tributes to traditional Indian attar perfumery, this time focusing on the pairing of gul hina, an attar distilled from henna flower, and mitti, an attar distilled from dry Indian earth. The opening is pure hina in all its plasticky, vegetal sweetness and for about ten minutes, it reminds me of the start to some Nemat oils, most of which have a vague petrochemical feel to them, as if the botanical aromas are fighting to get through a miasma of melting plastic, vegetable oil, and banana skin. In case you were wondering, all this means is that Aanandha captures the weirdness of henna flowers quite accurately. It might not be something Westerners are used to, or even like, but the tone is spot on.
Given time to settle, the oil evens out into bodacious rosy-resinous amber identifiable only as a typical ‘attar’ type of smell, meaning a half-syrupy, half-powdery mixture of rose, sandalwood, and amber, with a chaser of something unidentifiable to maintain the allure of the exotic. The mitti, or whatever was there of it to begin with, is completely lost in the mix. Mitti has a very delicate scent profile that doesn’t stand up well to powerful notes such as henna or rose. Still, this is a beautiful tribute to a style of attar making that is sadly endangered these days, and more than adequately justifies its price tag of $30 for five milliliters.
Absolute Oakwood (Clive Christian)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
On the skin, Oakwood opens with the lanolin-like oiliness that characterizes the opening of many of the Clive Christian oils, before drying down to a dusty wood threaded with tiny seams of dark chocolate, plum, and metallic clove. On paper, it reveals itself to be even more complex, with notes of creamy mint, cinnamon, tonka, and dark rum emerging slowly in the background.
Absolute Oakwood is more evolved than most of the other Absolute oils (with the notable exception of Absolute Sandalwood, which is on par with this). It presents quite an abstract, blurred picture of the star player. Oakwood, as a raw material, can smell as pungent as cheese, raw milk, or even fecal matter. Needless to say, Clive Christian does not allow any of these less desirable features to leak into Absolute Oakwood.
Instead, an idealized version of dry, toasty wood appears, made autumnal with plummy fruits and a boozy thickness. It operates in the same general arena as Chêne by Serge Lutens, though nowhere near as dry or as minimalistic. There is also a sheen of woody radiance – Iso E Super perhaps – that renders Absolute Oakwood’s voice audible at thirty paces.
Absolute Vetiver (Clive Christian)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash
Absolute Vetiver accentuates the fresher aspects of vetiver root with topnotes of bergamot, lemon, and what smells to me like bitter orange or lime. The effervescent sparkle of the citruses is a perfection introduction for the earthy vetiver note that arrives to take up the central stake in the fragrance. Together, these notes form an accord that is more freshly-cut grass than dank, marshy root. Further on, a note of medicinal clay appears, giving an impression of soft leather rubbed with medicinal salve.
Many modern vetiver fragrances soften the impact of a rooty vetiver with creamy florals, burned sugar, and hazelnut notes, perhaps aiming for an entire generation of men raised on tonkified masculines. But Absolute Vetiver stays clean and fresh, tucking its heels in and staying close to the more classical vetivers such as Vetiver Extraordinaire by Frederic Malle or Guerlain’s Vetiver.
Like the Malle in particular, there is a metallic radiance to the central accord that signposts the presence of modern aromachemicals and woody ambers. This synthetic breeze runs through most, if not all, of the Clive Christian Absolute oils, but varies in how strongly it presents to the nose based on the individual scent. Absolute Amber, Absolute Osmanthus, and Absolute Oakwood are woody amber behemoths, while Absolute Orris and Absolute Rose make far more judicious use of them.
Absolute Vetiver sits comfortably at the midway point. The woody ambers are present enough to make you notice the radiance of the scent, but not so aggressive as to take over the scent or obscure its more delicate notes. I mention this only as a useful reference for people who might be buying blind, and who are looking for oils specifically featuring this type of woody radiance (or indeed, like me, trying to avoid it).
Al Andalus (Amouage)
Type: mukhallat
Famously one half of the most exalted Amouage attar – Homage – Al Andalus is a bright aromatic fougère that can be worn by women and men alike. Stuffed to the brim with green herbs such as clary sage and rosemary, the opening feels like being awoken from a peaceful sleep by someone slapping you across the face with a bunch of dripping wet herbs. Underscoring the herbs is a bright citrus accent and a velvety, mossy base that smells like the inside of a cool, damp forest. The bitterness of the herbs, citrus, and moss is softened by a pinch of sandalwood, but this is not your average thick, sweet Middle-Eastern attar.
Al Andalus is not overly complex or rich, but its refreshing herbal qualities make it an excellent choice in hot summer months. It is basically the attar equivalent of a bar of Irish Spring.
Alhambra (Arcana)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: Recline in the shadow of the Alhambra with this Moorish blend of pomegranate juice, fresh Spanish rosemary, aged patchouli and golden beeswax. Made with skin-soothing coconut milk, safflower petals and tussah silk. The Court of the Lions beckons.
The opening to Alhambra is a mash-up of my least favorite notes in perfumery and is therefore difficult for me to write about with much objectivity. An onion-sweat clove joins with a rosemary note so camphoraceously bitter that it smells like straight eucalyptus oil. The result is simply unholy – a stinking miasma of sharp, urinous notes of headache-inducing proportions and volume. There is a metallic blood-like nuance flitting in and out that adds to the misery, creating an overall impression of unclean air clinging to the clothes of someone suffering from a chronic illness.
I cannot imagine anyone wanting to have this on their skin, but, of course, taste is subjective. Alhambra dries down to a grungy red musk and patchouli combo that, while still sour and marginally unpleasant, does tug us back into more familiar territory.
Needless to say, nothing in this bears any relation to pomegranate, either real or imagined. Pomegranate in perfumery is always interpreted through synthetics, which invariably smell like cherries filtered through industrial soap. But Alhambra does not even have the grace to smell like cherries or soap. This perfume is a personal Armageddon, so it is possible that others might have a more positive experience. In which case, forgive me and ignore this review.
Al Mas (Amouage)
Type: mukhallat
Photo by Jyoti Singh on Unsplash
Al Mas has a uniquely calm, sweet demeanor. It successfully balances two very distinct accords – one, a saffron-rose-sandalwood accord that smells like an exotic floral custard, the other, a bitter but refreshing mélange of fern-like herbs, oud, rosemary, and citrus. In a way, therefore, Al Mas is a playful mash-up between rose jam and a fougère. I remember the late, great Conor McTeague calling Mon Guerlain a ‘taffy fougère’ for its fun combination of a masculine lavender with sweet, candied notes borrowed from feminine perfumery: the same definition might apply to Al Mas. Taking the best from both genres, Al Mas knits everything together into a scent that smells exotic in the most approachable way possible.
Al Mas bears some similarity to Asrar in that they both revolve around saffron, but in replacing the gummy orange blossom with roses and sandalwood, it improves on the model. The attar opens on a toasted, dusty-sweet saffron accord dotted with rose petals, spice, and nuggets of golden, salted caramel, i.e., the ambergris. It suggests that this might be a gourmand spin on the traditional rosy attar smell.
Almost immediately, however, the taffy-like saffron-rose combination is counterpointed by a remarkably dank oud note and a clutch of damp herbs, greenery, and forest leaves. The oud smells very natural here, and if it is not genuine oud oil, then it is a stunning reconstruction of its inky, leathery aroma, with zero trace of the tanning chemical sharpness that dogs other oud compositions. The sandalwood is dry but creamy and textured with spiky rosemary. Together, these notes form a dark, fragrant base suggestive of dark green velvet spread under yellow gold.
Medicinal, sweet, sour, creamy, and dusty – every nuance in Al Mas has been carefully positioned to counter-balance the other. In sense of range, radiance, and balance, I am tempted to say that Al Mas could be Jubilation XXV in attar form.
Al Souqh (Sultan Pasha Attars)
Type: mukhallat
Al Souqh opens on a rich, medicinal haze of oud, a sort of terpenic woodiness that instantly lifts the mood. But almost immediately a very odd accord moves in – and it is quite unpleasantly animalic, like the dirty, rotting smell of a j-cloth left to rot in a damp sink, or metallic dust gathered at the back of a disused radiator. The smell is that of staleness, or inert air. It is also intensely spicy, suggesting the cloying antiseptic dirtiness of clove or carnation when overdosed in a blend.
This accord dissipates mercifully quickly, clearing the way for an astringent black tea note that is astonishingly true to life – rich, smoky, and salubrious. Its dark, dry tenor is shot through with sparks of fiery hot spices and smoke, licking around the oud like flames around a stone in an open grate. Out of the smoke, a shape slowly emerges, revealing itself to be a rose. Not a fresh, sweet rose, but an austere flower with dried-out petals and a potpourri-ish surround sound system of cinnamon bark, black pepper, tea, and cloves. Fans of red-hot spice orientals such as the original Comme des Garcons EDP, Comme des Garcons White, Diptyque’s Eau Lente, and, to a certain extent, Costes, will appreciate this stage of the attar.
A sweet rose-honey accord blooms around the dry spices, and the smoke recedes into the background just enough to allow the dried berry nuances of the Cambodi-style oud to emerge. An amber rich in plummy, dried fruit and incense notes brings up the rear, with very pleasant echoes of amber stalwarts such as the legendary Amber Absolute by Tom Ford. A rocky start, therefore, but one that rewards patience.
The Antikythera Mechanism (BPAL)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: Bronze gears spin inside a polished wooden case, and an entire universe dances within. Teakwood, oak, black vanilla, and tobacco.
The Antikythera Mechanism is one of those instances where my nose refuses to acknowledge the official notes list and insists that, based on experience, it is smelling something else entirely. To my rebellious nose, this is earthy patchouli with the same cocoa-brown dustiness of Serge Lutens’ Borneo 1834 or Parfumerie Generale’s Coze. But nobody else seems to perceive it as such.
There is a pinch of tobacco leaf underneath the dusty, dark-chocolate patchouli accord, but it registers as a fleeting soapiness rather than as something more distinct. That dark, earthy chocolate patchouli – if that is indeed what it is – is gorgeous. Rich in a myriad of facets that reveal themselves slowly, it turns on a dime from bitter coffee grounds to nuts, booze, wood, and camphor.
It is not edible or gourmand in any way. Neither is it particularly ambery or balsamic. But it does run in the same track as Borneo 1834 and Coze, so fans of those scents may want to sample this. To me, and possibly no-one else, the Antikythera Mechanism is a dusty patch with intent.
Arcana (BPAL)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: The essence of magickal [sic] enigmas and long-forgotten esoteric mysteries. Frankincense, rosemary, lavender, neroli, and verbena.
Pungent, oily lavender in all its aromatic glory. If you don’t enjoy lavender, quietly skip this one. The green-blue sharpness of the opening calls to mind the blue skies of Provence, an image further underscored by a strong rosemary note.
Despite the headlining frankincense, this is a fresh herbal scent, rather than an ambery or resinous one. Only the lemony, fresh pine aspects of frankincense have been emphasized so that it forms a logical bridge with the bright herbs and aromatics. Arcana is a good stab at that elusive ‘fern’ flavor, but its medicinal undertone limits its appeal to hardcore fans of aromatic fougères. For everyone else, the relentless brightness could prove a bit of a chore.
Arcanum (Alkemia)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: An enigmatic yet compelling blend of seductive eastern spices, aged patchouli, and sandalwood. Frankincense, nag champa, and dragons blood deepen the mystery.
Arcanum is a balsamic amber that runs close in feel to Opium by Yves Saint Laurent, with a spicy, soapy sandalwood note recalling incense, prayer beads, and dried cloves. Some will interpret these accords as potpourri-ish, but those enamored of the earthy spice of Opium will rejoice. The dried fruit element is nicely lightened with a cool, minty patch, making me think of Boney M and men in brown corduroy jeans. It dries down to nag champa with a chaser of that sweet, soapy sandalwood that Alkemia likes to use.
Arcanum evokes vague, Western notions of the East, sure, but infuses it with a self-consciously retro, seventies vibe that is totally groovy. Flower children of the world, unite and buy stock in this wonderful little thing.
Ar Ruqya (Mellifluence)
Type: mukhallat
Photo by Conscious Design on Unsplash
Less of a mukhallat, really, than an unguent to ward off jinn (evil spirit), Ar Ruqya is an all-natural blend of raw materials celebrated for their cleansing or spiritual properties in India. It opens with the spicy floral-medicinal ointment feel common to most traditional Indian attars, which is likely a function of the combination of spikenard, saffron, rose, costus, and musk.
The attar evolves along a cleanly musky trajectory, with a lime green sharpness in its upper registers that seems like it might scour a wound if directly applied to skin. Overall, this is a blend that belies its long list of ingredients by coming off as pleasantly simple and straightforward. It is quite traditionally Indian in character in that it smells medicinal and ayurvedic rather than perfumey in the traditional sense.
Autumn Fire (Mellifluence)
Type: mukhallat
The opening to Autumn Fire is arresting – a clump of wet roots mashed up with stinging camphor and poisonously bitter green leaves, all mulched gently over freshly-cut pine logs. It is a richly evocative smell, recalling an impenetrable thicket of thorns and saplings.
The Malaysian oud used here must be one of those steamy jungle ouds, because although it brings the high-pitched woody tenor of oud to the mix, all barnyard funk is left firmly at the front door. It is slightly somber in tone, with none of the berry-studded caramel notes of other styles of ouds. There is even a cool, watery mint note threading in and out of the fug, further pointing to a steamy rainforest island provenance.
Nag champa notes bring a hint of gummy, unlit incense sweetness to the camphoraceous body, but in general, the smoke notes are minimal. This is principally a Zen, easy-going foresty mukhallat with sweet, earthy and green undertones. A velvety musk envelops the composition, preparing a pleasantly soft landing for the foresty notes. A trace of sweet, smoky labdanum – although none is listed – appears to weave in and out of the musk. This is really the only stage when the smoke notes are assertive to the point of being noticeable.
In brief, despite the heavy-hitting materials listed for this attar, Autumn Fire is ultimately a light, subtle, and outdoorsy little thing. I recommend it to people who love the smell of the great outdoors, especially that of the forest and the ambered, sweet smoke of a far-off campfire.
Bazaar (La Via del Profumo/ Abdes Salaam Attar)
Type: mukhallat
Remember the Soda Streams sold in the eighties? I recall the excitement in our household when we finally got one, and specifically, the smell of the soft drink concentrate that came with it, a sort of proto-Fanta and proto-Coca Cola. The idea was to ‘revive’ the concentrate in the Soda Stream with the addition of carbonated water. Well, Bazaar revolves around a note that smells exactly like the Coca Cola concentrate that came with these machines. Dark, syrupy, spicy with cinnamon, and a little plasticky, it brings me right back (in a good way).
Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your level of fondness for Coca Cola), Bazaar then begins to pick up on the sweatier aspects of the spices, particularly the clove. There is also some cumin or fenugreek in here somewhere. It becomes heavy and sticky, almost to the point of being ‘too too’. If Bazaar starts off smelling like Coca Cola concentrate, then it ends up firmly in the souk originally promised by the name.
Truth be told, there is something a little hackneyed and even cheap-smelling about the spice-and-dried-fruit ‘orientalism’ on display here. You wear this and think, yes, that smells like a souk, so ten out of ten for authenticity, but also, hmmm, haven’t I smelled that exact thing in one of those cheap little perfume oil shops in Cairo or Mumbai? (Answer: yes, you have.)
Although Bazaar’s more syrupy spice elements are deftly placed on top of smoky resins and labdanum for contrasting ballast, the result still smells like a clumsy soup of souk + chocolatey Darbar attar + headshop amber cubes + sweat. Or maybe it is just me, bitter that the Soda Stream cola note was whipped away from me far too soon.
Bloodlust (BPAL)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: A fiery Martial blend that embodies primal rage, lust for conquest, and all-encompassing desire. Dragon’s blood essence, heavy red musk, Indonesian patchouli and swarthy vetiver with a drop of cinnamon.
Almost exactly as described in the company description, Bloodlust is a heavy blend of camphoraceous patchouli, vetiver, and ‘red’ musk. At first, it smells like the damp, brown earth of a humid tropical island. Unsweet and with a claggy, clay-like dankness, it actually makes sense as a hot weather scent in the same way as mitti does. In fact, any earthy soil-like scent has the same cooling properties. There is also a thread of metal or iodine, which, combined with the clay, smells like iron-rich blood.
In the drydown, the rooty wetness of vetiver swells to fill the air pockets of the scent, bringing with it the whiff of stagnant vase water and salt marsh. It smells quite like ruh khus, the cooling vetiver distillation used by Indians in summer. Bloodlust is a distinctive and useful little blend that matches its rather (unusually for BPAL) straightforward description.
Bohemian Spice (April Aromatics)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Photo by Hanna Balan on Unsplash
Although identifiably the same scent, the perfume oil and eau de parfum versions of Bohemian Spice differ significantly enough to be noteworthy. Part of this has to do with the nature of the oil carrier itself. As with Le Labo oils, the carrier oil tends to flatten the edges of citric or aromatic notes, delaying their unfurling until further along the compositional timeline. The experience ends up being roughly similar, in other words, but the various stages ‘hit’ the nose at different times.
However, it is also fair to say that part of the difference between the oil and eau de parfum versions is due to tweaks to the formula made by the perfumer herself, in order to create a slightly different outcome. The April Aromatics perfume oils were designed to be worn in situations where a more subtle scent is appropriate, such as in the office or at yoga. In general, the oil versions of the AA scents are ditties based on the bigger, deeper songs of the eau de parfum versions; they are simpler, shorter in trajectory, and more compact. They are also much quieter than their eau de parfum brethren.
Now onto Bohemian Spice. The oil version of Bohemian Spice is a Café del Mar version of the classics in the background while you work, whereas the eau de parfum version is sitting through seven hours of Wagner. The original eau de parfum is a juicy pomander orange studded with shards of black pepper, rolled in the earthy, almost chocolatey darkness of patchouli and vetiver. Its genius lies in its balance of light and dark.
Wearing the original side by side with the perfume oil, I notice a lot of dry, smoky labdanum in the eau de parfum that is neither listed nor noted in most reviews. (It doesn’t show up at all in the perfume oil). Its effect in the eau de parfum is marvelous, merging with the frankincense to form a hulking amber-incense backdrop that reminds me of Amber Absolute and Sahara Noir, both by Tom Ford. Most find Calling All Angels to closely resemble Sahara Noir, but with its sour orange and resinous frankincense-amber duet, Bohemian Spice is arguably the closer match.
Bohemian Spice is a touchstone of natural perfumery for me, because even though it doesn’t contain any synthetic musks or woody ambers, it manages to be rich, complex, and long-lasting. If you’re a Doubting Thomas on the whole natural, crunchy-granola perfumery scene, then roll the dice on a sample of Bohemian Spice. Smelling Bohemian Spice as an introduction to the all-natural scene is like reluctantly trudging along to a vegan dinner at a friend’s house and finding yourself completely satisfied (not to mention quasi-converted) by the end of the meal.
The perfume oil version is chewy and satisfying, albeit in a slightly different way to the eau de parfum. First – and this is unusual for a citrus note in oil format – the bitter orange pomander notes ring out even more clearly than in the eau de parfum, where they are quickly crowded by the earthy patchouli and vetiver. The patchouli in the oil is subtler and its chocolate note a creamy white rather than an earthy dark. The limpid milkiness of the patchouli note in the oil seems to allow the orange and spices to flare more brightly and insistently than in the eau de parfum.
The second key difference is in the nature of the incensey-ambery support that threads through both formats. In the eau de parfum, as discussed, a dusty labdanum and benzoin blend works with the sooty frankincense note to produce that austere, church-resin feel common to both Amber Absolute and Sahara Noir (Tom Ford). In the perfume oil, on the other hand, the amber-incense accord smells light and almost sparkly, like tiny nuggets of resins fizzing on the surface of pink champagne.
Whereas the original smells dark and thickly embroidered, with a deep, rich baritone voice that seems to come from large, rocky chunks of resin, the oil format compresses everything into a surface layer of glittering resin that’s been pulverized into mica. Both versions are incredibly satisfying but choose the striking eau de parfum if you want to make an impression, and the oil if you want a private audience with the scent.
Bonfires at Dusk (Arcana)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: Woodsmoke, sweet beeswax, Oregon lavender, sandalwood, charred juniper, and the scent of swiftly appearing stars.
Pungent, slightly smoky lavender and juniper form the herbal backbone to the perfume, while beeswax and sandalwood makes things pleasantly soapy, sweet, and musky in the drydown. I heartily recommend Bonfires at Dusk for forest hikes, where it seems to meld with one’s own body temperature and skin musk to form a glowing ‘salt of the earth’ aura that radiates for days (or until you wash it off).
The Bow & Crown of Conquest (BPAL)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: Nobility and haughtiness befitting the Antichrist: sage, carnation and cedar with lavender, vanilla, white musk and leather.
Now this is a beautiful perfume. It features none of the loud, booming honey, musks, or resins that typically herald a BPAL perfume. Instead, this is a soft, buff-colored cream of pencil cedar, vanilla, and touches of mint, sage, lavender, and anise, whipped up into a pillowy cloud of white musks. Less Antichrist, more angel, if you ask me.
A base of brushed grey suede gives the creamy, aromatic woods and herbs something to rest against. In the far drydown, a dusty carnation blows a puff of hot spice through the suede, lending the scent some retro-femme appeal.
Parallels to Snowshoe Pass and White Fox by Solstice Scents could be drawn, with perhaps hints of Guardian (for the sage), but I find The Bow & Crown Conquest to be even better. It is a uniquely restful blend from BPAL, and one that I would recommend to anyone looking for Zen in the hustle and bustle of daily life.
Boy (Universal Perfumes & Cosmetics)
Type: dupe, concentrated perfume oil
Initially, things do not look good for this Chanel dupe. It opens with a metallic grapefruit note that seems to go on forever, a feature absent from the original. However, once the pungent citrus notes die back a little, the dupe settles into a decent facsimile of Chanel Boy, especially in the mid-section, where the familiar aromatic eddy of lavender, heliotrope, and sandalwood begins to move.
For a while, the dupe smells relatively similar to that of the original, although the fougère accord in the dupe possesses a Germolene note not present in the original, bringing it closer – strictly speaking – to the Narciso Rodriguez white cube perfume territory than to Boy.
However, by hour two, the lack of substance and quality in the base of the dupe becomes evident. The original has an almondy sandalwood and tonka bean drydown that feels like falling into a bed piled high with thick cashmere blankets. The dupe peters out into an altogether thinner, more synthetic sandalwood basenote.
Chanel invests in its materials. In dupes of any Chanel fragrance, therefore, there will inevitably be a shortfall in quality, texture, and, well, the Chanel magic stardust that seems to be sprinkled over everything they produce. These are the things that are hard to replicate. This shortfall is particularly obvious in the fresher perfumes in the Chanel line-up, such as Boy. Therefore, the dupe, while a fairly good impression, will never be an adequate replacement for the real thing.
Bushido (Rising Phoenix Perfumery)
Type: mukhallat
Photo by Jaspreet Kalsi on Unsplash
Bushido is an attar made exclusively for The World in Scents, a Princeton-based purveyor of fine attars and pure oud oils. Its name translates to ‘the way of the Samurai. The idea for this attar came from the ancient Japanese practice among royalty, Samurai warriors, and the nobility of scenting their kimonos, robes, and sword sheaths with a blend of tsubaki, an oil made from camellia flower petals, and choji, clove oil.
Sometimes powdered jinko, the Japanese word for aloeswood (agarwood), was also added to enrich the oil, but this would have been the preserve of only the wealthiest members of society, meaning the royal family of Japan. The use of agarwood is historically important in Japan, and dates to the 6th century AD, when fragments of fragrant agarwood were combined with aromatic herbs and woods to perform Kōboku, the act of perfuming one’s robes for religious and stately purposes. Important warriors also used it before battle, and it was an important commodity on the Silk Road.
Today, one can still see traces of the ancient ‘way of the Samurai in the making of Japanese incense. Oud oil is not particularly prized or used in Japan, but the densely-resinated wood from whence oud oil is extracted –agarwood – remains a crucial component of the Japanese incense tradition. The old traditions of tsubaki and choji have also left their mark – delicate floral notes and spicy clove-cinnamon flavorings are still very much part of the character of Japanese incense. Famous incense sticks such as Shoyeido’s Southern Wind (Nan-kun), for example, feature a combination of powdered jinko, usually from Cambodia, mixed with clove, star anise, sandalwood, camphor, and spikenard, the Himalayan herb also known as jatamansi (fresh, spicy, with a fatty animal undertone and lavender-like facets).
What Rising Phoenix Perfumery does with Bushido Attar is to trace the roots of tsubaki and choji oils back to its source, and using materials available currently, re-build the attar from scratch. When we smell Bushido Attar, therefore, we are smelling something that is as close as can be to the original oil these Samurai warriors would have massaged into their sword sheaths and the royals would have dabbed onto their ceremonial robes.
Bushido is constructed largely through the compounding of several distillates and extractions, most notably a trio of wild jinko (agarwood) oils (a Hindi, a Cambodi, and a Malaysian), a 1980s Mysore sandalwood oil, and a rare vintage star anise oil which dates to 1906. The star anise extract has both the clove and licorice tones common to Japanese incense.
The attar opens on the skin with a blaze of oud and spice so thickly knotted that it is difficult to parse out the pieces. Like flies trapped in amber, Bushido’s three oud oils float weightlessly in a bubble of molasses or chestnut honey. The oud assault at the start is animalic and leathery, hot with smoke and fruit, but not in the least raw, thanks to the smoothing out properties of that molten molasses accord. The texture is smooth, unctuous even, with the stifling density of hot tar.
The opening salvo of leathery oud and thick black honey is followed by a subtle arrangement of notes that begins to separate and float free of the oud – licorice, anise, clove, camphor, and allspice. The vintage allspice extract comes out distinctively as clove at first, with a rounded, almost cocoa-ish spiciness that completely avoids the more unpleasantly metallic aspects of modern clove notes. The spicy exoticism of the note is subtle, defining the overall feel of the attar as firmly Japanese in orientation rather than Indian or Middle Eastern.
As time goes on, the structure of the attar opens a little, the leathery thrust of the ouds dimming to allow more of the spices to come out, and revealing a rich, salty buttery Mysore sandalwood in the base. The slide from fiery-hot to buttery-sweet reminds me slightly of one of my favorite perfumes, the magnificent Eau Lente by Diptyque. Tania Sanchez says in her review of Eau Lente in The Guide that it is the equivalent of “those hypnotic colored lights that slide from pink to cyan without anyone noticing”, which is a perfect way of describing the transitions in Bushido Attar too. The ambergris in this attar slices through the heft of the sandalwood with a salty, mineral sparkle, giving it air. The ambergris lingers long past the finale, leaving a trace of something musty, sweet, and saliva-ish on the skin.
Bushido is a must-try for anyone who loves the Japanese traditions of Kōdō. If you’re unfamiliar with the characteristic Japanese combination of agarwood, clove, spikenard, star anise, and sometimes immortelle, then perhaps approach this attar with caution. It is not immediately familiar to the Western palate, which means it might not be immediately likeable. But if you like carnation, clove, or even if you rather like fragrances like Diptyque’s Kimonanthe or Eau Lente, then give Bushido a try.
Chimera (BPAL)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: The fiery, volatile scent of cinnamon, thickened by myrrh, honeysuckle, and copal.
Chimera smells like a Red Hot in the best way imaginable. For the best part of the first hour, it is truly a cinnamon-aflore, with little else but the fiery cinnamon on show. Later on, it begins to smell like buttery toast or pain perdu with a heavy sprinkling of cinnamon sugar. It is a delicious, almost edible scent.
Tl;dr: must love cinnamon. But even if you’re naturally wary of cinnamon, it is worth knowing that the note has been handled so that none of its usual pungency or bitter woodiness seeps into the blend. Rather, it has been coddled and massaged with a creamy amber accord and a hint of something sweetly floral until all the nose perceives is a perfectly smooth, round spiciness with just the right amount of heat. .
Coromandel (Universal Perfumes & Cosmetics)
Type: dupe, concentrated perfume oil
Ah, but Chanels are difficult to dupe. No matter how many times you run a fragrance like Coromandel through a gas spectrometer, you cannot make pearls out of a swine’s ear. Access to superior grades of sandalwood, iris, jasmine, and patchouli means that any attempt to dupe a Chanel will inevitably lack that indefinable touch of class that only Chanel can bestow.
The shortfalls of the dupe are immediately clear. Whereas the original bursts onto the skin in a skein of glittering aldehydes, oranges, soft white chocolate, Irish whisky, and jasmine, all the dupe can rise to is a ruby grapefruit note over watered-down patchouli.
Crucially, the dupe does not smell like melted white chocolate, cashmere, or any of the rich, comforting things that makes the original such a hygge fragrance experience. In the original, it is the chemistry between the powdery benzoin, golden amber, and earthy (but smooth) patch that creates the famous white chocolate accord. The dupe tries to rally but its reedy raw materials are inadequate to the task, and the whole affair just limps along.
This dupe fails on just about every level, but with Coromandel, it is the textural component that matters the most, and here the dupe cannot compete. Save your soul and buy a bottle of the original (the eau de toilette, if you can find it, for preference) because this dupe is about as satisfying as licking a stamp when you are starving.
Cotton Mather (Sixteen92)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: Blackened patchouli, woodland mosses, sweet herbs, dried helichrysum, woodsmoke, lamplight, ink, ash and flame
Cotton Mather shares something of the acrid leather-patchouli DNA of several other Sixteen92 blends, especially Baba Yaga and Salem, but winds up in a far quieter place than either. It smells like a cross between the sourness of linen folded away while still damp and the hairspray-ish chemical high of paper drying processes in a printing press, all underscored by a shadowy, mossy patchouli. It is at once less atmospheric and more subtle than either Baba Yaga or Salem, and thus, perhaps, more wearable.
The scent dries down to a fine-grained, mossy powder, like handfuls of burnt hay and grasses blitzed to a brown dust. Immortelle usually brings a Mach 5 level of maple sugar intensity to a composition, but Cotton Mather is dry rather than syrupy or overblown. Indeed, I see this as a lighter indie oil equivalent to something like Comme des Garcons’ Patchouli Luxe, a similarly ashy immortelle-patchouli combination. Nice work.
About Me: A two-time Jasmine Award winner for excellence in perfume journalism, I write a blog (this one!) and have authored many guides, articles, and interviews for Basenotes. (My day-to-day work is in the scientific research for development world). Thanks to the generosity of friends and acquaintances in the perfume business, I have been privileged enough to smell the raw materials that go into perfumes and learn about the role they play in both Western and Eastern perfumery. Artisans have sent vials of the most precious materials on earth such as ambergris, deer musk, and oud. But I have also spent thousands of euros of my own money, buying oud oils directly from artisans and tons of dodgy (and possibly illegal) stuff on eBay. In the reviews sections, I will always tell you where my sample came from and whether I paid for it or not.
Source of samples: I purchased all the samples reviewed in this chapter, apart from the samples from April Aromatics, Rising Phoenix Perfumery, and Sultan Pasha Attars, which were gifted to me by those brands for Attar Guide review purposes.
Cover Image: Photo by Marion Botella on Unsplash
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