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Le Labo Patchouli 24

Nose: Annick Menardo

notes: patchouli; birch, styrax; vanilla

Patchouli 24 opens with a deeply smoked, twangy, almost tobacco-like chord, rich with coppery caramelization and just the right amount of sweetness. It's funky, it's peaty, it's bracing, it's satisfying.

A minute or so in, I also get warm incense spice and dark vanilla, for an almost root-beer-y effect. It blends with the original smoked-peat chord, like autumn leaves in rain.

Patchouli 24 is definitely not "a patchouli" fragrance; it's often described as more of a leather, but I don't smell leather at all myself. I'd describe it as primarily a smoked-peat and amber scent. Some commenters describe it as "smoky barbecue", which is also a good description.

I find it a good balance between weirdness and likability; it's funky and friendly. Masculine-of-center (though I like it on myself) and definitely better as a warming presence on chillier days.

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Byredo Velvet Haze

Nose: Jerome Epinette

Notes: coconut, hibiscus, bergamot; patchouli, tuberose, osmanthus; musk, cacao, ambrette, cashmeran

I actually like Velvet Haze. It combines a hazy, creamy, mildly coconutty and cocoa-buttery clean musk, with a sharp Y2K-era tropical floral. And somehow it all comes together gracefully.

A little lotion-and-shampoo-from-The-Body-Shop, but in a good way. Smooth and comfortable.

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Baruti Oh My Deer

Nose: Spyros Drosopoulos

notes: black pepper, aldehydes, sichuan pepper; metallic notes, lily of the valley; animal notes, incense, musk, amber, vanilla

Oh My Deer! is a furry animalic musk scent, but it also goes on with a cooling, almost medicinal conifer forest scent and the hot-cold note of Sichuan pepper. This deer is in a dreamy, misty, chilly morning forest.

I find the effect cold to the point of being a bit unfriendly. It's as much an herbal/forest scent as a musk scent, without the warm touches that can make musks feel glamorous in a fur-coat-and-diamonds way.

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Neela Vermeire Creations Rahele

Nose: Bertrand Duchaufour

notes: violet leaf, cardamom, green mandarin, cinnamon; osmanthus, rose, violet, magnolia, iris, jasmine; leather, oakmoss, sandalwood, cedar, patchouli

Rahele opens sharp and citrusy-green, and then delicately floral. It feels like a springtime tree just barely starting to bloom. It's distinctly "perfumey" too, in a Frenchified way.

Then I get a sheer layer of wood and spice, a little peppery, a little cardamom-y, vaguely tan in tonality. It blends interestingly with the florals and citrus -- French feminine perfume meets Indian spice and fragrant wood.

Duchaufour's signature heavy/light effect is in evidence here; it feels like many layers of sheer gauze, dense enough for the "color" to show clearly but light enough to feel weightless and modern.

A few minutes in, the florals progress to a poignant rose, like a concentrated ruby tear of some mythical tiger that weeps pure rosewater.

Now we're in cardamom-rose mode: ruby-red and tan, still with that sheer-yet-vivid gauzy texture. Yes, the rose is damasconey and the cardamom is legible, but this isn't really a "spicy rose" in the Marrakech Intense style; it's far more delicate and nuanced.

Finally, Rahele warms up a bit with some resins and a nod to "patchouli" -- it's a (sheer) mellow brown aura, still touched with that ruby-red rose.

The whole progression is over in about three hours, but it's beautiful while it lasts.

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Byredo Eleventh Hour

Nose: Jerome Epinette

notes: bergamot, timur; plum, rum, fig, carrot seeds; cedar, cashmere wood, Iso E Super, tonka, olibanum, labdanum

Eleventh Hour opens exactly like grape juice, and then flashes the smoke-and-amber combination that's a cheap olfactory code for "sexiness."

Then, almost immediately, it melds into a buzzy grayish blur of woods, a lingering touch of grape juice, and neutral synthetics that smell like "nothing, but loudly." It's a fuzzy-carpet smell, a static smell, a dense random vibration.

Do I want to smell like grape juice, smoke, and white noise? No.

The vibe is definitely "packed house party", which is a valid aesthetic, but the execution is mediocre. Byredo has a reputation for niche branding & pricing without actual quality, and Eleventh Hour isn't doing much to change my mind.

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Anatole Lebreton Uruk

Nose: Anatole Lebreton

notes: orange, nutmeg, elemi; incense, labdanum; benzoin, papyrus, ambrarome, ambrox

Uruk is a bit of a new take on the familiar incense/spice Oriental genre. The frankincense is silvery, the nutmeg as warm as sticking your nose into the spice jar, but somehow the effect is novel. I get almost a whiff of pickle juice too, which is better than it sounds.

It really does feel coppery and hollow-resonant, like an ancient tomb or temple. The resins are nicely balanced to make it warm and lightly sweet, with the emphasis still on spice and frankincense.

It dries down to be more frankincense-dominated, dry and crackling. This part goes on for ages and is quite enjoyable; it makes the gray, rather aloof scent of pure frankincense almost friendly!

An excellent example of a "Fuck Yeah, incense/spice" scent, warmer and less rough than some, and thus easier to take, but as epic in spirit as anything from the Duchaufour school of austere grandeur.

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Gallivant Berlin

Nose: Karine Chevallier

notes: grapefruit, lemon, clementine, pepper; black tea; vetiver, cedar, patchouli

Berlin opens with a light, perfumey floral, and then quickly moves into dry black tea and pepper.

And *then* we get the shining citrus promised in the notes -- yep, that's a brisk woody-citrus all right, bright grapefruit and black pepper and a touch of smoke. The perfect morning pick-me-up.

In the far drydown, the woods are gone and it's just clean, light citrus, a little on the sharp side.

Berlin is a lot like other instances of the woody-citrus genre -- Wood Haven is similar -- but they're all good in my book. Masc-of-center, invigorating, with citrus brightness but also more smoky spine and staying power than a cologne.

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Baruti Onder de Linde

Nose: Spyros Drosopoulos

Notes: linden blossom, pear, honey, lilac, vetiver, musk, sandalwood, vanilla

Onder de Linde (Dutch for "Under the Lindens") opens kind of aquatic, in a pleasant, realistic way -- sky blue, all vase water and spring blossoms. It's amazing how wet it smells, while still smelling good.

The florals are fluffy, mellow, and lightly sweet. Not that distinctively "linden" or "lilac" -- if he had labeled them "mimosa" I wouldn't have blinked -- but no less pleasant for that.

Over the next few hours it gets sweeter, with a delicate milk-and-honey effect.

It's an original concept, and one of the few scents I've encountered that evoke dewy-wet freshness without a trace of a chemical aftertaste. (Zoologist Dragonfly is the other one). Onder de Linde is rather faint, mild, and simple -- even tame -- but sometimes you want a pretty, delicate, lightweight trifle, and this is one with peerless execution.

It's got a similar fresh spring mood to Tindrer, but more feminine and mellow. If Tindrer was a garden at dawn, Onder de Linde is a vase of flowers at noon, flooded with Vermeer's almost milky sunlight.

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Anatole Lebreton Armonia

Nose: Anatole Lebreton

notes: iris, leather, woody notes, styrax, ambrette, saffron, tonka, patchouli, vanilla

Armonia is the sort of "lady's purse" iris-leather, buttery-smooth and chock-full of ionones, that always makes me slightly queasy. There's also a hint of warm amber and something vaguely sunny and cheerful, but mostly we're in that plush, wistful iris-violet-leather zone.

I suppose Florentine iris is an appropriate theme for a fragrance inspired by Renaissance Italy, and this is a nice velvety execution of the theme (far less overtly feminine than the powder-puff Incarnata, with more leather-resin depth), but I just don't like ionones at all.

Ionones are the olfactory facet that violets and iris have in common; it's a cool, melancholy, and rather frou-frou feminine scent, reminiscent of old-fashioned cosmetics. I associate ionones with a sort of pastel-toned ballerina aesthetic.

Armonia has that in spades, but complemented with a smooth mellow leather that adds extra resonance, and warm dark resins that ultimately take over the drydown. It reminds me a bit of Chanel Misia, except less self-consciously "perfumey."

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Hiram Green Tryst

Nose: Hiram Green

notes: green notes, orange; neroli, orange blossom; honey, resins

Ok, Tryst is literally perfect neroli. Bitter-green, richly floral, and summery-fresh, with more facets than I've ever smelled in one of my favorite notes.

This is like a double-strong cologne; richer, deeper, swirlier, and greener, almost like tropical foliage. Sometimes i get almost a hint of a darker herbal bite.

About an hour in, it still retains the deep, strong greenness, but it's more dense, swoony orange blossom than fresh neroli.

Compared to Dilettante, Hiram Green's other orange blossom, Tryst is much greener and less sweet, more unisex rather than feminine, but similarly dense and heavy. It's almost like essential oil. Fuck Yeah Orange Blossom (and Neroli.). If you're looking for real-deal, high-quality, undiluted orange blossom -- no games, just hot summer humidity and swooning-strong scent -- this is it. "Refreshing" it ain't. Beautiful, though.

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Jorum Studio Athaeneum

Nose: Euan McColl

notes: beeswax, lavender, honey, fennel, apple; hay, neroli, hyacinth; ink, patchouli, gurjan balsam, leather, oak

Athenaeum opens intensely sharp and green and hissy, with something almost like white blackboard chalk underneath.

Then the chalk blends into a balmy beeswax-and-wildflowers meadow scent, with occasional hints of green apple. There's something dark underneath -- I get a hint of leather, but mostly it's just a sense of shadow.

In the far drydown we're back in a pale, balmy place that's hard to place. A little shady, a little green maybe, a little damp or watery, certainly a little "perfumey". Quite mild and subtle throughout.

This perfume is meant to be inspired by the smells of the National Library in Edinburgh, and there is a phase early on that smells papery or wood-pulpy, but I don't exactly get "ink".

Athenaeum is odd and undefinable. If I had to fit it into existing perfume tropes I might say "green + leather", but it's not quite that either. An interesting effect, and rather pleasant, but ultimately not one that especially speaks to me.

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Jorum Studio Trimerous

Nose: Euan McColl

notes: orris, suede, nectarine, carrot seeds, ambergris, thyme, musk, styrax, incense, bergamot, amgelica, vanilla, oudh, pink pepper, juniper

Trimerous starts with a hazy-pale vegetal musk and then quickly opens out into bright, sweet fruit -- that'll be the "nectarine."

A few minutes in, the fruit fades and we get a pillowy fog of cool white iris. There's something herbal in there making it even cooler, almost antiseptic. A little bit of sweetness lingers from the fruit to soften it, but mostly this is hard to take.

And then the fruit comes right back! And it's lovely. Juicy, bright, almost floral. Fades delicately into the iris backdrop. It's a very fake peach note, which I usually find jarring, but somehow in this setting it works.

Juicy nectarine, snow-white iris butter, chilly herbs. Is this...good? Not exactly, it's bizarre, but it's not exactly bad either. It's not a classical iris fragrance, but peach-and-iris is a solid combination that makes the iris brighter and the fruit more refined. In the drydown the antiseptic herb note is gone, and the pure peaches-and-cream effect is much more pleasant.

Unlike Francesca Bianchi Encounters, where the peach smelled really fake and stuck out awkwardly against the smoky iris backdrop, Trimerous's nectarine is genuinely pretty and blends smoothly into the velvety iris.

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Teo Cabanel Alahine

Nose: Jean-Francois Latty

notes: ylang-ylang, bergamot; pepper, rose, orange blossom, jasmine; benzoin, labdanum, sandalwood, vanilla, patchouli, iris, musk

Alahine opens with Manischewitz grape juice. Very sweet and purple. I guess by ylang-ylang they mostly mean that methyl anthranilate, Concord-grapey facet. Underneath I faintly sense a fuzzy skin-like musk.

A few minutes in, I also get a caramelized, vanillic, golden-brown sweet amber.

And then, oddly, a bug-spray note. Not that I mind too much, I secretly love the smell -- but yeah, that's straight-up DEET.

Mmm, grape juice and bug spray. We must be at summer camp. This is supposed to be a glamorous feminine perfume? But I can sort of see it. As they meld together, and blend with a hint of rose and aldehydes, there's a sort of grandeur as Alahine resolves into a fruity, hissy-sharp purple floral. (There's definitely something civet-like in here as well.) But it still smells awkward to me -- all topnotes, no heart.

From what I've read, this is an inferior reformulation of a once-rich floral-oriental perfume. I can see the outline of what Alahine *wants* to be, but the execution is weak. If you want a good grapey floral, go for Sarrasins.

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Grossmith Shem-El-Nessim

Nose: Trevor Nicholl

notes: neroli, bergamot; orris, ylang-ylang, geranium, jasmine, rose; heliotrope, sandalwood, vanilla, musk, patchouli, cedar

Shem-el-Nessim ("smell the breeze") is a reconstruction of a 1906 floral perfume, and it's perfectly lovely, exactly as you'd expect. Quite aldehydic, with lots of subtly shimmering floral nectar, and a soft pale-blue shmear of iris butter.

A few minutes in, I start to feel the base, which is a solid ivory-toned vanilla-heliotrope thing, powdery and lightly sweet under the shining flowers. Where the florals blend with the vanilla sweetness the effect is glorious.

The whole thing is cool-toned and refreshing, very much like spring breezes. We're in a similar zone to other Belle Epoque ingenue classics like L'Heure Bleue, except without the violets and thus more to my taste. Shem-el-Nessim is delicate and maidenly, but not in the least wimpy or weepy; it's suffused with hope and brightness. Think Guinevere, not Elaine.

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Histoires de Parfums 1725

Nose: Sylvie Jourdet

Notes: licorice, citrus, grapefruit, bergamot; lavender, star anise; vanilla, almond, sandalwood, amber, cedar

1725, inspired by the famous libertine Casanova, is delicate and delightful.

We do indeed get a sparkle of citrus and a hint of anise in the opening -- and then we're on to pale, clean talcum powder, with a distinct almond-y flavor.

Apparently I have a post-reformulation version and the original was lustier. This doesn't say "ladies' man" to me, it says "'clean and pretty." But I do like powdery almond scents.

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Anatole Lebreton Kairos

Nose: Anatole Lebreton

Notes: bitter almond, vanilla, orange blossom, peru balsam, tonka, bitter orange, petitgrain

At first I guessed that Kairos was a honeyed lavender; it has an air of sweet-meets-dry, almost-herbal cleanness to it.

I get a lot of bitter almond, which makes it feel like the best spa in the world, and an underlying delicious creamy-resinous blend with lots of orange blossom.

Morning sunlight and healing lotions. Ritual gongs and guided meditations and subdued luxury. Views of the endless desert, where some say UFOs have landed.

Kairos feels like what a cologne might have evolved into after a thousand years in a chrysalis state. The Shai-Hulud of cologne. All the bitter orange distilled down to sweetness and all the crisp, cool notes long since burned off.

It's meant to be inspired by Ancient Greece, and I guess I can see it -- that sense of fresh mornings and ancient presence -- but it's far more soothing and comforting than anything Homer would recognize.

Anatole Lebreton is consistently creative as a perfumer, and he goes extremely hard in whatever direction he's going. It works for me when he's focused on a theme that smells pleasant to me, as Kairos's sweet orange-blossom-and-almond does, and not when he's hammering a note I don't like as much (Bois Lumiere is nuclear honey, Brioche is painfully potent anise, Incarnata is the kind of pastel candied violet that makes me almost nauseous). Know Thyself -- or get samples of everything and find out.

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Histoires de Parfums 1826

Nose: Sylvie Jourdet

Notes: tangerine, bergamot; violet, white flowers, cinnamon, ginger; patchouli, amber, woody notes, incense, musk, vanilla

1826, inspired by Empress Eugenie, wife of Napoleon III, opens with a mellow, resinous brown note that's their version of "patchouli", with quite a bit of vanilla sweetness and a light dusting of cinnamon spice. Overall it's quite sheer and faint.

Histoires de Parfums seems to be fond of this creamy, sweet, lightly spiced fragrance chord; 1899 (Ernest Hemingway) is that plus a conifer-green top and some more woods, while 1828 (Jules Verne) is that plus a synthetic-citrus dry cologne. 1826 is the creamy-spicy core plus warm brown resins and a touch of abstract white floralcy.

I don't find it heavy or cloying, which is nice. If you like the idea of wearing a cinnamon-flecked vanilla pudding, but don't want to smell too literally like dessert, this might be a good bet.

It's pleasant enough, but it's on the weak side and not especially creative.