Since I’ve been less than thrilled by the Serge Lutens I’ve so far encountered, and I know that there are a lot of devoted Serge Lutens fans (can a million K-Mart shoppers be wrong?), I thought I’d do a quick Serge Lutens field trip and take a drive-by sniffa at five of his fragrances that I’ve yet to experience:
La Myrrhe: opens with a rather generic floral-aldehydic waft, then turns into a chilled marble bowl filled with mandarin oranges and sugared dates — I’m probably making it sound nicer than it actually is. A little bit of church smoke makes a later, though not entirely redeeming, appearance. One of my favorite compatriots at POL eschews anything with myrrhe in it, and I think I’m starting to understand why. Dries down decently, but by then it’s lost my attention.
Arabie: this was a bit more sharp & sour than I had anticipated, probably due to the cumin, candied mandarin peel and bayleaf, not my favorite scent trilogy. Another blogger noted that it possesses an herbal cough-drop quality, and I would second that assessment. The cumin makes a noticeable reappearance at the finish line, along with an unloved myrrhe.
Tubereuse Criminelle: opens with a serious kick of Vicks Mentholatum Rub and never fully loses it. NOT a quality I admire in a fragrance. Next!
Fumerie Turque: probably the one I liked the most out of the bunch, but that’s because, straight out of the gate, it was the easiest one to like. I’m kind of a sucker for incense scents (my boredom with Serge Noir notwithstanding), and Fumerie Turque boasts a honied, incense smoke and cured tobacco leaf sweetness, with a little bit of sandalwood and black tea for good measure. It’s not for me, mind you, but I have half a mind to pick it up as an early birthday present for . . . well, she probably reads this blog, so mums the word!
Chene: an unexpectedly fresh-faced ingenue of a perfume, innocent and eagerly charming, yet I can’t give it a full thumbs-up since it’s just too resolutely cute and squeaky clean. It makes a game attempt at riding down the woodsy path, but can never quite pedal the bike fully into the forest. Is this what a clean, soapy chypre might smell like — with a transparent citrus, a laundered oakmoss and a diet amber? In any case, it’s only suitable for someone (anyone!) who’s not me.
To sum it up, I’d have to admit that I’m apparently not part of the Serge Lutens target audience. I find some of his fragrances passable, but more often than not, I’m vaguely bored if not repulsed. Borneo 1834 is really the only Serge Lutens I’ve so far enjoyed, but the BF hated it, so there we are.
My sincere apologies to the genuine Serge Lutens fans out there. I know there are a multitude of you — and I’m sure Mr. Lutens will do just fine without my enthusiastic support (drat it all!).
{ 4 comments }
You LIKE Borneo?? I can admire it, certainly, but that is a tough mofo to wear. I never quite got over the fact that it felt like it was wearing me.
You’ve gotta give TC another chance. I recently discovered it, and I really love it. I never thought there’d be a tuberose I felt I could wear comfortably, but that menthol really gives it a butch kick for me. To me, it smells like tuberose paint. Love it.
Fumerie Turque and Chene are two of my other favorites from the line, but your description of the latter seems remarkably different from what I’ve gotten from it. Cute? Citrusy? It’s probably one of the driest fragrances I’ve ever encountered (Turin called it pencil shavings). It does have a sort of saw-dusty quality to it, but I love the smell of oak. Of all the Lutens, it’s probably one of the simplest, which is why I haven’t brought myself to buy a bottle yet.
Seriously, retry Tubereuse Criminelle. Personally, I wish the rubbery top would stay around longer.
Yeah, I found Borneo 1834 to be an interesting take on the patchouli craze, but the BF put his foot down about it so there’s really no way of knowing whether I’d like it in the long run. It’s kind of funny that you say “that is a tough mofo to wear” as I actually found it much much easier to wear than Tubereuse Criminelle.
I thought of giving Tubereuse Criminelle another try, but the mentholated rub aspect lasted way too long and made me literally sick to my stomach. I pushed a sample in front of the BF’s nose and he recoiled as if something poisonous were about to bite, so, smelling like tuberose paint fumes is a no-go in this household. Actually, paint fumes themselves aren’t part of my “what I consider an appealing odor” vocabulary.
If you tell me you also used to love sniffing the Elmer’s glue bottles in elementary school, I’ll have a far better understanding of where you’re coming from.
FWIW: I can easily see why Chene is liked and appreciated, it’s just not much liked and appreciated by me. The dryness is where I get that transparent citrus — and by “transparent” I mean “there but unnoticeable” . . . the citrus comment was really more in support of my random theory of a clean, soapy chypre than anything to do with Chene itself.
I think Chene is nice enough, but, you know, when someone describes something as “nice” . . .
I’m a woman and I actually find Borneo wearable. Perhaps my skin magnifies the patchouli or camphor less? I will say that I apply it very judiciously. This is not a sprayer for me – one gentle dab from the stopper to the nape is plenty. I actually find this scent to be very comforting – perhaps it’s the medicinal quality from the camphor?
What’s strange, to me at least, is that I find the camphor in Borneo 1834 to be mildly pleasant while the menthol in Tubereuse Criminelle makes me ill.
Which reminds me, I was reading today (in ‘What the Nose Knows’) that 40% of German women interviewed found the smell of Vicks VapoRub to be edible. Perhaps that explains Tubereuse Criminelle — it’s for the Germans!