Quick Sniffs: i Profumi di Firenze Cuolo di Russia; Abinoam Beleza; Etat Libre d’Orange Jasmin et Cigarette; Parfums d’Imperfiction O Alquimista

I PROFUMI DI FIRENZE CUOLO DI RUSSIA: I enjoyed the one other piece I’ve tested from Italian perfume house i Profumi di Firenze (Muschio Nero), but I’m not sure about Cuolo di Russia (Russian Leather).

Cuolo di Russia appears to be striving for the tarry, smoky glory of old-time Russian leather, but it takes a long time (almost too long) to develop past its sinus-clearing one-two punch of oakmoss and birch tar and into a . . . uhm . . . less intense one-two punch of oakmoss and birch tar.

Unless you’re in the mood for a cold dish of bitter moss and smoke satisfaction (and let’s face it — sometimes, aren’t we all?), I’d recommend you take a pass on this one. The smoky finish it reaches four hours after application is indeed very nice, kind of like CB I Hate Perfume Burning Leaves or Sonoma Scent Studio Fireside Intense, but these are meant to be strictly smoky-incense frags, and Cuolo di Russia is supposed to have other, more pressing concerns on its mind.

As far as leather goes, there are much better scents to choose from. For example, I prefer Rote Farina Marke Kolnisch Juchten to Cuolo di Russia, even though the Juchten let me down at the end with a skeletally thin amber. Odori Cuoio is also a keeper.

ABINOAM BELEZA: Pours out of the bottle like a cloud of warm vanilla caramel. I want to eat the stuff off my arm, but in a good way.

Beleza is what Parfumerie Generale Aomassai would be if its celery greens were removed: mouth-watering sugars, smooth blonde woods, a waft of musk. There isn’t much else to it, and it has no real development to speak of — it starts off strong and sweet, and then merely recedes into the distance like the memory of a plate of freshly baked snickerdoodles in a sandalwood forest.

Simple almost to a fault. If you’re a junkie for rich, sweet orientals, Beleza could be your next bottle of crack.

ETAT LIBRE D’ORANGE JASMIN ET CIGARETTE: It takes about an hour for the jasmine to drag itself out of the pool of Sweet-N-Low it initially seems to be drowning in, but when Jasmin et Cigarette finally ditches the clanging, metallic, chemically sweetened millstone around its neck, it transforms from “Get this stuff off me!” into “Okay, fine — grant it clemency, but keep it out of my sight.”

I haven’t had much luck with Etat Libre d’Orange fragrances in the past, and while Jasmin et Cigarette is unlikely to change my overall opinion of the house, it does manage to develop a decent enough jasmin to its thrust, buffed and polished with a layer of soft musk and swathed in barely there wisps of grayish smoke.

I don’t really “get” the cigarette reference, as there isn’t anything here that reminds me of the smell of cigarettes, or cigarettes burning, or tobacco; there is, however, a chalky, candied quality that shadows the entire span of the fragrance, and I’m wondering if perhaps this is a tongue-in-cheek play on the concept of the candy cigarettes that used to be sold in drugstores when I was a kid.

If so, it’s kind of clever, but also kind of pointless and juvenile.

A good number of people I know rave about this particular fragrance, but you won’t find me turning any somersaults or waving pom-poms on its sideline. I wouldn’t necessarily object to smelling it on someone else, but its execution strikes me as more whimsical than artistic, and I would never wear it myself.

PARFUMS D’IMPERFICTION O ALQUIMISTA: A mildly spicy tobacco with a little plum jam and amber — I guess that would make it a sweet, fruity tobacco! I wouldn’t have guessed such a thing could roam the earth without the retribution of thunderbolts thrown from heaven, but O Alquimista doesn’t overplay its hand with the fruit and jam, so the result is actually more intriguing than blasphemous.

Cedar is not one of my favorite wood scents, as it has a tendency to cut too sharply through the surrounding ingredients, dominating rather than cooperating, but the dry cedar in O Alquimista’s base plays nicely with the tobacco leaf essence, and the bits of amber tucked around the edges keep the proceedings soft and casual.

Unfortunately, once the attractive plummy note falls by the wayside, the fragrance loses its sparkle — the footmen turn back into mice, the coach turns back into a pumpkin and the couture duds revert back to just plain old, off the rack rags.

Translation: lots of promise out of the gate, a big pile of ho-hum at the finish line. I think anyone looking for an earthy, plum-slathered fragrance would be much better served by Indult Isvaraya.