Unlike Vero Kern’s Onda, which is a fragrance I wanted to love but was forced to ditch at the altar after it mutated from a breath of rich earth and grass into a jug of laundry detergent (but that’s just my experience — Onda sends other wearers into what can only be described as near ecstasy), Rubj managed to grab my attention from the get go and never veered off course for the duration of its journey.
Allegedly crafted as a response to the sexually intimate writings of 16th century scholar Sheikh Nefzaoui, Rubj is an opulent floral that even a woods and leather fragrance fanatic can enjoy. The orange blossom intro is pulpy tart and tangy acidic; the cool, white, night-blooming jasmine at the heart is captured as if in mid-flight; and the musky base is one smooth slip-n-slide into warm, embraceable goodness swathed in layers of patchouli and sweet smoke.
Unabashedly romantic in nature, Rubj exhibits a dramatic streak a mile wide and it’s pretty much Game Over once it digs its stilettos into the parquet. Uniquely suitable for the dressiest of parties as well as the most naked of ambitions, though I wouldn’t recommend it as a good choice for the office — unless your sole aim is to seduce the boss and embroil the company in scandal, in which case I say, “Pour it on!”
ADDED:
For no discernible reason, I decided to do a quick test drive of CB I Hate Perfume Patchouli Empire and L’Artisan Merchant Loup after finishing with Rubj.
L’Artisan Merchant Loup is a big dose of Aunt Betsy’s spice drawer, with special emphasis on the cloves. Not terrible, but by no means particularly elegant, either — rather, Merchant Loup begs for a heavy wool sweater, a cold rainy day and a mug of hot spiced cider in your hands. In fact, it actually kind of smells like a mug of hot spiced cider.
CB Patchouli Empire is a straight-forward, straight-up interpretation of everyone’s favorite natural bug repellant. Said to be a blend of five different types of patchouli and a dash of black pepper, Patchouli Empire (once it settles down from its near noxious intro) is a rather striking example of how good patchouli can get when it’s shaped by the right hands.
Not sweet, or floral, or anything at all that might cover up the inherent leafy, woodsy, au naturale beauty of a quality patchouli scent, P.E. is interesting enough on its own, but would be a great layering fragrance — use it to add earthy depth or forested oomph to something else in your collection, like L’Artisan Merchant Loup, for instance.
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Oh, so glad you enjoyed the Rubj! I swooned at first sniff.
Pity about Mechant Loup – that one just never quite worked on me, although it seemed perfect on paper.
My own swooning took place once the sweet incense smoke kicked in. Musk, jasmine, smoke, yowza! That is one hot piece of perfume. Any woman who carries it off is a force to be reckoned with.
It made sense, though, when I read that Vero Kern created it in response to a 16th century arabic manuscript of erotic writings. It has a distinctly va-voom quality to it. Impossible to ignore once it enters a room.
My sentiments exactly about Merchant Loup. The descriptions make it sound like it’ll be fantastic, but it’s just . . . okay.
Uh-oh…one woods and leather fan who has trouble with a lot of florals, now with radar up…
I’m warning you in advance — if you sample this, you’re going to feel a deep burning hole in your heart that you didn’t previously know existed, the likes of which can only be healed by uniting with a full bottle of Rubj.
I’m just sayin’ . . .