M. MICALLEF VANILLE AOUD: I was all prepared to write that I’d finally found a Montale oud that I enjoyed when I took a second look at the sample label and realized that I was testing out the M. Micallef Vanille Oud and not a Montale, so the bad news is that I still have yet to find a Montale oud I can wear, but the good news is that M. Micallef’s Vanille Aoud is absolutely the right kind of oud to reach for if you’ve given up entirely on the House of Montale.
Listed scent notes for Vanille Aoud are: bergamot, ylang-ylang, prune, oud, caramel, musk, vanilla and benzoin. There’s a trace of that fumigation scent that often accompanies the incorporation of a lesser agarwood oil (or “barnyard oud“) into the mix (the best agarwood oils are rare and prohibitively expensive), but the deft blending of sweet, floral and smoky notes in Vanille Aoud manages to smooth over what I don’t like about most oud scents while highlighting the warmer, richer aspects of the genre.
Longevity is good to excellent (it starts off quite strong, but will be soft and difficult to detect by the end of your workday) and the final homestretch of it is more sweet vanilla and benzoin than smoky agarwood.
MILLER HARRIS L’AIR DE RIEN: Miller Harris and I aren’t very well acquainted. I think it’s because I read the notes of most of her fragrance line and concluded that I could easily live without them, thank you very much, but then perfumer Lyn Harris had the audacity to attract my interest with her quirky, deeply luxe scents crafted for jeweler Solange Azagury-Partridge, so when a friend of mine with a nose for the good stuff sent me a sample of Harris’ L’Air de Rien, I got curious.
Since I was going out for the day among the produce stalls and flower stands, I slathered on a liberal dose and it was truly a glorious smell to behold as I pushed open the glass doors and stepped out into the hot summer sun.
Scent notes: French oak moss, Tunisian neroli, sweet musk, amber and vanilla. Simple and yet oh so awesomely rich and musky and French. To be honest, it strikes me as a streamlined version of Mono di Orio’s retro-classic power-punch Nuit Noire, and that’s a good thing. I like Nuit Noire a lot, but it can sometimes feel like a depth charge in a too shallow sea if I’m not fully up to the task.
The Non-Blonde states that: “Once I started testing (L’Air de Rien), I knew I was going to need it. I have a thing for musky skin scents with a hint of a dirty, dirty girl. Rumor has it that there’s vanilla and maybe amber in the composition, but for once this is not what my skin and nose are telling me . . . You’d want to touch the skin that radiates L’Air de Rien.”
I agree — the vanilla and amber are not focal points, and while I don’t know how girly its dirty nature really is, I very much enjoy L’Air de Rien’s leathery, musky character. And it smells fantastic on a bright July day.
Longevity is superb, with L’Air de Rien glowing off my skin through nearly the entire day.
SERGE LUTENS CHENE: This is my second go-round with Lutens’ Chene, and it still ends in tears.
I didn’t get the thoroughly soapy, squeaky-clean vibe that I encountered on my first test drive — it smells more forested to me this time around, but that’s also the part that steers it dangerously into green-clean territory. Well, that and the hideous immortelle essence that destroys everything it touches (my apologies to FiveOaks).
I keep thinking I’m going to eventually appreciate the immortelle note, but anything good about Chene (the fresh pine needles and sharp tree sap) is ruined by that hammy, maple-syrup undertow.
Listed scent notes are: cedar crystals, wood sap, black thyme, oak, immortelle, beeswax, silver birch, rum absolute and tonka bean. Suck out the immortelle with a laser-precision, space-age vacuum and you’ve got the makings of . . . well, something that I’d wear.
***Note: the Non-Blonde also wrote that L’Air de Rien reminded her of Chene, and I think I might have sent her a short message telling her to cease spouting such foul heresy, but there you have it . . .
