Humiecki & Graef Skarb is great and it's one perfume about which I feel no guilt for buying.
It has an oddly melancholic note (it might be “men's tears”, or it might be carrot seed, because I remember Luca Turin specifically mentioning that carrot seed smells sad) combined with that dirty male metallic of Etat Libre d'Orange Sécrétions Magnifique.
Plus, there's a touch of incense, something else animalic, but mostly it's a sad and peculiar little scent. I love it! I'll send you some with your next batch of decants.
"Skarb" sounds like Ikea furniture. I'm wearing your sample now and can see why you like it, with its green woody freshness.
It's odd that something can smell like wood and freshness at the same time, because a wood accord in perfume is usually the dead kind: driftwood, or lemon-polished tabletop, or charred, or something.
There's some earthiness in here. It smells modern. No frumpiness. Hmm, it doesn't strike me as melancholy in the slightest.
I wore Skarb to bed last night (Alicia is back east for a funeral) and that was a big mistake. It's the opposite of a comfort scent. It smelled like despair, like something went terribly wrong and someone should contact the authorities.
What happened here? I thought you loved Skarb. Was the perfume sad, or were you?
Alicia doesn't much like Skarb, and I think that infected my reaction. Also, it was a little tricky getting past that iron-y note (not "irony," though I suppose some traditionalists would say having an iron-y note in a perfume qualifies as irony).
But usually I love the stuff, provided it's a sunny day. I won't wear it at night anymore because it is a little downcast. Or maybe "withholding" is a better way of putting it. There's nothing cheerful about it, no flowers or fruit or peppy little spices. It's the Ingmar Bergman of perfumes.
I'm currently wearing Tauer's Lonestar Memories, and it smells like the ladies from the Mustang Ranch are building a bonfire. I only hope this washes off. Which is surely something the Mustang Ranch ladies say a lot.
I made something of an impulse buy today, ordering an un-sampled cologne that had been on my wish-list for only a few weeks. It's Andrée Putman Preparation Parfumée, and I bought it because I've been longing for a good dose of driftwood.
Wow, you are stepping out on a driftwood limb, aren't you? Interesting to see that the LuckyScent description of driftwood is "wet wood", which I guess makes sense: the wood has to drift in on something, after all.
But I always picture driftwood dry and burnt, like it's been sitting in the hot sun on the beach for months, and then was used by Frankie Avalon in a bonfire for toasting marshmallows and snuggling with Annette Funicello.
My memory of driftwood comes from my youth and probably isn't reliable. Strictly speaking, it might not even be driftwood. My father's nursery was in Half Moon Bay, a small foggy coastal town, and he bought his fertilizer from a factory right on the shore.
Hunks of wood would wash ashore there, in an inlet, and it was oily, tangled in seaweed and, yes, wet. And damp, because of the fog. (Nothing ever gets dry there. I'm still airing out a pair of sneakers from 1975.)
So my association with driftwood is not burnt, but oily. A kind of salty-woody-damp-petroleum smell. But no Frankie Avalon. Frankie Avolon kept to the clean sunny Southern California beaches.
Right now I'm wearing my brand new Preparation Parfumée, which indeed has a light salty driftwood accord. And pretty much no other accords. It's death by light salty driftwood. It reminds me a little of Eau d'Italie Sienne L'Hiver, minus the smoke.
It's one of these modern minimalist things that I always think will work well for summer but rarely do, because I can never completely convince myself that summer should smell like almost nothing.
Nothing should smell like almost nothing. Except nothing. So nothing should smell like almost nothing but nothing else.