Ambre Sultan by Serge Lutens is not one those cozy, snuggly ambers. It’s not an amber that pours its syrup over you, leaving you drizzled in sweetness like a stack of pancakes. Ambre Sultan is spicy and prickly, with the bracing effect of striding through aromatic chaparral at the hottest of high noons.
I discovered the allure of Ambre Sultan in the heat last summer while sitting in my un-air-conditioned home writing a screenplay. In order to keep my "procrastinating mind" entertained while my "professional mind" focused on the script, I kept amping up the olfactory stimulation with Ambre Sultan. I ended up smelling like a cedar plank at a pig roast. It's the whole pain equals pleasure thing of eating wasabi peas or 4-chili Indian curry. Yeah!
Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan is available from LuckyScent.com, starting at $120 for 50ml.
I don't think I would have ventured into the possibly blasphemous region of perfume-layering, had not the L'Artisan Parfumeur saleswoman at Barney's recommended Vanilia with the Passage d'Enfer I was buying. Suddenly, there I was buying two bottles of perfume. Boy, she knew a patsy when she saw one!
I never bothered with vanilla before that, but I ended up wearing it more than the Passage d'Enfer, which I quickly found annoying. I transferred Vanilia onto my preferred incense, Comme des Garçons Avignon, and a match was made.
I've just reminded myself of another Barney's steamroll where I thought I was just buying Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan, and there I was suddenly in possession of Fleurs d'Orange as well, because the SA claimed Serge made them to go together. Where is my self-determination, Dan? If the SA told me to jump off a cliff, would I do it?
In this case, I never wear Fleurs d'Orange (too sweetly floral - though I sometimes spray it in the hallway like very expensive air freshener - eeek!), but still love Ambre Sultan, especially deep in the heart of a desert summer.
And lately, I've been wearing Le Labo Labdanum 18 with Jean Desprez Bal à Versailles, which is horny leather barn to the tenth. This combo veers into what I call CCS - Coldstone Creamery Syndrome: I decide I like a particular ice cream flavor, then plop every iteration of it into the bowl (pecan praline, maple pecan, caramel delight, all drizzled in butterscotch sauce). And then I feel sick. But so far, I'm not sick of my sexy barnyard, and people have been complimenting it.
Katie
Katie,
Considering your wedding blend of Avignon and Vanilia, have you tried M. Micallef Note Vanillée? It's not quite an incense vanilla, but it is boozy and amber-y and licorice-y. I was awfully impressed. If you like Avignon sweetened or especially Ambre Sultan, you need to go here next.
I've not tried a single thing from Le Labo. I'm not even sure why. I don't think Luca Turin likes them, so I have that on my side, but I haven't even come across them in stores. People go on about Rose 31, but it's a rose, how great can it be? Anything with labdanum has a nice scent association for me. And I see that Turin compares Labdanum 18 to Ambre Sultan. Wow, you're really into amber, aren't you?
I should've sent you my sample of Tom Ford Amber Absolute. Have you tried that one? Yowza. It's quite nice but, like most Tom Fords, it's very present. A little goes a long, long way.
Your perfumes mailed this morning. After all my decanting, I had one atomizer left, so I threw in some Bond No. 9 New Haarlem, which you've probably already tried. (I remember you referring to Silver Factory in one of your reviews.) But just in case. It's thick and dark and warm, and was created by Maurice Roucel, who also did Labdanum 18, so I'm guessing it's good for you.
Dan
Dan,
M. Micallef Note Vanillée - don't know that one, want to explore, since the comments say it resembles Aquolina Blue Sugar, the boy version of the bonkers-sweet burnt sugar Pink Sugar. PS is at Sephora, but it's crazy enough to pass for niche.
Ahhh...Tom Ford's Amber Absolute - know it well. Glugged my way through a full bottle in the space of a few months a year and a half ago - loved it loved it loved it, especially in the dryness of LA. Was really overbearing when I wore it in humid London, but I wore it I did. Climate really does affect what you can get away with.
Luca Turin certainly was cranky about Le Labo, but that was based on his tiff with them because they wouldn't give him freebies to review. Consequently, his reviews were begrudging and testy. And boy, the owner Fabrice is still REALLY annoyed with Luca about this (I had a very long, animated talk with him about it).
Even when I kept pointing out "But Luca gave Patchouli 24 five stars...and he lovedIris 39", Fabrice wouldn't have it, saying it was stupid for anyone to try to review perfume. As you can imagine, I kept quiet about KatiePuckrikSmells....
Oh, and I don't find a link between Labdanum 18 and Ambre Sultan at all - different characters altogether. L18 is sexy leathery barnyard baby powder, and AS is aromatic harshly dry amber.
As for Maurice Roucel, I was a big Musc Ravageur oil wearer, until I discovered Labdanum 18, which is my big kick now. (And I do feel a kinship between those two.) And Roucel's Dans Tes Bras is so strange and beautiful (I keep thinking I'm going to try and wear it, though it didn't really seem "me" when I reviewed it) - I wonder what you make of that one?
Katie
Katie,
I thought Turin claims he ignores companies that won't give him samples. At least that was his explanation why he's never written a word on Montale. How do you know perfumers? And without even mentioning KP Smells? Do you just call up Fabrice and start talking shit about Luca Turin? Gosh, you're the very definition of a bonne vivante, aren't you?
As for your Musc Ravageur wearing - this, my friend, is where we part ways. Using the vernacular of an earlier generation, Roucel really goes for it, doesn't he? It’s so strong! At first I was worried it was the fragrance equivalent of a tattoo and I was going to have to laser off the outer layer of my skin just to get it off me. And it smelled gross.
That seems like an especially inarticulate description, I know, but I can't think of anything more appropriate to say. Might my sample have been from a bad batch? Because I've smelled lots of other Roucel scents and none of them smelled gross (Kenzo Air practically doesn't even exist). But Musc Ravageur? Wow. Gross.
I'm buying Note Vanillée next. If I get it before you try it, I'll send you some. Considering your affection for hay, what do you think of L'Artisan Parfumeur Dzing!, by the way? It has such a loyal following and while I've tried it twice, I can't really remember it.
Ambre Narguilé was the only one of Hermès Hermèssencesssssss that grabbed me when I first read the descriptions of the line. Just look at this role-call of listed ingredients: benzoin, labdanum, musk, vanilla, caramel, honey, tonka bean, grilled sesame seeds, cinnamon, rum, coumarin and white orchids. No wonder I was tweakin'. I was a fully-fledged amber bunny those years ago, with my high rotation choices ping-ponging between Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan, Tom Ford Amber Absolute, L’Orientaliste Ambre and Le Labo Labdanum 18, among others. (For the full list of my amber conquests, consult my review of Histoires de Parfums Ambre 114.)
The first I knew of the Histoires de Parfums line was via my perfume pen pal Dan Rolleri. Dan's got an insatiable jones for novelty when it comes to fragrances, and I can barely keep up with the abundant decants he regularly sends Pony Express from Rolleri Ranch in San Francisco all the way down to Puckrik Towers here in Los Angeles.
A whole year ago I was fielding his raves about Histoires de Parfums 1969:
“1969 is Tom Ford Noir de Noir, if Noir de Noir weren't created for clowns. (As it's alleged to have been.)
It's rose and fruit and patchouli and amber and chocolate and coffee, but somehow it doesn't possess the anvil-heaviness of Noir de Noir. It's Noir de Noir for adults. Sexy adults. (As opposed to clownish adults.)”
Dan sent me a decant, but I couldn't get on board the love train -- or even the clown car. To me, 1969 was a fruity floral propped up with large plank of ambery wood -- kind of a more refined Marc Jacobs Lola.
Not inspired by 1969, I lost interest in tracking down the rest of the line. Fortunately, the dedicated storytellers at HdP tracked me down, sending me samples of the whole 16-perfume collection, which is directed by Gérald Ghislain.
Impulsively (my MO is “impulsively”, hence my hallway painted an eyeball-searing neon turquoise. Oh, and that ill-advised first marriage.), I sat down the other day and plowed through all 16 fragrances. (Okay, I exaggerate -- it took two days, but one day sounded more convincingly impulsive.)
Binging on the entire Histoires de Parfums line was like opening a box of See's Assorted Chocolates and methodically taking one bite out of every single bon-bon. Everything I smelled fascinated me, either because it was gorgeous, or odd, or appalling. And also because whether I like them or not, all of the HdPs are full-figured, deliberate compositions. No taking a generic base and adding pink peppercorns here, eye of newt there, and calling it a collection. No sirree bobtail cats. Each of these eau de parfums could easily justify an entire post, but not now –- I'm binging, see?
Either through dumb luck or wondrous perfume destiny, the first one I stumble onto ends up being my favorite: Ambre 114. (Okay, I cop to trying to build drama where none exists. The fact is, I saw “Ambre” on the vial and grabbed it, because amber and I go back a long way. Notches on my bedpost include Tom Ford Private Blend Amber Absolute, Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan, Tann-Rokka Aki, Le Labo Labdanum 18, Antica Farmacista Ambra, L'Orientaliste Ambre, Parfumerie Generale L'Oiseau de Nuit, and Parfumerie Generale L'Ombre Fauve. I like stuff with amber, k?)
Ambre 114 is gorgeousness with a capital G-O-R-G-E. This powdery amber is both milky and nutty -- sort of a cross between PG L'Ombre Fauve's fur and Creed Angelique Encens' spicy powder. How I love this! There's some nice vegetal tobacco leaf/aromatic kind of thing in here. I'm guessing that thing must be the listed patchouli. Did I say I love this? I love this. Wear Ambre 114 and you will be transformed into the softest kitten that ever mewed to be petted.
Patchouli Noir is patchouli and menthol and vinyl tarpaulin. It's weird and I kind of like it –- as a smell. Like, if I unexpectedly wandered into a cloud of this odor while exploring an abandoned house, I'd announce to the assembled ghosts, “Hey, what a great smell!” But I don't need more of a commitment to Patchouli Noir than that. Speaking of commitment, this dude has serious tenacity.
Mata Hari is HdP's muse for 1876, a spicy rose floral combo at first, until it bleeds all over itself and congeals into a dense mushball of animal and ashes. It calls to mind a burnt-to-cinders version of Nasomatto China White. Pretty interesting, but I keep catching a niff of cinnamon, which forces me to withdraw my support for 1876's cause.
I mean, I love the smell of cinnamon: in my coffee, on my toast, in my Moroccan pigeon b'stila. But in perfume, overt cinnamon bugs me -- it smells too foody and obvious. Still, I'm intrigued by 1876's dank stank. It's not an easy lay, like Ambre 114. Once I finish leaving teethmarks in all of HdP's other bon-bons, I'm coming back to 1876 to learn to love it.
Fumies - which fragrances have you learned to love -- successfully?
Recently, my husband and I hightailed it out of Hollywood and went daytripping to Vasquez Rocks. It’s a violently beautiful landscape of skyscraper-sized rocks jutting at crazy angles towards the clouds -- the freeze-frame of a prehistoric earthquake. Vasquez Rocks is named after a 19th century bandit who holed up in the zig-zag terrain with his stolen gold, but nowadays, the area is more popularly associated with the Star Trek episode where Captain Kirksluggishly battles a reptilian alien called a Gorn.
It’s just one of life’s little treats to venture into this majestic wilderness and encounter Star Trek reenactors, complete with costumes and communicators, scampering urgently over the rocks. And depending on the time of year, your chances are also pretty good of running into Jesus with his entourage of cranky Roman soldiers, rehearsing the annual Passion Play. (I sense an opportunity for the mock crew of the Starship Enterprise to take a stand on Easter Sunday and rescue pretend Jesus from his grisly fate, but I guess that would violate the Prime Directive.)
On our day out, there was no Captain Kirk, no Jesus, no Gorn -- just regular ol’ nature lovers. And me. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I like nature fine. But if there’s a chance to enhance it -- with a cocktail, say, in a “rustic luxury” resort at the end of a long hike, then that’s my preferred flavor of nature. No camping for this show poodle.
Another favored form of enhancement is to wear perfume during my outdoorsy doings. I try to pick something that works with the local vegetation, but won’t attract mountain lions. So far, my choices have been successful: L’Artisan Parfumeur Safran Troublant, Creed Angelique Encens, Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan. (I’m qualifying “success” as smelling good while not being eaten by mountain lions.)
For Vasquez Rocks, I wore my latest fume purchase: Sonoma Scent Studio Incense Pure. I’d been following mostly-natural perfumer Laurie Erickson’s development of it on her blog, and with incense fragrances my specialist subject, I was keen to try her interpretation of this ancient blockbuster. She’d kindly offered to send me a sample first, but I was ready to plunge right in after reading Incense Pure’s ingredients:
As far as I'm concerned, that’s an all-star cast of characters. Even before I received it, I was squeeing about it to my perfume pen pal Dan, who agreed it was “me”:
Incense Pure is pure KP. Seriously, someone should name one of these incense/sandalwood/patchouli/labdanum blends after you.
So much for the build-up. How did Incense Pure handle on the road?
When first sprayed, the ambery thickness of IP’s labdanum made me think of one of my old favorites, Tom Ford Private Blend Amber Absolute.
But going into an immediate sidebar on labdanum while reviewing IP makes about as much sense as the time my husband claimed he was watching a Hannibal Lecter cannibal movie "for the lighting". (What kind of freak does that? All I heard from the TV was screaming and chewing and crunching and lip-smacking as I tried to focus on my frilly-dilly perfume writing.)
So let me back up and state that the first blast of Incense Pure is frankincense à go-go. The eau de parfum features an emphatically non-ecclesiastical treatment of incense, one that celebrates its own rugged beauty rather than referencing a churchy ritual.
Incense Pure: incense à go-go.
The incense starts out sharp -- not quite a pine fragrance, but with a sinus-clearing intensity that approaches menthol. As IP wears on, it mellows and becomes less dry, a little more “muggy” as the myrrh and oakmoss reveal themselves. There’s an herbal quality which edges it toward Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan turf, but it never heats up to AS’s spicy weeds. And after about an hour, the baseline hum of labdanum flips the script from an incense perfume to an amber one.
With Tom Ford Amber Absolute kicking around in my head, I applied some to compare, and that’s when I fell dramatically out of love with AA. Instead of the dense labdanum mystery I remembered, it turns out that Amber Absolute is a sweetly warm inside-of-a-cedarwood-drawer smell, distinctly vanillic. Which is okay, I guess, but the real issue was that next to Incense Pure’s Old Testament-style resins, AA came off phony baloney and synthetic.
Back on the trail, IP’s dry-to-humid path perfectly complimented our ramblings through Vasquez Rocks: the aromatics of juniper and sage baking in the hot sun, the boulder puddles filled with tadpoles, the shaded canyons threaded with creeks.
After passing the mountain lion test (Katie not eaten: check), I can now declare Incense Pure my new favorite incense -- Nature Enhancement Division.
Steve at the Scent Bar asked me what my "Scent Concept" was going to be for my upcoming trip to London. The question was funny, and what was even funnier was that I was already working on one.
So far, I think I might be wearing Bruno Acampora Musc. When I've worn it lately, menfolk have piped up with an unsolicited "mmm...you smell good!". I want that "mmm!" response to enhance all my other concepts.
Katie
Katie,
I love "scent concept"! It intellectualizes and elevates the whole process of slapping on perfume. I wish I were more of a scent concept kind of person.
Dan
Dan,
Hey! I was at Neiman Marcus today, and Maison Francis Kurkdjian's CEO, Marc Chaya, was there to introduce two new scents released to celebrate MFK's first year anniversary.
They are "absolute" versions of Cologne Pour le Soir and Cologne Pour le Matin (which means they are EDPs instead of EDTs, with some different ingredients, said the handsome French fellow). Absolue Pour le Soir is now looking like a strong contender for my London Scent Concept.
I'd found the original Cologne Pour le Soir appealing, but ultimately too cloying, sweet and unchanging. But the Absolue version seems like what people are ultimately craving when they seek out something along the lines of Frédéric Malle Musc Ravageur: it is animalic, sensual, leathery and incensey. Charlotte Rampling enjoys home-brewing her own Absolue PLS.
I really think Absolue PLS is the perfected version of Cologne Pour le Soir! (In fact, it sways a bit to the beat of Lutens' Musk Kublai Khan. Perhaps it's the feminine version of MKK?) I excitedly told CEO Marc that it smelled like a church in a zoo, and he laughed politely, probably wondering if he could catch an earlier flight back to Paris.
At the start, Absolue PLS is reminiscent of Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan: that aroma of warm, fragrant weeds and resins. Then it gets alarmingly bestial, but that tapers off a tad, turning into the powdery animal fur niff found in Parfumerie Generale L'Ombre Fauve. It also shares a “bad kitty” vibe with Miller Harris L'Air de Rien and Un Petit Rien.
Powdery bad kitty-bunny
But later, when J smelled Absolue PLS on me, his spontaneous proclamation was "Incense!" I quizzed him on the leather barnyard component, but husb shook his head and restated firmly, “Incense!” The incense is indeed emphatic, more so than in Cologne PLS. It's the billowy, smoky kind, not the piney, sappy kind.
Oh, and CEO dude said Francis K used the original Cologne ingredients (benzoin, rose honey and incense) as a springboard, and amped it up with ylang-ylang, cedar, cumin and sandalwood for the Absolue. He didn't mention woodland critters or sweaty leather, but you can certainly smell them lurking within.
Katie
Katie,
When you namecheck both Musc Ravageur and Ambre Sultan in describing Absolue Pour le Soir, I'm guessing it's not for me. After those two, it was hard for me to even finish the paragraph.
One encounter with Absolue PLS, and it's already in the running for your still-undecided London Scent Concept? Would I be taking too much credit if I believed my insanity was rubbing off on you a tiny bit?
Dan
Dan,
Hah -- I just re-read our earlier exchange on MFK Cologne Pour le Soir, and it's only ratcheted up my desire for the Absolue. I need to stop hanging around with me -- I'm a bad influence. And you wrote this:
It's sweet and sexy, with just a little rasp initially and then a soft undercurrent of earthiness.
Add to which, you said you'd be "pleased as Punch" to wear it. So now we've both retroactively talked me into getting the Absolue. Is that the insanity to which you refer?
Katie
Katie,
I take that back. I put Cologne Pour le Soir on again at 9 a.m. (wrong time, I know) and here we are at noon and I'm a little sickened. It's just so sweet. Not sleazy sweet in that men's cologne way, but more adult female sweet, and yet somehow too sweet and not enough female or adult. Like a fruitcake with a little rum in it. Which I don't like, the cake or the rum. Cologne Pour le Soir is simply something I don't like.
I bet I didn't talk you out of it, though, because it's much easier to talk both of us into things than to talk us out of things.
Dan
Dan,
What? Sorry, didn't catch that -- too busy huffing Absolue, and it's a real Absolu-lu! And I'm almost out of my sample now....
Katie
Absolue Parfum du Soir is available at $175 for 70 ml from Neiman Marcus and LuckyScent.com
Do you realize your pining for M. Micallef Note Vanillée lasted just over a year before you eventually bought it? Let's review the timeline of your obsession, culled from your emails:
10 Feb 2009
Have you tried M. Micallef's Note Vanillée at the Scent Bar? It's not quite an incense vanilla, but it is boozy and amber-y and licorice-y. They sent me a sample of it unsolicited and I was awfully impressed. If you like Comme des Garçons Avignon sweetened or especially Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan, you need to go here next.
11 Feb 2009
I'm buying Note Vanillée next.
16 Feb 2009
I'm considering not getting Note Vanillée because I want to try Jean-Claude Ellena's new Hermessence Vanille Galante first. (Nobody needs too many vanillas.)
10 Aug 2009
Funny, I still haven't purchased Note Vanillée. Nor will I ever. I tried more Micallefs and I'm completely over that line.
19 Feb 2010
So yesterday, I perused the perfume blogs and came upon a mention of an old favorite from my wish list: M. Micallef Note Vanillée. I was nervous to learn it was no longer available at LuckyScent. Not simply "out of stock," but removed from the website altogether. I liked this one, really liked it, as you might remember from an early Perfume Pen Pal exchange. Thank goodness I found a bottle, at Four Seasons, a "bottom of the wish list" purchase suddenly made urgent because of lack of availability. I'll let you know how it goes. And, of course, send you a sample.
5 Apr 2010
Have you tried the Micallef Note Vanillée yet? (I know, you can't try a hundred things at once.) I want to hear your take on that one, even if you hate it. Or especially if you hate it. Unlike some, I'm fascinated when things I like are hated.
So Dan, while I deemed it "fuckin' lush" after a passing sniff at the Scent Bar in February 2009, I just now applied a proper spray when I came across the decant you'd sent. And my analysis? Why, it's nothing more than your dreaded "tasty little cookie out of the oven", the very thing you don't want to feel like. It's sweet, it's vanilla, it smells like baked goods. How is that not a tasty little cookie?
Sure, there's a certain boozy complexity, a bit of woodiness, but the thing's still edible. And the cookie-ness really comes out when you smell it next to By Killian Love, which is arid vanilla-licorice paper. And when you smell it next to Le Labo Vanille 44, that smoothly austere vanilla incense.
What say you?
Katie
Oh no, no, Katie, I get in after a trying day and this is the first thing I see?
What say I is this:
Vanilla perfumes are like romantic comedies, all sweet and pleasingly predictable, and I don't like being put in the position of defending any of them. Because once you start down that path, once you start parsing out scenes from a Hugh Grant movie in an effort to explain why it's not like every other rom-com, that it's smarter, more intricate, that in the end it earns its sentiment, you eventually realize you're arguing for Hugh Grant and that's just absurd.
But I'll bite. Note Vanillée is a tasty little cookie, yes, but it's more than that. First, it's a proper perfume and not one of those overly sweet Yankee Candle gourmands. It has stages and soon after that initial cookie stage, there's an unmistakably adult stage. Did you not smell this stage, when things turn slightly dark and you think of shot glasses and ashtrays?
Sure, it's not austere like Vanille 44, it's a little more sloppy and evocative of a less formal environment. Vanille 44 is a contemporary-art opening, Note Vanillée is a 1962 dinner party with the wives. And, yes, one of the wives might've baked cookies because that's what wives did in 1962, but she also had a nip of something strong before arriving, she's wearing her favorite slip, and she has a couple of filthy jokes prepared in case the party lacks pizzazz.
Note Vanillée is not only about the cookies, KP. That's just its foreground, its emblem of acceptability, a way to initially make everyone feel comfortable before things get more loosey-goosey with all its boozy, resin-y goodness. I bet it has benzoin, at least based on how you describe the smell of benzoin. And if that's the case, then call me a bunny.
All of us have idiosyncratic internal maps of the world, a lattice of longitudes and latitudes drawn from our likes, dislikes, goofy little habits and whatever ex-friends we’re trying to avoid. We travel our same routes, choose our favorite meals, listen to the best music. And we know it’s the best music, because, well, we like it. Stuck as we are in our personal topography, it’s sometimes hard to shake up our experiences. After all, our bubble is a comfy one. We know the layout, even if the layout is straight out of House Beautiful circa 1986.
Everything in my version of reality corresponds to my not-very-accurate Katie Map. If the grocery store is out of Ciao Bella Malted Milk Ball Gelato, well then, that’s it – there’s no ice cream to be had anywhere in the land. That is, until Malted Milk Ball Gelato mysteriously reappears in my local freezer section.
My tunnel vision extends to television. I’ve heard tell of whole villages making merry over Project Runway and American Idol. I know these shows exist, but they’re invisible to me. In my own personal hamlet, my TV’s sole purpose is to broadcast True Blood and So You Think You Can Dance. As well as the great BBC 80s flashback series, Ashes to Ashes, which moved me to tears by the sheer nostalgic force of Ultravox Vienna in the soundtrack.
It’s the same story at the perfume counter: a few beloved friends and favorites (Bulgari Jasmin Noir eau de parfum, Agent Provocateur, Gucci Rush), standing head and shoulders over a bunch of anonymous blah blah (the Givenchy Irresistibles, the Burberrys, all 17 Bulgari Omnis, whatever the hell they are). And I really do stop and smell the blah blah, to at least hear them out. But as I try my darnedest to tell the difference between the new Juicy Couture “Couture Couture” and the new Marc Jacobs “Lola”, I wade dangerously into the uncharted, “Here Be Monsters” territory of my fragrance map.
The fancy-pants niche bunch is not spared my Swiss cheese-like focus, either. Particularly at risk are lines with a cast of thousands, like Serge Lutens’. Remembering what’s in Lutens’ is like trying to name U.S. state capitals: I get through a few before I hit a wall. Ambre Sultan, New York City, Baton Rouge, Chypre Rouge...and New York City isn’t even right. So when one of my YouTube viewers wrote to extol the special charms of Lutens’ Chergui, I was all, “Cher-what?” I got my crayons out and prepared to color in a little more of the Katie Map.
The smell of Chergui is warm, thick and furry, like Michael McDonald’s singing voice - or Fozzie Bear’s speaking voice -- or my favorite Lhasa Apso Rodrigo’s entire body. This eau de parfum is an unusual combination of smells from different planets in the “let’s get cozy” universe. There’s hay and honey, the faint niff of cherry pipe tobacco, a slight bite of incense. There’s a rocks-in-the-ground iris that tamps down the sweetness with its granite earthiness. And there’s a milky sandalwood haze that hangs around the whole gig.
By the time I’d finished processing Chergui’s friction between spicy and dusty, edible and smokable, masculine and feminine, I’d expanded my warped map of the world. Maybe I should give Project Runway a chance while I’m at it.
Serge Lutens Chergui is available at LuckyScent.com, starting at $140 for 50ml
