04/05/2013
Cryptic
24 Reviews
Cryptic
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It's All About the Cumin
Whether you will enjoy or dislike El Attarine will depend on how you feel about a certain sweaty spice finding its way into your perfume. I don't happen to find the cumin overpowering in this context, but there is no denying its presence. While some find even the suggestion of perspiration repulsive, I associate healthy sweat with some wonderful things. Moreover, it makes a nice change from all the "clean" scents that are popular right now but just make me want to scream at the top of my lungs and drench myself in skank to avoid being assimilated into the laundry musk borg.
As with most Serge Lutens creations, El Attarine is not a perfume that remains politely in the background. Rather, it demands not so much to be noticed as to be contemplated. Unlike so many fragrances that prompt me to think about the notes, to the extent that they lead me to consider anything at all, El Attarine fires my imagination like an adult fairy tale. I envison Saluki dogs and strange hairless cats. Heat rising in waves and sandstorms. Nights wild with stars, sleeping on a rooftop. Men with piercing dark eyes rimmed in kohl. Mint tea and peacock thrones. Most of all, I feel the warmth of radiant sunshine -- something that made El Attarine seem like a precious, golden gem during this past dreary winter. Looking at my nearly empty jar is a little depressing. Unlike in the olden days I now can order a replacement from Barney's NYC, but there was something perversely thrilling about using a certain parfumista's not so well-kept secret friend to "mule" it back from Paris. It was like buying olfactory opium and part of the overall mystique.
To return to the practical, El Attarine is a combination of spice, dried fruit, honey and immortelle. It is more restrained than other similar compositions such as Arabie and Aziyade, but nevertheless would be a poor choice for a blind buy. The majority of people will find El Attarine either over-the-top and borderline unwearable or larger-than-life in a wonderful, remarkable way. Sillage and longevity are both very good on my skin.
As with most Serge Lutens creations, El Attarine is not a perfume that remains politely in the background. Rather, it demands not so much to be noticed as to be contemplated. Unlike so many fragrances that prompt me to think about the notes, to the extent that they lead me to consider anything at all, El Attarine fires my imagination like an adult fairy tale. I envison Saluki dogs and strange hairless cats. Heat rising in waves and sandstorms. Nights wild with stars, sleeping on a rooftop. Men with piercing dark eyes rimmed in kohl. Mint tea and peacock thrones. Most of all, I feel the warmth of radiant sunshine -- something that made El Attarine seem like a precious, golden gem during this past dreary winter. Looking at my nearly empty jar is a little depressing. Unlike in the olden days I now can order a replacement from Barney's NYC, but there was something perversely thrilling about using a certain parfumista's not so well-kept secret friend to "mule" it back from Paris. It was like buying olfactory opium and part of the overall mystique.
To return to the practical, El Attarine is a combination of spice, dried fruit, honey and immortelle. It is more restrained than other similar compositions such as Arabie and Aziyade, but nevertheless would be a poor choice for a blind buy. The majority of people will find El Attarine either over-the-top and borderline unwearable or larger-than-life in a wonderful, remarkable way. Sillage and longevity are both very good on my skin.
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