Greysolon

When you come across the word “cuir” in the name of a perfume you know, of course, to expect a leather-centric fragrance. However, limiting Cuir Ottoman to the class of leather fragrances misses the equally prominent role amber plays in the overall profile of the scent. The amber accord is rich and complex yet beautifully balanced to the namesake leather. I especially like how perfumer Marc-Antoine Corticchiato achieves this balance. I'm drawn to fragrances that are in constant motion; shifting and sharing prominence between multiple notes and accords. Diptyque's 34 Boulevard St. Germain is a fantastic example of this balancing act. In Cuir Ottoman, Corticchiato achieves this with just two accords and I can't help but envision the amber notes dancing in vaporous paisley curls over a ground of warm, soft leather. While leather and amber possess distinct identities, they also have many points in common. This allows the entire fragrance to connect seamlessly from the supple leather, which wears like a second skin, to gossamer clouds of rich, luxurious amber.

Many people find leather fragrances problematic because the elements used to recreate the accord, particularly essences that mimic birch tar and animalic notes, have strong personalities. But nose Corticchiato has found an elegant solution to this problem. Rather than turning to the usual animalic notes, like civet or musk, he uses the indolic qualities of jasmine to animate the leather accord. Jasmine also has the benefit of adding a dark sweetness to the amber accord. Then, rather than overwhelming the fragrance with the acrid, smoky notes of birch tar, Corticchiato uses frankincense to infuse Cuir Ottoman with a subtle, diaphanous incense smoke. The use of frankincense also links many of the the leather and amber notes.

Cuir Ottoman strikes me as being an incredibly versatile fragrance. I enjoy leather fragrances because they work well as casual dress scents. But the elegance of the amber accord also puts Cuir Ottoman in the category of fragrances that would pair well with dressing up for an evening out.

This is my first encounter with the house of Parfum d’Empire and on the basis of my experience with Cuir Ottoman I can’t wait to sample more of their creations.

I've never cared for Prada’s masculine amber offering, Amber Pour Homme. I know, that view puts me in a distinct minority. Nonetheless, I dislike Pour Homme for the same reason I dislike so many other designer label fragrances: it seems as though elegance has been sacrificed for the sake of masculinity.

That brings us to the other side of the supposed gender divide and how I "discovered" Prada Amber.

Last week I was waiting for my wife as she shopped at a big box cosmetics outlet. I had stationed myself before the men’s fragrance display, which is my usual post in this particular store. I was bored. It’s a dingy, gray, soulless place and for as long as I can remember the same 2 dozen or so designer label fragrances have been the backbone of their men's collection. Even when a new item manages to crack the ranks it's relegated to a shelf at floor level forcing anyone over 5 feet tall to squat or crawl to see what gems might be lurking in the abyss. In recent months there has been extensive renovation and expansion to the rest of the store. Unfortunately the upgrades have bypassed the men's section and the same forlorn display continues to beckon piteously. Over time, I've reached the conclusion that this area was not designed to sell fragrances but is, in reality, a men's day care center. A place where guys intimidated by the sight of a cosmetics counter can safely hang out and not be approached by the scary sales associates. A place wives and girlfriends know where to look for their frightened charges when it's time to leave.

Anyway, after smelling Bvlgari Blv -again- and realizing it smelled the same last month, I noticed the women’s collection had nearly doubled in size as a result of the recent renovations. I was admiring all the new choices just across the aisle when I saw a tester of Prada Amber and decided to give it a spritz.

It was a revelation. I'm convinced that if somebody would park the tester on the men's side of the DMZ, Amber would be flying off the shelves.

Amber may be marketed as a feminine fragrance but it seems to fall comfortably within the bounds of being unisex. So gentlemen, if you’re looking for an elegant, distinctive amber don’t waste your time with Pour Homme. Nobody’s home. If you're considering an amber fragrance from Prada, this is the one.

Amber comes out of the bottle with deep, rich florals and dark, aromatic citrus. Not to worry, this is not a big floral or bright citrus opening; it's very balanced and blended. As Amber dries down the top notes part, making way for the tannic, dry tea aspect of bergamot which hints at the sandalwood to follow. At the same time, the citrus accord begins its sweet and sour oriental dance with the lower notes. Further into Amber's development the sandalwood emerges with an understated, dry, woodiness that blends perfectly with the arid qualities of the bergamot.

From application, all that development takes about an hour but the journey to the base is worth it. When the warm, resinous amber and vanillic accords finally well up out of the depths you're rewarded with a rich, luxurious fragrance.

I find Prada Amber unisex in the same vein as Diptyque offerings such as Volutes or 34 Boulevard St. Germain. It has the amber qualities of Volutes and the slightly powdery, cloud-like sillage of 34 BSG. However, Amber is a potent edp so I recommend going easy on the button. I was surprised just how much its projection and longevity outpaced a fragrance like Volutes. A single spritz keeps me cloaked in a pleasant cloud of scent for hours.

Le Vetiver-Itasca draws its inspiration from the red pine forests of north central Minnesota which surround Lake Itasca, the headwaters of the Mississippi River and the namesake for this beautiful perfume. I grew up not far from this place so Itasca is something of a biography in a bottle for me.

Itasca is different from most of the pine and woodland fragrances I regularly wear. Many woodland inspired fragrances seem to be created with the intent of capturing the reality of the forest as closely as possible rather than idealizing its essence as a perfume. One of my favorite fragrances, Serge Lutens’ Fille en Aiguille is a good example. Not only do you smell the sap and the wood of a pine tree, you have a visceral sense of the stickiness of the sap and the solidity of wood covered in rough bark.

But if you walk through the clearing beneath a stand of lofty red pine on a breezy day the experience is much more ethereal and perfume-like. A gentle breeze through pines sounds like murmuring and whispering and each breathy vowel releases an aromatic scent from the canopy of needles. If you happen to be in this clearing during late spring you might even notice floral notes as part of the camphorous accord.

The nose behind Itasca, Lucien Ferrero, has chosen this idealized experience as his template. Using an aesthetic similar to Olivia Giacobetti, he creates a lighter, atmospheric watercolor vision of a conifer fragrance that is truly a perfume.

Ferrero captures the breezy, airy effect in a number of ways. He uses higher pitched conifer notes and resins while avoiding strong, woody base notes. Vetiver, the title component of this perfume, is Itasca’s strongest base note yet it is well balanced to the overall fragrance. It provides just enough dimension and depth to hint at the coarser elements and muted colors of pine while allowing Itasca to remain open and airy. The result is that Itasca seems to sparkle. It’s as if Ferrero has mimicked the watercolor technique of sprinkling salt on wet paint to obtain that sparkling effect.

Later in Itasca’s development, the floral notes -neroli, tagetes (marigold) and geranium- bring a new color to the palette of the fragrance but in just the right proportion. The slight sweetness of this subtle floral accord is truly reminiscent of pine flowers. To be honest, there is no such thing as a “pine flower”. It's actually the male pine cone, but that’s another, more prosaic botany lesson. Nonetheless, if you’re in a stand of pines in late spring you may be surprised how floral the experience can be.

I think it’s only natural to associate pine based fragrances as being cool or cold weather wear. But Itasca’s sparkling lightness and subtle floral qualities mean it can be worn comfortably into the warm days of spring. I’m not sure I’d wear it in the dog days of summer but it is certainly more versatile than many other conifer fragrances.

I think it’s safe to say most of us join Parfumo to keep up with the latest fragrance trends. We devour reviews hoping to find a scent that will project the unique qualities of our character and personality. However, there are certain occasions that require the fragrance we wear, like our clothing, to conform to a sense of decorum or social code. For instance, as much as I like trying out new fragrances those scents frequently don’t match the formality of my work uniform. Several times a week my job requires that I dress in a conservative suit, a tuxedo or white tie and tails. Needless to say, the latest, edgy offering from Etat Libre d’Orange is likely to match that attire as well as a pair of Doc Martens. That’s why well crafted fragrances with strong roots in traditional perfumery are staples in my fragrance wardrobe. Penhaligon’s Douro fits that role perfectly.

I find that the classic masculine genres of aromatics and fougeres work well when a socially appropriate, dress up fragrance is required. I particularly enjoy fragrances that flirt with the borders of those genres such as Loewe Essentia or Dior Eau Sauvage. Michael Edwards classifies Douro as a citrus -as he does Eau Sauvage- and I understand why, but that term does not begin tell the whole story. To my nose, it's misleading to pigeonhole Douro in such a narrow range since the citrus notes not only lose their dominance, they eventually blend into the overall profile of the fragrance allowing it to develop characteristics of other genres. I’ve also come across sources that classify Douro as an aromatic. This fills gaps in the description although Douro eventually develops into a rich, well blended, lavender forward fragrance that can easily read to the nose as a fougere.

Now, don’t let the fougere description scare you off. Unfortunately, mediocre fougeres are ubiquitous so the genre gets a bad rap with an association to barbershop scents. This is not the case with Douro. It is somewhat redolent of Eau Sauvage so it has a depth that exudes an aura of tradition and propriety rather than reeking like a synthetic lavender chemical spill. Douro is a surprisingly complex scent that only masquerades as being straightforward and traditional.

I’m grateful to a fellow Parfumo-ist for sharing this sample of Douro with me. I see a bottle of this elegant fragrance in my future.

I have a theory why the name of this fragrance was changed from Nomad to Sunda. If correct, it provides a more fitting description for the fragrance. Unfortunately, renaming it was the only thing the house of Odin managed set straight with this scent. The noses at Odin should have also taken the opportunity to give Sunda's personality a bit more balance. More on that in a moment.

My guess is that the name change was geographically inspired. Sunda refers to -thanks, Wikipedia- the region of southeast Asia which includes the islands of Borneo, Sumatra and Java. I imagine those tropical islands as a paradise of serene, coconut palm lined beaches. That brings my name change theory full circle to Sunda's fragrant heart which is a musky, coconut-like base accord.

Now, as far as I know, there is no coconut essence in Sunda. But the combination of heliotrope, musk and vanilla rich tonka bean comes across to my nose as a thick, creamy coconut. When the sandalwood blooms it not only lends much needed contrast to the monotone of the coconut creaminess, its sharpness also combines with the anamalic qualities of the musk to create a sensual, sweaty accord.

At this point you may find Sunda alluring and seductive. I must admit, I was initially mesmerized by this visceral aspect of the fragrance. But that's as far as the scent develops. It doesn’t take long before its lush qualities simply become thick, heavy and tiresome.

Imagine you’ve met someone -hmm, lets call her “Sunda”- who seems to possess a sultry, alluring beauty. You're immediately beguiled by the ease with which she carries herself and you're drawn to her. But as you spend time with Sunda it dawns on you; you find her languorous personality boring which completely undermines her physical beauty. And when Sunda’s sandalwood and heliotrope charms fade and she’s droning on and on, saying nothing in her musky monotone, you’ll be relieved this relationship didn't go any further.