Il Mondo di Odore

  An old post. But topical.  Etat Libre d'Orange : Like This A perfectly timed fall release, it hard to find something more seasonally appropriate than this; it even lists pumpkin it its notes. To my nose it's like a dense, moist gingerbread held together with a non-sweet molasses and vetiver, and washed down with a glass of spicy ginger beer. It couldn't be more right for this day. SCARINESS FACTOR: ( Harmless and child-friendly. ) Bvlgari: Black Black is certainly one of the oddest fragrances to enter the mainstream - an accord of tar and truck tires over powdery, incensey vanilla. But for all that, Black is more seductive than weird - a pretty, fairly normal girl who just happens to be in a kinky outfit. SCARINESS FACTOR: ( More charming than alarming. ) Comme des Garcons: Guerilla 1 It's hard to know just what the target audience is for this one. Mechanics who love flower arranging? Who knows, but its combination of champaca flower with something strange, ...

   Arsène Lupin — the legendary “gentleman thief” created by Maurice Leblanc — was a master of charm and disguise. Guerlain’s Dandy and Voyou pay tribute to this elusive figure. I like to think Dandy is what Lupin wears while mingling with Parisian high society, and Voyou when he slips into the shadows to steal their jewels. Like its namesake, Arsène Lupin Dandy is a chameleon. It opens with a sharp, green bitterness — galbanum, cardamom, and a hint of cumin wrapped in incense. Then it reveals its suave side: leather, patchouli, florals, and olibanum glide forward, evoking the elegance of an old salon. Finally, it settles into a smoky, powdery iris — refined yet a little dangerous, as if the gentleman has vanished, leaving only his cologne and a calling card behind.   There’s a whisper of Habit Rouge and Héritage in its DNA — perhaps a formula that strayed from either and found its own roguish path. Whatever the case, Dandy lives up to its name: elegant, complex...

My first Slumberhouse. I had high expectations with this one. The top is the best — incense + animalics + sweet resins. Loved it. There’s a hint of oud at the back, hidden up top by incense and cumin. I suppose the cumin-oud-musk combo can be called leather (think Dior’s Leather Oud ). To me it’s predominantly an incense + cumin + resin fragrance. What I like most here is the balance and blending — very unlike the others (Norne, Baque, Sova).     And yeah — somehow this really is giving 6-7 energy. Mysterious, moody, looks better the more you stare at it, and no one can quite explain why it hits that hard.

   Leave it to Slumberhouse to make a gourmand that doesn’t play by the rules. Sova carries the same syrupy resins that Josh Lobb is known for — thick, rich, almost tactile — but this time, there’s a twist. Beneath the sweetness lies something savory, unexpected, almost culinary. People have compared it to Indian curry, and they’re not wrong. To my nose, it’s closer to Punjabi mango pickle  - that intoxicating mix of mustard oil, onion seed, and anise used to preserve green mangoes. The resemblance is uncanny: sharp yet rounded, spicy yet oddly comforting.     Somehow, Josh has tuned that accord just enough to keep it from tipping into pungency. The result is bold, strange, and oddly addictive — a perfume that smells like memory and madness in equal measure. A brilliant experiment. I just can’t wear this pickle.

   Amber is one of the most versatile notes in perfumery. It fixes, warms, and illuminates — the quiet backbone behind so many great compositions. Add vanilla and you get an oriental; weave it through woods and it glows from within. But in almost every form, amber carries sweetness — a molten, honeyed weight. Until L’Air du Désert Marocain . Somehow, Andy Tauer managed to make amber dry — parched, sun-baked, and resonant with heat. That, I suppose, is where the Désert comes in. This isn’t the soft, golden amber of comfort; it’s the kind that shimmers off sand and stone. The spices — gentle, windblown, never sharp — add texture and movement, evoking the hum of a souk at dusk. It’s both intimate and vast, familiar and otherworldly. The name fits perfectly. The fragrance, even more so. Andy has released a few flankers of the original. Coeur, Intense and the solid perfume. I have tried the solid and the Coeur and you cannot go wrong with any of them. 

  Proteo Profumi created something remarkable with Pandora Pour Homme , originally released under the J. Casanova label. It never caught on, so a few years later they tried again, rebranding it as Mediterraneum by Proteo. Some even claim it was reborn yet again as a Versace fragrance — though I’ve never seen a bottle to back that up. Most likely, that’s just one of those fragrant myths that grows legs on the internet. The juice, however, remains unchanged — and it’s simply amazing . Pandora feels like a bridge between two eras: it sits neatly between Balenciaga Pour Homme and M7 . Not as loud or animalic as Balenciaga, yet far more complex than M7’s clean restraint. There’s a shadow running through it — something dark, resinous, a little dangerous. The rumor mill says Balenciaga contained oud, and that M7 sparked the era of modern “faux oud.” While oud isn’t listed here, I’d wager Pandora hides a touch of it — that’s what gives it that woody shimmer, that polished darkness...

  This is an incredible fragrance crafted in true vintage style. It immediately brings to mind Femme Rochas in its original formulation — though, dare I say, it might even surpass it. While the vintage Femme aimed to capture the scent of a woman’s well-worn leather handbag, Carthusia achieves that vision with greater finesse. The balance of aldehydes is spot-on — effervescent yet smooth — and the interplay of peach and iris lends a soft, suede-like texture that feels utterly luxurious. Chanel like but better. This bottle, too, came to me through Quarry . Even now, it feels touched by her presence. It still smells, somehow, faintly of her kindness. What truly astonishes me is that Carthusia managed to create something this rich and evocative within modern IFRA restrictions. If they can pull this off, one wonders why so many other houses can’t.

Andy started Tauerville to do the things he could not — or would not — do within his main line. It was his playground: a space to be more playful, more experimental, more free . The FLASH series was born from that spirit — a collection of bold, soliflore-inspired creations that distilled an idea down to its essence. And among them , Rose Flash was my favourite. I’m not sure why I didn’t buy it back then — I was still a bit of a newbie and thought it would be around forever. Perhaps Quarry knew better. After she was gone, this bottle found its way to me — as if she had sent it from somewhere unseen, one last fragrant gesture of friendship. I can almost imagine her smile, knowing I’d finally fallen for it the way she always had. Andy never wanted this flash rose dissected or analysed — and I won’t. Some perfumes are meant to be felt, not studied. Rose Flash is one of those rare fragrances that bypasses intellect and goes straight to the heart. It’s a beautiful, sweet, jammy ROSE ...