๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ด๐ข๐ท๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ง๐ข๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ฏ๐ช๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ง๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ.โฃ
Are niche perfume brands taking advantage of us? Lately Iโve been asking myself this question.โฃ
For a guy who has only been into niche fragrances for the last two years, I shouldn’t have gotten burned out already, but burned out I am. Add a bit disillusioned as well. How come? The reasons are legion: fragrance houses are churning out releases that are neither special nor memorable, flankers spawning flankers like a bad sequel franchise. Brands paying off influencers to do their bidding. Houses repeatedly dangling “limited edition” perfumes in front of unsuspecting fans, letting scalpers mark them up into the stratosphere, then announcing months later that the run was never actually limited. Brands cutting corners on presentation so the bottles all blur into the same anonymous glass, even the ones that cost hundreds. Executives bragging about revenue like that’s the point of all of this. And not least, fragrance houses making their products more inaccessible and expensive than ever before, while insisting it’s all in service of the craft.โฃ
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There is a much bigger problem than companies simply being greedy and watering down their wares. I’m not saying money is the root of all evil; every perfume company needs to make money, they’re businesses. But some are abandoning everything people love most about niche brands in the first place. The instinct to make everyone happy, rather than standing by unusual scent profiles, is quietly dragging brands from niche territory into luxury designer/mainstream territory. There is a clear difference between niche and luxury. They are not the same thing and do not necessarily overlap.โฃ
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I felt all of this until this month, when I finally bit the bullet and bought my first Serge Lutens fragrance. This brand has fully restored my faith in niche perfumery and helped me sharpen my focus on smaller, more artisan brands.โฃ
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My first was Ambre Sultan, which completely blew me away. I quickly bought five more: Chergui, Five o’clock au gingembre, Fleurs d’oranger, La religieuse, and La fille de Berlin. Two of them are 10s, three are 9s. Only one of them is an 8.5, but on another day I could easily give it a 9 or even higher as well.โฃ
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It takes a lot for me to give a 10 because my readers might think I mean a fragrance is perfectly crafted, which I don’t at all mean to suggest. There is no such thing as a perfect fragrance in my view. I am over the moon to own all six of them and I have plans to get many more when the time is right.โฃ
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Yes, Serge Lutens boxes are very plain and nary an influencer is hyping them. The bottles are tasteful but nothing to write home about. The biggest problem with the ones I own is they all look almost exactly the same except for tiny printed names in a dark grey font on black background that are far too difficult to discern from a distance. But the juice in these bottles, my God, the juice. They are utterly unlike anything else I have smelled and I’m constantly looking for reasons to apply them.โฃ
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I am by no means an expert on Serge Lutens fragrances and I have a lot to learn. One database notes Christopher Sheldrake as perfumer on 79 fragrances, the vast majority of them for Serge Lutens, a staggering catalogue even if he can’t be credited as having personally conceived every single one from the house. I don’t have an opinion on the majority of his work because I have not smelled it. But I know quality when I smell it, and these six fragrances by him deserve their flowers. I can see how they must have inspired many perfumers, but rarely been imitated.โฃ
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These aren’t just well-crafted compositions, either. They’re exciting, fun, and so utterly unique as to at times be borderline zany. Even the way the names are spelled in sentence case rather than title case is quirky, Iโm not sure if thatโs French or just Serge Lutens being Serge Lutens. As for the scent profiles I’ve heard they have a fairy tale quality to them, that there’s a story inside each one. From the ones I’ve tried, I fully concur. They all carry a certain mysterious je ne sais quoi that’s hard to put a finger on, but if you know, you know. This is stylish perfumery that will always feel modern. None of my little Serge Lutens collection smells dated, obsolete or carelessly made. More people need to recognize this house.โฃ
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I know I’m far from an expert on this brand, but I thought it might be fun to rank my six Serge Lutens bottles from worst to best, although as should be abundantly clear, I love all of them. None of them is bad, far from it. I could see a case for ranking any one of them first depending on the situation. But for the purpose of this article I want to rank them based on what I think of them right now.โฃ
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Let’s go.โฃ
6๏ธโฃ ๐๐ ๐ซ๐๐ฅ๐ข๐ ๐ข๐๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ (๐/๐๐)โฃ
โฃThe name means “The Nun” in French, but while its innocent floral side suggests purity, there is a very naughty animalic edge right under the surface, a nun by day who is a baddie by night. The main notes are listed as jasmine, musk, incense and civet. What makes the contrast work structurally, not just thematically, is that civet doesn’t sit underneath the jasmine the way a base note usually props up a heart note. It threads through it, so the indolic edge that real jasmine absolute already carries gets amplified rather than masked, then the incense comes in and smokes the whole thing into something closer to a held breath than a clean floral. That’s the “baddie by night” effect, not two separate accords taking turns but one note leaning on the other’s worst impulses. I think women would gravitate toward wearing La religieuse, but there’s no reason anyone can’t. The only reason this one scores so low for me is that it’s a very intimate scent, it sits close to my skin. I don’t need loud projection from it, but a little more oomph would be appreciated. However, I can see many situations where it would be perfect. It’s not the most complex fragrance from Serge Lutens, but it is certainly delightful. I love wearing it to bed.โฃ
5๏ธโฃ ๐ ๐ฅ๐๐ฎ๐ซ๐ฌ ๐’๐จ๐ซ๐๐ง๐ ๐๐ซ (๐/๐๐)โฃ
I own a landscaping business. I’m in and around plant life all the time, and as a result I can tell the difference between many species on sight or smell alone. There is a world of difference between orange blossom in actual bloom versus the usual synthetic rendering that passes for it in a bottle. That background is exactly why this fragrance impresses me as much as it does. Real orange blossom in the air is fleeting and a little bit dirty around the edges, it never smells quite as clean as people expect. Most fragrances just scrub that dirt out entirely. Fleurs d’oranger keeps that bitter, slightly green petal-and-leaf edge intact instead of smoothing it into simple room freshener aerosol sweetness, a special kind of verve and restraint displayed by Sheldrake, the perfumer behind it. In my opinion this is not just another floral, but an absolutely glorious orange blossom and jasmine fragrance crafted with precisely the right dosage of opposing tendencies to cause an exquisite tension. There’s so much more happening here, so much to unpack that I’m still uncovering. Is it subtle? Not at all, it’s multi-faceted but at the same time it’s a powerful projector. On my skin it easily lasts eight-plus hours, and even longer on clothes. It’s perfectly suited for hot weather and is androgynous unless you have old-fashioned ideas about florals being for women and woods for men. I’ve worn this in summer heat and found it exactly right for my needs. The only reason I’m ranking it fifth is because the four fragrances that follow are total jaw-droppers.โฃ
4๏ธโฃ ๐ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ ๐จ’๐๐ฅ๐จ๐๐ค ๐๐ฎ ๐ ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐๐ฆ๐๐ซ๐ (๐.๐/๐๐)โฃ
You might be wondering why this fragrance is ranked fourth when it carries a lower score than the two fragrances behind it. The honest answer is that, on craft alone, I think fragrances 5-6 might be better than this one. But craft isn’t the only thing I’m ranking by here. Five o’clock au gingembre is the one I actually grab and wear without a second thought, which counts for something in its own right. The reason for the lower score than La religieuse and Fleurs d’oranger is that the performance for Five o’clock au gingembre on my skin is only 3-4 hours and not much longer on clothes. Also the scent bubble stays close to intimate. So why the ranking? As far as I’m concerned, the scent profile itself is easily a solid 10. If you have even a passing interest in ginger, you must at the very least sample Five o’clock au gingembre. The ginger has a candied quality that goes hand in glove with a spicy tea accord that smells a lot like Earl Grey, which happens to be my parents’ favourite drink, the one I’d always make for them after dinner. What I think is happening is that fresh ginger root is sharp and almost soapy on its own, while candied or dried ginger turns warmer and rounder, and this fragrance seems built around that second register, with the tea accord like actual Earl Grey; there’s a faint citrus-and-tannin lift that keeps the warmth from turning into a straightforward dessert. Is it a simple fragrance? Yes, but simple doesn’t mean it’s not worth having, or wearing. The sense of well-being I get from this one is phenomenal. One final note: while Five o’clock au gingembre certainly has ginger and tea elements, it is not, for me, a gourmand. I bought this because I didn’t have many ginger-forward fragrances in my collection. I’m actively having to tell myself to give this one a break, or I’ll drain the bottle without meaning to.โฃ
3๏ธโฃ ๐๐ ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ซ๐ฅ๐ข๐ง (๐๐/๐๐)โฃ
Men from my Middle Eastern, South Asian, Muslim heritage take rose fragrances extremely seriously. I have Frederic Malle Promise, a decant of Les Indemodables Rose de Jamal that Iโm trying not to use up, Amouage Lyric Man and Amouage Epic Woman, and I might be forgetting others. Serge Lutens La fille de Berlin is my favourite rose right now. Yes, even ahead of Amouage Lyric Man, which I recently poured my heart out about over an entire article. The scent of La fille de Berlin is of a dark and mysterious red rose, rich with emotion and elegant to the extreme. Spices play a special part. I like the use of them here even better than I do in Epic Woman, and I think it comes down to placement. In Epic Woman the spice sits more clearly as an accent around the rose, while here it reads as though it’s been folded into the petal itself, so the warmth shows up as part of the rose’s own character rather than as something layered on top of it. The elephant in the room is that some say La fille de Berlin smells like blood, likely because of a sharp metallic note. I don’t personally get blood from it, and I’ve grown used to the metallic edge to the point that I feel it sits far behind the rose itself. My guess, and it is a guess rather than something I can confirm, is that the effect comes from how aldehydic or ionone-type materials can read as cold and faintly metallic against a deep red rose accord, the same family of effect that gives some roses their bracing, almost wet-stone opening before they soften. I genuinely love this fragrance any time of year. In fact, I’m wearing nine sprays right now in the middle of a summer heat wave near Toronto.
โฃ2๏ธโฃ๐๐ฆ๐๐ซ๐ ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ญ๐๐ง (๐/๐๐)โฃ
Some people would say this should be in first place, so why is it second, and why is it just a 9, not a 10? The only reason is that I’m not the biggest amber fan, though that could change. There’s absolutely no craft problem with the scent profile, which is undoubtedly reference-worthy for what an amber should or could be. The first time I sprayed Ambre sultan on my hand and smelled it, I almost cried, and I’m still not entirely sure why. It hit a very deep and personal part of my heart that essentially wrote a 2,000-plus word review for me on the spot. Amber as a scent is a completely artificial construct: amber is dried, fossilized tree sap, with no inherent odour, and if you actually burn it, it just smells like burned plastic. What perfumers actually mean by an amber accord is usually some combination of labdanum, benzoin and vanilla, and what separates a good one from a forgettable one is how much herbal, almost bitter green material gets allowed into the blend to cut the sweetness. That’s what I think is happening here. The herbs keep pulling the composition back from dessert territory every time the vanilla and benzoin try to take over, which is why it reads as spicy and serious rather than cozy and soft. The closest comparison I can make is a vanilla laced with spicy elements and the scent of clean, powdered baby skin. For context, I’d put it up against Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur, an exquisite fragrance and one of the best musc scents ever made, the kind of polarizing classic people either love or can’t stand. I loved it. It might be controversial, but I’ll say it: next to Ambre sultan, Musc Ravageur genuinely feels slightly less elevated. There’s something about Ambre sultan’s spiciness, that herbal restraint working against the sweetness, that makes it the more interesting fragrance to reach for. I don’t need to think twice before wearing Ambre sultan. I can’t say the same about Musc Ravageur, much as I like it.โฃ
1๏ธโฃ ๐๐ก๐๐ซ๐ ๐ฎ๐ข (๐๐/๐๐)โฃ
There’s a lot that’s already been said about Chergui, so I’ll keep this brief. Does it smell like the wind blowing through the Western Sahara, as the name suggests? I’ve been there, and I don’t get that. Is it the best tobacco-honey fragrance on the market? Arguably. A highly addictive tobacco fragrance that leans on hay to build a sweetness unlike anything else I’ve personally sampled, Chergui earns that sweetness honestly. Hay’s signature sweetness has a dry, almost dusty quality that’s completely different from how sugar or vanilla read as sweet. Pairing that against a leafy tobacco, which brings its own bitterness and smoke, means the honey note has to fight through dryness on one side and bitterness on the other to come across at all, and that resistance is most of why it feels so rich. Also I would be willing to wager that anyone can wear this, in any situation. It smells far from generic or mass pleasing but manages the trick of simultaneously being inherently multi-generational and gender inclusive. If Chergui were the only fragrance house perfumer Christopher Sheldrake ever had a hand in, it would still be a career worth remembering for generations. As it stands, Chergui is my favourite Serge Lutens fragrance at the moment with Five o’clock au gingembre in hot pursuit. The scent profile is incredibly evocative, the projection and longevity are excellent and the fragrance is simply and overwhelmingly likeable, while remaining very much niche. The odds are good that nobody within a country mile has ever smelled it, let alone worn it. If you only get one fragrance from the house of Serge Lutens, this is the one I would recommend, but be prepared to go down a rabbit hole. What a sensational house, I can’t wait to try more.โฃ
๐๐ญ๐ช ๐๐ฐ๐ฌ๐ฉ๐ข๐ณ๐ช ๐ช๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐๐ฅ๐ช๐ต๐ฐ๐ณ-๐ช๐ฏ-๐๐ฉ๐ช๐ฆ๐ง ๐ฐ๐ง ๐๐ญ๐ช ๐๐ฆ๐ณ๐ง๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ธ๐ข๐ญ๐ข.
