Saturday, March 27, 2010

The Hermessences: An Appreciation

Hermès was one of the first houses to do a boutique-exclusive fragrance line, and although a number of houses have done the same recently, this is the best boutique-exclusive line so far. Deceptively complex and impressively coherent as a statement of purpose, these 8 fragrances also stand as a monument to the genius of Hermès house nose Jean-Claude Ellena. Today I'll be giving my impressions of 7 of these 8; since I hate licorice, I don't feel qualified to speak on Brin de Reglisse.

Poivre Samarcande: A striking mixture of musk, dry woods, and black pepper, this fragrance is completely sui generis in its spare elegance. Ellena has circled similar ideas in the past, and Poivre Samarcande resembles an angular, rigorous version of his Cartier Declaration, stripped to its bare essence and then magnified. Contrary to various odd claims, it lasts for a long time on the skin: one spray can be detected a full 8 hours later. Simply the best pepper fragrance out there.

Rose Ikebana: In some ways, this is the most difficult of the line to come to terms with, paradoxically because it is the most accessible on first sniff: it is deceptively easy to dismiss Rose Ikebana as just another (exceptionally) pretty face in the crowd. Upon repeated visits, however, it becomes clear that Ellena has once again shown his mastery of simplicity. Rose Ikebana reads, as with many of Ellena's fragrances, as a reworking of past themes: in this case, the crisp citrus of Divine Bergamote and Eau de Pamplemousse Rose is balanced by an ethereal rose note. Simple, beautiful, and a must-smell for those think they don't like rose fragrances.

Paprika Brasil: This is the most underrated of the line. It is also one of the most distinctive; like Poivre Samarcande, there's nothing else out there that smells quite like this. Ellena frequently works with spices, and this is his take on the capsaicin (spicy pepper) note. It works beautifully: a hot pepper accord mingles with basil and iris to create the olfactory version of spicy-sweet food. Odd at first, it quickly establishes itself as a remarkable comfort scent.

Vanille Galant: The only disappointment among the Hermèssences, Vanille Galant mixes a wonderful, non-gourmand vanilla accord with an unfortunate melon note. Melon is a difficult note in general, and its inclusion here proves to be unpleasant.

Osmanthe Yunnan: Despite Luca Turin's rave review in Perfumes: The Guide, this is not the best of the Hermessences, although it is quite good. This is the drier, tea-infused sibling to Paprika Brasil and Rose Ikebana: very well done, but like many polite tea scents it struggles to make itself heard.

Vetiver Tonka: The best "friendly" vetiver in existence, full stop. Other vetivers can lay claim to being a truer representation of the material (Vetiver Extraordinaire, for example), but Vetiver Tonka moves in the opposite direction: its mixture of warm rootiness and savory caramel results in a perfect balance between dark and sweet. The absurdly long drydown is shockingly beautiful. Thematically, VT is a departure: deep and full, it does not have the same haiku-like simplicity of the rest of the Hermèssences.

Ambre Narguile: Some have compared this to the Serge Lutens orientals, but they are wrong: Unlike the Lutens fragrances, Ambre Narguile doesn't make me immediately nauseous. By far the thickest and warmest of the Hermessences, AN is, like Vetiver Tonka, a departure from the rest of the line in its opulence and complexity. Rich ambers mix with dried fruit and tobacco to create the perfume equivalent of a roaring fire. It might skirt the edge of being too much, but unlike most ambers out there it is never boring.

Overall, the Hermèssences are impressively unique: most of them smell unlike anything else out there, and the ones that do fall into a recognizable category (fruity floral for Rose Ikebana, woody vetiver for Vetiver Tonka) stand among the best in their class. Anyone claiming to write this line off as pretentious simplicity is welcome to drown in a vat of Ambre Sultan: there is nothing pretentious about these fragrances. Indeed, they just smell really fucking good, and isn't that what perfume is supposed to do?