Serge Lutens – Chypre Rouge

Serge Lutens – Chypre Rouge

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It is said that there is a fine line between madness and genius. Nowhere is this more apparent in the world of modern perfumery than in the creative duo of Serge Lutens and Christopher Sheldrake. Even the most classically beautiful of the fragrances in the Serge Lutens line have an underlying tension and subversity which make them fascinating at best and challenging at worst, but never, ever mundane.

Chypre Rouge was released by Serge Lutens in 2006 as part of his export line. I found this to be an interesting move, since the house generally releases those fragrances fit for U.S. (i.e. less sophisticated) consumption, and by many accounts, Chypre Rouge can be a challenging scent. Out of the bottle, Chypre Rouge smells thick: a plummy, jammy, spicy mash that feels more like something you would spread on toast than an actual perfume. The spices invoke all of the warmth and opulence of Lutens’s beloved Marrakech, and makes me feel completely transported. True to its name and hue, Chypre Rouge smells deeply red and calls to mind autumn leaves on the forest floor, damp and musky, with a hint of decay, sweet and pervasive like dense maple syrup.

On skin, however, the fragrance tells a different story. Similar to his Tubereuse Criminelle, Chypre Rouge’s opening belies a softer, more accessible fragrance underneath. As the intense oriental opening diminshes, the spices simmer down to a mere whisper, allowing a soft, sweet and slightly creamy woods to emerge with notes of honey and vanilla. It is in these deeper, twilight hours, that we experience the chypre aspect of the fragrance, as a light mossiness overtakes the dense immortelle-like scent, creating a sedcutive, silky veil. The sillage follows suit, wearing closer and closer to the skin as the hours pass, though as a Lutens creation, it is tenacious.

As I have found to be the case with other fragrances in the Lutens line, the aspect which I initially find most defiant in the fragrance ultimately becomes my favorite. Hours into the more demure drydown, I find myself missing the heady, viscous opening, leading me to carry around a sample vial whenever I wear it to recapture the initial assault. My sincere thanks to Messrs. Lutens and Sheldrake for creating provocative fragrances that push our limits, for it is through this olfactive adversity that we grow.

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Oriental Chypre

Notes: thyme, pine needles, honey, beeswax, jasmine, patchouli, vanilla, moss, amber, musk

 

Serge Lutens – Gris Clair

Serge Lutens – Gris Clair

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I will start out this post with two admissions. First: I do not tend to view fragrances as “masculine” or “feminine”, rather as well-composed and beautiful, or not. There are several fragrances which I appreciate from both categories, one of my favorites being Chanel’s Egoiste. That being said, Gris Clair is definitely suited to being worn by a man. Second: I have a degree of synesthesia, which means that I perceive abstract things as having color. For example, the number One is white. The letter E is green. While I do not experience this to a degree that is disruptive (unless you consider not being able to wear certain fragrances while dressed in a certain color disruptive), it does sometimes create confusion when my perceived impression is challenged. Case in point, the fact that Thierry Mugler’s Angel was blue-colored was shocking to me, because it was so obviously in my mind the smell of all things deep, delicious and brown. Why I raise this will become clear.

The first time I set out to conquer the masterful body of work that is the Serge Lutens line, I started small. Not in volume, just in size. I obtained a number of sample vials based largely on description and personal inclination. As part of this bounty, I requested a vial of Gris Clair. When the samples arrived, I immediately smothered myself in Tubereuse Criminelle and Ambre Sultan and was out of commission for the rest of the evening. The next morning, I opened the Gris Clair vial and was immediately surprised by the novel treatment of lavender. I liked it well enough, but then I put it away to further explore the more immediately and blatantly intoxicating fragrances.

Then a funny thing happened. Days went by, and I could not stop thinking about Gris Clair. Was that a hint of smoke I detected? How did the interplay between lavender and a certain ashy sensation play out? Like a handsome stranger one sees fleetingly before the train doors shut, I could not stop thinking about this mysterious beauty. I had to seek it out and investigate further.

While I generally associate lavender with warm sunshine, sweeping fields and the fresh-scrubbed innocence of childhood, Gris Clair’s lavender did not fit into any of these categories. This is an adult, refined lavender with a shadowy, ghostly aspect. Gris Clair has a certain chill to it, not unlike the smell of dry burning wood on a cold winter night. While tonka and amber round out the smokiness and give a spark of life and depth to the fire, the predominant impression is that of alternating wisps of lavender and incense smoke. Neither impression dominates, the two just alternate and envelop each other throughout the day in a magical smoky dance.

While the sillage is more serene than some of Christopher Sheldrake’s creations for the Lutens line, the tenacity is no less impressive. It stays with me through the day without my needing to hunt for it. While I would be loath to attempt to pit one Serge Lutens fragrance against another in comparison, this is quite different than many of his creations. Circling back to the synesthesia discussion, I see the entire Serge Lutens line as a color wheel, where certain shades congregate at one part of the circle versus another, grouped by commonalities in composition.  Blues and purples here, yellows and greens there and round again for red and orange. Exchange certain elements of the composition and you no longer have blue, you have orange.

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I sometimes have the sense that the house views the fragrances this way as well, given the deep and provocative hues they select for the fragrances. Gris Clair is in fact, light grey and falls to the end of a certain spectrum in the line, closer to a Five O’Clock at Gingembre and a tiny glimmer of Ambre Sultan. If you prefer the other end of the color wheel inhabited by A La Nuit, this will probably not be for you, unless like me, you have room enough in your heart to love them all. Gris Clair… definitely inhabits the other-worldly domain of grey where the sharp lines between black and white fade to abstraction: it is neither lavender nor ash. It is both and yet neither, warm and cold, calm and yet arresting. If I had to select one word to complete the space after the ellipses in the name, the suggestion that there is more to this fragrance than initially perceived, it is this… haunting.

Woods

Notes: iris, incense, tonka bean, amber, lavender and wood notes.