dominique ropion: 12 posts

Aphorismes by Dominique Ropion Innocent Tuberose : Perfume Review

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Few perfumers navigate the intersection of creativity and technical prowess as deftly as Dominique Ropion. His track record reads like a résumé designed to impress even the most jaded observer: Dior Dune, Givenchy Amarige, Thierry Mugler Alien and Lancôme La Vie est Belle. I had the privilege of working with Ropion at IFF, where I discovered not only his brilliance but also his generosity as a teacher. Which, of course, makes me a suspiciously biased judge. And yet, years spent smelling everything from the sublime to the regrettable have, I hope, earned me a modicum of distance.

All the same, I couldn’t resist a visit to 27 Rue Marbeuf on a recent trip to Paris, where the Aphorismes by Dominique Ropion boutique gleams like a Fabergé egg in its display case. Ropion has partnered with Habib Al-Sowaidi, founder of Le Royaume du Parfum International, a company known for developing gilded concepts and equally gilded packaging. Judging by the boutique’s hyper-luxurious décor and the prevalence of oud and creamy musks in the collection, the aesthetic here leans toward a particular idea of opulence. Let’s call it “majlis meets Place Vendôme.”

The collection comprises six perfumes, each with names that suggest either simplicity or whimsy: A Rose is a Rose, Crazy Garden, Encens Insensé, Innocent Tuberose, My Clémentine, and Oud à l’Amour. We are told they offer “modern takes on classical fragrance families.” This promise intrigued me. Ropion is not the sort to do things by halves.

And indeed, each perfume is immaculately constructed. The ingredients are superb. The compositions shimmer and glow. They last for hours and leave trails that are as finely calibrated as a line of perfectly placed pearls. Even Oud à l’Amour, the collection’s heavy-hitter, has a transparency that makes it more Veuve Clicquot than vintage port. My Clémentine is a sunny splash of bitter orange with the fizz of champagne bubbles, and it stays that way far longer than physics should allow.

But something was missing. These perfumes are models of elegance and restraint. Impeccable, yes. But I found myself searching for a pulse. Once the blotter was set down, I struggled to recall anything beyond the flawless execution. At first, I blamed myself. Perhaps I had become too critical. But then I smelled Prada Purple Rain and Serge Lutens Cracheuse de Flammes and felt the old jolt of excitement return. So I kept revisiting Aphorismes, searching for the elusive spark.

It came faintly in Innocent Tuberose. Ironically, the most predictable of the group. A lush, creamy white floral that demonstrates why Ropion is a master of this genre. It opens with a refreshing hit of citrus, like an iced finger bowl, before plunging into a riot of petals and musks. A bracing green note of cardamom and blackcurrant leaf cuts through the cream, providing just enough contrast to make the richness feel less like dessert and more like dinner at a Michelin-starred spa.

As the hours pass, what remains on the skin is a soft blur of petals anchored by woody notes that evoke cold roots and moss. It’s still a white floral, still unmistakably Ropion, but tempered, like an indulgence that’s been given a gym membership.

Fans of Frédéric Malle’s Carnal Flower will find Innocent Tuberose an easy pleasure. I should know; I wore Carnal Flower on my wedding day, and I still reach for it with fondness. Does Innocent Tuberose unseat it? Not quite. Where Carnal Flower has those jagged edges that make it human, Innocent Tuberose is smoother, more polished, and perhaps a little too perfect. Like a face that has never known a sleepless night.

And then there’s the price. As always with perfection, it doesn’t come cheap.

Aphorismes by Dominique Ropion Innocent Tuberose includes mandarin, grapefruit, bergamot, orange blossom absolute, ginger, cardamom, pink pepper, cassis, muguet, tuberose, ylang ylang, jasmine sambac, lactones, Cashmeran, cypriol, vetiver, ambergris, musk. Available directly from the boutique and Jovoy in Paris. Very expensive.

Carnal Flowers

No fragrance type elicits more polarized reactions than white flowers. For some, they’re the ultimate love potion. For others–a bottled nightmare. I realize that the term “white flowers” covers too many botanicals to be useful, but let’s pretend we’re talking about night-blooming plants like jasmine, gardenia and tuberose. Jasmine can smell like horse sweat. Gardenia has a distinct whiff of mushrooms. But at least jasmine and gardenia can be tamed and made pretty and gentle. Tuberose, on the other hand, doesn’t do demure well and it also stands no competition. Add a touch of tuberose to a perfume, and it takes over everything with its warmth and luxurious heft. It’s perfect for those of us tired of wan floral perfumes that smell as if they need to be on life support.

My favorite tuberose is Frédéric Malle Carnal Flower. It’s been around since 2005, and I’ve rhapsodized about it for about that long. It thrills me with the richness of the sensations it evokes, from the brightness of green notes to the warmth of the tuberose petals. But that’s not why I selected it for my modern classics series, On White Flowers. Over the past decade it has become one of the gold standard tuberose fragrances against which others are judged. Love it or hate it, but it’s a modern classic.

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Issey Miyake Nuit d’Issey : Fragrance Review

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Many like to knock contemporary masculine perfumery. It’s boring. It’s bland. It’s all fake citrus and sharp lavender, fly the accusations. I have often been the accuser, but today I’m going to defend the valiant attempts to make a sensible masculine fragrance. Folks, making a good masculine is just so darn hard. As far as the audience goes, many men, especially in North America and Germany, are a conservative bunch. The consumer data tell the story: they are more hesitant to try something different. They prefer to wear fragrances similar to what their fathers wore. Many don’t want to admit they even wear scent. “I don’t wear perfume,” says my cousin as he walks around in a huge cloud of Axe body spray.

nuitissey

If perfume companies assume that men will wear anything under a familiar label, they make a mistake. Even if your average guy doesn’t want to push his boundaries with new scents, he still wants quality and classical good taste. When my cousin’s beloved Axe Apollo got reformulated and lost in diffusion and finesse, he instantly noticed it. What resulted was a soliloquy worthy of a Greek tragic hero.

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Ralph Lauren Safari : Fragrance Review

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Elisa on Safari, a ’90s classic with an ’80s spirit.

The ‘80s were a time that fetishized “adventure” – I grew up watching movies that took a page from Heart of Darkness, portraying Americans or Brits confronting the terrifying Other-ness of primitive African, Asian, and aboriginal cultures. Today’s audiences would find most of these films (Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Crocodile Dundee, etc.) unwatchably offensive, and rightly so; their cultural moment has passed.

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Ralph Lauren Safari, composed by Dominique Ropion, was released in 1990, but feels to me like an ‘80s scent (cusp years cling more tightly to the previous decade than the following, I’ve found). As a concept perfume, it perfectly fits the adventurist trend, and I associate those striking Bridget Hall ads that I saw in every magazine as a kid with the old Banana Republic stores. (If you’re younger than me, you might not remember that their stock in trade at the time was khaki shorts and branded t-shirts, not pinstriped office-wear.)

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Frederic Malle Portrait of a Lady : Perfume Review

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The news of Frédéric Malle selling his Editions de Parfums house to Estée Lauder reminded me that I haven’t gotten around to writing about one of the most intriguing fragrances from his collection, Portrait of a Lady. Why intriguing? Well, consider the name. If it brings to your mind the cool elegance of Henry James’s heroines, then you’re not alone. I also expected something along these lines–ultra refined, sophisticated and feminine. Except that it is all wrong. Portrait of a Lady is interesting precisely because the scent is not at all what you expect. It’s a twist on a Middle Eastern theme, and it’s not all that lady-like.

Picasso-Boy-with-Pipe

If you’ve already smelled traditional Middle Eastern perfumes or western blends inspired by them (Amouage, Kilian’s oudsArmani Privé Rose d’Arabie), then you might recognize similar elements in Portrait of a Lady. It has a generous dose of classical “oriental” notes–sandalwood, amber, patchouli, dark woods smoked over incense, and of course, rose. It has a similar dramatic and mysterious character that makes this perfume genre so distinctive.

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