The mistake I made was starting with Derring-Do (2006). Although, of course, I wasn’t to know that at the time. When the sample vials from Ineke arrived, that was the first scent to which I was drawn. Heaven knows why; perhaps on that day, I had some latent longing to don Robin Hood tights. But one whiff was enough to put me off returning to the collection for several weeks. Subsequent sniffs of that particular piece of work haven’t changed my mind, I’m afraid. It’s an uninspired take on the sorts of ‘clean’, lemony-wood masculines that were novel decades ago, but now just come across as brash and cynical. Maybe one day we’ll get a composition that revisits and reframes the genre in an interesting way, but this isn’t it. Thankfully, it isn’t representative of the set as a whole.
Taken as a collective, the results of San Francisco-based Ineke Rühland’s labours display an endearing, unforced softness. A very 21st-century rejection of grand statements, of baroque complexity, of superfluous flourishes. That’s fine – and, in a commercial sense, it’s certainly the sort of thing many people are looking for – but it also means that if the fragrances are to achieve greatness, they must express their clarity – they must show off their ‘streamlined souls’ – with utter conviction. Some do so more than others.
Field Notes From Paris (2009) is one of the less successful entries. A very bitter tobacco merges with bright bergamot to promise a saturnine take on the French capital’s discourse-loving cafe culture, but it soon descends to a rather safe patchouli. The conversation – and the coffee – turn too sour. But from there, things begin to look up.
Hothouse Flower (2012) is a credible gardenia, edged at one end with the tenderness of lily and, at the other, the acid bite of tuberose. A lucid fig note adds – surprisingly – a touch of prettiness and keeps the whole firmly in the territory of ‘pleasant’. The same adjective could be levelled at Iddylwild (2015) and Balmy Days & Sundays (2006). The former presents a sweet, ambery, citrus opening not unlike that of Habit Rouge, before delving into pine forests and lavender fields. The latter is a rosy-green haze, tinged with mimosa and honeysuckle accents that keep floating into view like memories that dissolve every time you try to concentrate on them. Its drydown lacks depth, but the journey towards it offers sufficient points of interest.
In a markedly different league is Evening Edged In Gold (2007). That last word in the name is a potent clue to the perfume’s effect. Everything here is smothered in rich, molten metal, from the honey facet, to the leathery osmanthus and the cinnamon sweetness. There’s a plushness reminiscent of the texture of YSL Nu, as well as a compelling insistence on slowing down, easing into languor and letting the eponymous evening drag out into delicious endlessness.
Perhaps the most affecting is, appropriately enough, After My Own Heart (2006). In fact, it may well be the most moving lilac-freesia scent I’ve smelt since I first encountered Frederic Malle En Passant. Nothing is out of place here. The greens are never too harsh; the retro vibe of the rosy soapiness isn’t overdone; the intriguing, plasticky edge of the central florals isn’t allowed to take over. It may not be as complex as the Malle – it doesn’t convey quite the same sense of movement, of the shifting of time – but perhaps it isn’t trying to be. It feels like a sincere attempt to capture a moment — to share an experience with the wearer. And it is that sincerity that makes it the star of a set which, in the end, I was very pleased to have discovered.
[Review based on samples provided by the brand in 2019.]
Persolaise
—
If you’ve enjoyed this post, please consider supporting my work
by ‘buying me a coffee’ using the panel below.
Thanks very much indeed.
—
Discover more from
Subscribe to get the latest posts to your email.