Reviews of Arpège by Lanvin
(Comparison of vintage Arpege extrait of the Lanvin Perfumes era, and Arpege Eau de Lanvin, both prior to 1990)
This was going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in all of my years of perfume collecting and writing. I can sum it up in one sentence if this is an undertaking you wish to do yourself: good luck picking out most of the notes in either one of these. Arpege is a true floral amalgam, the kind that No. 5 only wishes it could be (yes, I know those are fighting words). So, I’m not going to bother with my usual way of going about this, and we’ll look at the forest not the trees.
The first thing to note is that the extrait plays around with the fruit and florals a lot more than the eau. The eau pushes the honeysuckle and muguet very far forward, which in tandem with a big clove note gives a honeyed animalic type feeling - also likely thanks to some base materials already playing upwards. Strangely, and rather opposite to what happens with these concentrations, the extrait is brighter than the eau. Richer, sure, obviously, but the eau has dimmer light thanks to more spices and more emphasis on the darker and durable materials in the base. The extrait is compelled to hold on to the brighter fruit and brighter florals for as long as possible, and it does so for a long time before the fruit departs first. The heart of the extrait still keeps the lights on, seeming to focus more on rose, ylang-ylang, and mimosa rather than spices, and keeps the base materials firmly underneath and well covered.
It’s no surprise that the eau reaches the base before the extrait, the former going a more convincing chypre direction while the extrait commands a more amberic lean. The eau is classically mossy, and given sparing doses of sandalwood and spices to help it along. The extrait is very sandalwood, vetiver, and spices forward with a touch of leather. Thanks to the slightly green vetiver, the extrait still feels brighter with the eau feeling like a forest walk at dusk.
There is a lot more to Arpege than what I have described, but the primary thing to note is the extrait is more amber, the eau is more chypre, the extrait has a sunnier disposition while the eau prefers to play with shadows. Arpege is quite grand and statement making; many will not find it easy to wear, but that’s not because it is loud, ostentatious, or challenging, far from either of those things, it’s because it has one of those profiles or personalities that is so intricate, beautiful, and unique that it will capture the full attention of whatever room it walks into. Whatever the concentration, know that you will get a perfectly seamless composition of exquisite materials that will defy any attempts to break it apart or pigeon-hole it.
There you go, folks. That’s the best that I can do, which doesn’t do Arpege justice. It is a perfume to be experienced in its entirety and reveled-in from moment to moment, not a perfume for study or reductive commentary as above - though it certainly tempts study in every perfume nerd that comes across its path. In any and all forms Arpege is a legend, a maverick of modern perfumery, and one of the best ever made.
This was going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in all of my years of perfume collecting and writing. I can sum it up in one sentence if this is an undertaking you wish to do yourself: good luck picking out most of the notes in either one of these. Arpege is a true floral amalgam, the kind that No. 5 only wishes it could be (yes, I know those are fighting words). So, I’m not going to bother with my usual way of going about this, and we’ll look at the forest not the trees.
The first thing to note is that the extrait plays around with the fruit and florals a lot more than the eau. The eau pushes the honeysuckle and muguet very far forward, which in tandem with a big clove note gives a honeyed animalic type feeling - also likely thanks to some base materials already playing upwards. Strangely, and rather opposite to what happens with these concentrations, the extrait is brighter than the eau. Richer, sure, obviously, but the eau has dimmer light thanks to more spices and more emphasis on the darker and durable materials in the base. The extrait is compelled to hold on to the brighter fruit and brighter florals for as long as possible, and it does so for a long time before the fruit departs first. The heart of the extrait still keeps the lights on, seeming to focus more on rose, ylang-ylang, and mimosa rather than spices, and keeps the base materials firmly underneath and well covered.
It’s no surprise that the eau reaches the base before the extrait, the former going a more convincing chypre direction while the extrait commands a more amberic lean. The eau is classically mossy, and given sparing doses of sandalwood and spices to help it along. The extrait is very sandalwood, vetiver, and spices forward with a touch of leather. Thanks to the slightly green vetiver, the extrait still feels brighter with the eau feeling like a forest walk at dusk.
There is a lot more to Arpege than what I have described, but the primary thing to note is the extrait is more amber, the eau is more chypre, the extrait has a sunnier disposition while the eau prefers to play with shadows. Arpege is quite grand and statement making; many will not find it easy to wear, but that’s not because it is loud, ostentatious, or challenging, far from either of those things, it’s because it has one of those profiles or personalities that is so intricate, beautiful, and unique that it will capture the full attention of whatever room it walks into. Whatever the concentration, know that you will get a perfectly seamless composition of exquisite materials that will defy any attempts to break it apart or pigeon-hole it.
There you go, folks. That’s the best that I can do, which doesn’t do Arpege justice. It is a perfume to be experienced in its entirety and reveled-in from moment to moment, not a perfume for study or reductive commentary as above - though it certainly tempts study in every perfume nerd that comes across its path. In any and all forms Arpege is a legend, a maverick of modern perfumery, and one of the best ever made.
My mother had a bottle of Arpege sitting on her mirrored perfume tray for years and years. She seemed to cycle through multiple bottles of her favorites, like Joy and L'Air du Temps
and Karl Lagerfeld Chloe, while that fancy black and gold bottle sat there for years. I once asked her about it and she said "Arpege is very very nice. It's also boring."
To me that is the genius of Arpege. It's an aldehyde floral, like No.5 and many others, so nothing overly exciting. But vintage Arpege does smell much nicer, more rounded and richer, than a typical aldehyde bomb. You wouldn't get tons of compliments or have men throw themselves at you when you wore Arpege, but you would smell very very good. Also, during the 1950s Arpege was ubiquitous in the USA ("Promise her anything. Give her Arpege.") so I think that ubiquity led to it seeming rather dull. Revlon even did their own version- Primitif.
There was a marketing experiment once where a group of women smelled 2 fragrances blind. One was Chanel No.5 and the other Arpege. They overwhelmingly preferred Arpege. The next day the same women smelled both perfumes, only this time in their signature bottles. This time No.5 won. Chanel is marketed very well indeed.
Arpege might not be earthshaking, but that can be a good thing. If you have a large collection of perfumes, Arpege plays the right role when you just want to smell very very nice. Now, My Sin....
and Karl Lagerfeld Chloe, while that fancy black and gold bottle sat there for years. I once asked her about it and she said "Arpege is very very nice. It's also boring."
To me that is the genius of Arpege. It's an aldehyde floral, like No.5 and many others, so nothing overly exciting. But vintage Arpege does smell much nicer, more rounded and richer, than a typical aldehyde bomb. You wouldn't get tons of compliments or have men throw themselves at you when you wore Arpege, but you would smell very very good. Also, during the 1950s Arpege was ubiquitous in the USA ("Promise her anything. Give her Arpege.") so I think that ubiquity led to it seeming rather dull. Revlon even did their own version- Primitif.
There was a marketing experiment once where a group of women smelled 2 fragrances blind. One was Chanel No.5 and the other Arpege. They overwhelmingly preferred Arpege. The next day the same women smelled both perfumes, only this time in their signature bottles. This time No.5 won. Chanel is marketed very well indeed.
Arpege might not be earthshaking, but that can be a good thing. If you have a large collection of perfumes, Arpege plays the right role when you just want to smell very very nice. Now, My Sin....
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Would you gasp if I told you I prefer Lanvin Arpege to Chanel No. 5? Are you clutching your pearls? Well, the truth is out, and I think it has to do with its creamier, woodier heart that follows that radiant flash of aldehydes. Mind you, the bottle I have is from the 90s and cannot consult on more recent opaque bottles, but this particular formulation is impressive.
Arpege has an effulgent, coriander-laced jasmine, gleaming white heat, almost phosphorescent, with an antique rose and stealth peachy, lactonic undertone. One could argue that this would be a rather mature selection, particularly for women, but we might want to examine what it means to be "mature" enough to wear a fragrance. Luca Turin, the opinionated old codger, even argues that this would be dowdy on a woman but marvelous on a man. It does feel marvelous to me at least, and it dries further into its base of vetiver and sandalwood, it seduces me even more so.
It may be kaleidoscopic, even a bit too convoluted, for noses used to modern perfumery, and it doesn't seem to receive all the hype and attention that such icons as Rochas Femme, Guerlain Mitsouko, and the aforementioned No. 5, but is deserving of a seat at the table of great fragrances for the ages.
Arpege has an effulgent, coriander-laced jasmine, gleaming white heat, almost phosphorescent, with an antique rose and stealth peachy, lactonic undertone. One could argue that this would be a rather mature selection, particularly for women, but we might want to examine what it means to be "mature" enough to wear a fragrance. Luca Turin, the opinionated old codger, even argues that this would be dowdy on a woman but marvelous on a man. It does feel marvelous to me at least, and it dries further into its base of vetiver and sandalwood, it seduces me even more so.
It may be kaleidoscopic, even a bit too convoluted, for noses used to modern perfumery, and it doesn't seem to receive all the hype and attention that such icons as Rochas Femme, Guerlain Mitsouko, and the aforementioned No. 5, but is deserving of a seat at the table of great fragrances for the ages.
A typical floral aldehydic old school chypre of that period like Millot's Crêpe de Chine, Coty's L'Aimant, etc. Very dense, sweet and monotonal never changes and smells updated for modern times perfumery,the grandmother's smell referred to as. I guess is like the Rose Aoud accord, so many perfumes nowadays smells in that direction copying Montale's Black Oud, his creator just did the same with Arpege, and what was the trend of these days. The problem with old school chypres was too many basenotes creates a very think, heavy, opaque and soupy scent, the aldehydes should help to split notes giving the spatial champagne effect in the air and you should be able to smell almost every single note floating like woods or animalic notes. Is like mixing warm tones and at the end getting a black colour.
No comparison with Chanel n5,please. The old style chypres are difficult to like and understand as perfumery has evolutioned so much since the past centuty. If you are looking for a modern interpretation of this classic, the best modern Chypre,in my opinion, is Amouage Jubileum,the holly grail of all chypres and smells amazing even in a man,that's how all the old school Chypres should smell like.
No comparison with Chanel n5,please. The old style chypres are difficult to like and understand as perfumery has evolutioned so much since the past centuty. If you are looking for a modern interpretation of this classic, the best modern Chypre,in my opinion, is Amouage Jubileum,the holly grail of all chypres and smells amazing even in a man,that's how all the old school Chypres should smell like.
I have a small dab bottle of early 1990s vintage so the aldehydic top has lost its solar sparkle and undergone megawarp. But the rest has matured beautifully and remains splendid.
Arpège is a creation of such confidence it requires almost none on the wearer's part. Its mixed floral bouquet shines as if through amber-coloured stained glass with accents of candied orange peel and peach, a light, natural booziness around the edges and a reassuring silky soft base of sandal and vanilla (among other things). Once it has settled, the creaminess of its expression is what catches my attention most. Yes, here is a classic thousand-flowers composition with all the scaffolding of woods, resins and balsams holding it in place, but it has the grace of a swan floating down a calm expanse of water at sunset.
It's perfumey' in what has become an old-fashioned sense unapologetic, happy to stand naked before strangers and be admired. And that is perhaps a reason why its popularity has waned; we think we've had all this stuff before. But contrarily, when considering today's perfume fashions, it provides the shock of the new.
The deep drydown is marked by a quarter-turn away from the florals and towards the base which resembles more and more something from the Caron stable this is perhaps the beige Luca Turin was referring to in his review in Perfumes: The A-Z Guide.
I can't talk about its current incarnation, but can note that it's available at a very tempting price.
Arpège is a creation of such confidence it requires almost none on the wearer's part. Its mixed floral bouquet shines as if through amber-coloured stained glass with accents of candied orange peel and peach, a light, natural booziness around the edges and a reassuring silky soft base of sandal and vanilla (among other things). Once it has settled, the creaminess of its expression is what catches my attention most. Yes, here is a classic thousand-flowers composition with all the scaffolding of woods, resins and balsams holding it in place, but it has the grace of a swan floating down a calm expanse of water at sunset.
It's perfumey' in what has become an old-fashioned sense unapologetic, happy to stand naked before strangers and be admired. And that is perhaps a reason why its popularity has waned; we think we've had all this stuff before. But contrarily, when considering today's perfume fashions, it provides the shock of the new.
The deep drydown is marked by a quarter-turn away from the florals and towards the base which resembles more and more something from the Caron stable this is perhaps the beige Luca Turin was referring to in his review in Perfumes: The A-Z Guide.
I can't talk about its current incarnation, but can note that it's available at a very tempting price.
A masterpiece of the roaring 20's if there ever was one, Lavin Arpège (1927) utilizes the "kitchen sink" method of composition popularly used in that time period by houses like Guerlain and Coty, whipping dozens of notes into a dark floral symphony of seductive proportions. Arpège is floral chypre, and combines the fruity top of something like Guerlain Mitsouko (1919) with the indolic floral heart of Chanel No. 5 (1921) and a green chypre base of something way in the future like Clinique Aromatics Elixir (1971). Arpège was very ahead of its time in terms of style in the final phases of the perfume, hence its long-lived popularity and reverence from classic perfume fans in the modern century. The stuff even got a male iteration in the early 2000's to bank on the name, but it was wholly unrelated in smell and summarily discontinued when it failed to find an audience. If you like any of the green chypres from the likes of Estée Lauder, Givenchy, or Patou from the 1960's through to the 1980's, Arpège is the archetype for the style.
Aldehydes, bergamot, and a touch of ripe fruit open Arpège, with a dominant honeysuckle and orange blossom reminiscent of Caron Narcisse Noir (1911) entering the picture. The kitchen sink effect isn't apparent until muguet and rose lead into a dark indolic floral heart smothered in clove. It's a deliciously cacophonous arpeggio of notes holding true to the perfume's name that Avon Unforgettable (1965) would do a bang-up job of imitating years later, but the depth of the base is what sets Arpège apart from any future inspired perfumes. A multi-layered base of oakmoss, styrax, ambergris, vanilla, patchouli, and benzoin goes the long haul with desiccation from dry notes like vetiver, sandalwood, and orris to keep Arpège clean enough to be a tempting display without the animalics making a vulgar affair of things. I consider Arpège a "serious" romantic perfume for ballrooms and dressing up in moderate weather conditions, but it transitions to the bedroom easily as it was likely intended. Guys can wear this if they like green chypres such as Clinique Aromatics Elixir (1971), but it takes a mature taste from any gender to appreciate Arpège to its fullest degree.
Unlike its failed men's variant, Arpège itself never seems to have trouble finding an audience even if it doesn't make the rounds in department stores anymore, and most people who find out about it do so from other fans, making direct sales the way to get ahold of it. My encounter with Arpège comes from a niche perfume store which stocks select older perfumes that it knows the big counters won't touch, and Arpège frequently clears out there, so I know somebody besides vintage perfume hounds is buying it. Arpège also has a dozen vintages and concentrations over the years, but from my tests, a reasonably-priced modern eau de toilette will serve adequately in lieu of a pricey vintage extrait or parfum de toilette, since great pains have been taken to reformulate with modern ingredients the same structure found in the original formula by André Fraysse. Of course, if you want full-tilt animalics rather than IFRA-compliant fillers, you will need to seek out older bottles, but those outside the cult of oakmoss will do fine with what's out there. Thumbs up!
Aldehydes, bergamot, and a touch of ripe fruit open Arpège, with a dominant honeysuckle and orange blossom reminiscent of Caron Narcisse Noir (1911) entering the picture. The kitchen sink effect isn't apparent until muguet and rose lead into a dark indolic floral heart smothered in clove. It's a deliciously cacophonous arpeggio of notes holding true to the perfume's name that Avon Unforgettable (1965) would do a bang-up job of imitating years later, but the depth of the base is what sets Arpège apart from any future inspired perfumes. A multi-layered base of oakmoss, styrax, ambergris, vanilla, patchouli, and benzoin goes the long haul with desiccation from dry notes like vetiver, sandalwood, and orris to keep Arpège clean enough to be a tempting display without the animalics making a vulgar affair of things. I consider Arpège a "serious" romantic perfume for ballrooms and dressing up in moderate weather conditions, but it transitions to the bedroom easily as it was likely intended. Guys can wear this if they like green chypres such as Clinique Aromatics Elixir (1971), but it takes a mature taste from any gender to appreciate Arpège to its fullest degree.
Unlike its failed men's variant, Arpège itself never seems to have trouble finding an audience even if it doesn't make the rounds in department stores anymore, and most people who find out about it do so from other fans, making direct sales the way to get ahold of it. My encounter with Arpège comes from a niche perfume store which stocks select older perfumes that it knows the big counters won't touch, and Arpège frequently clears out there, so I know somebody besides vintage perfume hounds is buying it. Arpège also has a dozen vintages and concentrations over the years, but from my tests, a reasonably-priced modern eau de toilette will serve adequately in lieu of a pricey vintage extrait or parfum de toilette, since great pains have been taken to reformulate with modern ingredients the same structure found in the original formula by André Fraysse. Of course, if you want full-tilt animalics rather than IFRA-compliant fillers, you will need to seek out older bottles, but those outside the cult of oakmoss will do fine with what's out there. Thumbs up!
Vintage perfume...
Ah! It's as I remember - a classic beauty. Aldehydes, a touch of fruit, and the honeysuckle is particularly predominate. The other flowers are mild.
The heart reveals more flowers, blended with an almost creamy voice. LOTV begins to bloom. The jasmine is a bit dirty. I get some green close to the skin.
I am taken back in time to my earlier perfume exploration days. Times, when I felt everything smelled too grown up for me. Arpege, was one of those perfumes.
I smell sharpness from the rose and geranium. The middle notes are just downright beautiful. This particular little bottle of perfume was well-stored.
The flower bouquet sinks down into the base notes. They mingle and parley well with the other notes - perfect refinement. A well made kitchen sink frag. Base notes are never loud, on my skin. They emit a lady-like sillage. No one note stands out here.
Hours later amber and patchouli increase their power. Also, something a tad nutty, is present. If you can get your hands on vintage Arpege Perfume, do so. It is worth experiencing a classic.
Ah! It's as I remember - a classic beauty. Aldehydes, a touch of fruit, and the honeysuckle is particularly predominate. The other flowers are mild.
The heart reveals more flowers, blended with an almost creamy voice. LOTV begins to bloom. The jasmine is a bit dirty. I get some green close to the skin.
I am taken back in time to my earlier perfume exploration days. Times, when I felt everything smelled too grown up for me. Arpege, was one of those perfumes.
I smell sharpness from the rose and geranium. The middle notes are just downright beautiful. This particular little bottle of perfume was well-stored.
The flower bouquet sinks down into the base notes. They mingle and parley well with the other notes - perfect refinement. A well made kitchen sink frag. Base notes are never loud, on my skin. They emit a lady-like sillage. No one note stands out here.
Hours later amber and patchouli increase their power. Also, something a tad nutty, is present. If you can get your hands on vintage Arpege Perfume, do so. It is worth experiencing a classic.
Blind bought this as a gift, based on the impressive list of notes here on Basenotes.
Was told it smells like a mix of Moschino (Moschino) and Chanel No.5.
Judging by the notes of all 3, this seemed right but I was fearful of it resembling Chanel No.5.
Upon smelling it myself I was pleasantly surprised that it didn't. And was able to confirm for myself that it's due to its absence of civet.
Not a fan of classic fragrances like this one and Moschino because they're quite elaborate causing me to get a too-much-ingredients vibe from them rather than being able to identify the individual notes. They also remind me of some perfumed powders, skin creams and balms I smelled as a kid. So not modern at all, but still, I can appreciate this one for what it is.
Was told it smells like a mix of Moschino (Moschino) and Chanel No.5.
Judging by the notes of all 3, this seemed right but I was fearful of it resembling Chanel No.5.
Upon smelling it myself I was pleasantly surprised that it didn't. And was able to confirm for myself that it's due to its absence of civet.
Not a fan of classic fragrances like this one and Moschino because they're quite elaborate causing me to get a too-much-ingredients vibe from them rather than being able to identify the individual notes. They also remind me of some perfumed powders, skin creams and balms I smelled as a kid. So not modern at all, but still, I can appreciate this one for what it is.
Review of 1950s vintage:
I acquired a sealed vintage bottle of this on ebay. It was a dusting powder and perfume set that had never been taken out of the package. The first time I tried it (a couple of years ago) I found it to be very unpleasant and cloying. It smelled like a fragrance that you found sitting on Granny's dresser, gifted to her twenty years before and covered in dust. I thought perhaps it had gone off.
I revisited it today and it was a totally different experience.
At first blush it had a somewhat fecal quality mixed with a syrupy sweetness. I think my original mistake was not letting it develop beyond that and scrubbing. This time I held on and got a dry down that went sweet and and then mellowed into into a soft musky floral with some powder. The notes of rose, clove, honeysuckle and patchouli were most noticeable. It has a quiet vampy-ness. This time around it was reminiscent of Joan Crawford seducing the Reverend in Sadie Thompson rather than Mrs. Havisham wandering around her dusty mansion in her tattered wedding dress and one shoe.
I'm not a fan of musky anything, but this is lovely. This might be because the formulation of musk is different than modern incarnations.
It isn't a loud fragrance and doesn't have a huge amount of sillage, which I appreciate working in an office setting. It dries down quickly to a skin scent. It is sweeter than other scents I have, but I definitely will add it to rotation rather than just leaving it looking pretty on my vanity.
I acquired a sealed vintage bottle of this on ebay. It was a dusting powder and perfume set that had never been taken out of the package. The first time I tried it (a couple of years ago) I found it to be very unpleasant and cloying. It smelled like a fragrance that you found sitting on Granny's dresser, gifted to her twenty years before and covered in dust. I thought perhaps it had gone off.
I revisited it today and it was a totally different experience.
At first blush it had a somewhat fecal quality mixed with a syrupy sweetness. I think my original mistake was not letting it develop beyond that and scrubbing. This time I held on and got a dry down that went sweet and and then mellowed into into a soft musky floral with some powder. The notes of rose, clove, honeysuckle and patchouli were most noticeable. It has a quiet vampy-ness. This time around it was reminiscent of Joan Crawford seducing the Reverend in Sadie Thompson rather than Mrs. Havisham wandering around her dusty mansion in her tattered wedding dress and one shoe.
I'm not a fan of musky anything, but this is lovely. This might be because the formulation of musk is different than modern incarnations.
It isn't a loud fragrance and doesn't have a huge amount of sillage, which I appreciate working in an office setting. It dries down quickly to a skin scent. It is sweeter than other scents I have, but I definitely will add it to rotation rather than just leaving it looking pretty on my vanity.
I'm a fan of anything vintage-leaning and indolic, so needless to say, I am an admirer of Arpege. The powdery aldehydes occasionally give me pause, but the animalic aspects of the vintage version of this scent are luscious and dark and sophisticatedly retro. Amouage's Gold Man and Arpege seem to be singing the same song, and it's a refrain I love to hum along with under my breath. I don't wear either of these two very often, but each time I do, I am impressed by their amazing combination of the delicate and floral with the deep and animal.
Delicious, but perhaps an acquired taste in these squeaky clean and candy floss-times.
Delicious, but perhaps an acquired taste in these squeaky clean and candy floss-times.
Complex and floral, revealing its age sensuously. I found out quite by accident how differently it behaves on moisturised skin as opposed to newly showered. With a neutral moisturiser, (E45) the base styrax and patchouli dominate and do so fairly quickly. the topnotes, dissipate quickly leaving little more than a memory. The heart stays and develops elegantly. I agree that it is quite a 'dirty' fragrance, but that is a classification I love.
A wonderful aldehydic blend of lily of the valley, styrax, ylang ylang, and jasmine. This doesn't come across as too floral, but a complex blend that smells formal and classical. In the same vein as Jicky and Shalimar, This has held it's age well and hasn't collapsed under they over-regulated reformulations.
How gorgeous! I just tested both the current EDP and vintage extrait. They are very different. I prefer the EDP. It's all about a beautifully mixed tuberose. A bit sweet but not cloying. Sexy and elegant, with good projection and longevity. Current but vintage.
The vintage extrait is more disappointing. Of course, it smells oily and stays very close to the skin. It's rounder. Powdery. Discreet. This extrait could be worn by men as well, while I think the EDP is very feminine.
The vintage extrait is more disappointing. Of course, it smells oily and stays very close to the skin. It's rounder. Powdery. Discreet. This extrait could be worn by men as well, while I think the EDP is very feminine.
I found some vintage Arpege extrait, and I would describe it as a softer, rounder, less concentrated version of Ubar. Ubar contains modern components that allow its individual notes to really pop and sparkle and be more articulated than those in an aged vintage fragrance, yet the scent profiles of these two are very, very similar - dominant sandalwood; civet; similar mixed floral heart with discernible lily of the valley. The top notes and aldehydes in my bottle of Arpege have long dissipated, so all I can know of it is a bit of its heart and a lot of its base, which doesn't have the mossiness of a chypre, nor the sweetness of an oriental, and is an elegant animalic woody thing at this point. It's unisex and smells quite of its time in much the way that Vol de Nuit does.
I've always found Ubar to be stunning in both senses of the word. I've kept a leaky sample in a drawer because it makes my office smell nice, but the fact that one drop left in a five-year old carded sample contained in a closed drawer scents my whole office, well...that's a more potent fragrance than I can wear on my person. That said, I've come to have a whole new context and excitement for it through getting to know vintage Arpege, because I can better see what Amouage were trying to do, and they really nailed the classic style in a way that doesn't smell dated, just timeless.
I've always found Ubar to be stunning in both senses of the word. I've kept a leaky sample in a drawer because it makes my office smell nice, but the fact that one drop left in a five-year old carded sample contained in a closed drawer scents my whole office, well...that's a more potent fragrance than I can wear on my person. That said, I've come to have a whole new context and excitement for it through getting to know vintage Arpege, because I can better see what Amouage were trying to do, and they really nailed the classic style in a way that doesn't smell dated, just timeless.
I had the chance (misfortune?) to smell the vintage and the new formulation back to back. It is the quintessential example of everything that is wrong with brands milking their past for all it's worth.
The vintage is a lovely floral on which entire pages have been written, so I will be brief. I really felt like in a field of flowers in the middle of the European summer, when the pollen and the smell is particularly heady.
The new formulation smells of rotten fruit mixed with drain cleaner. That is literally the picture that formed in my head as I recoiled from the sample and tried not to throw up. It is just awful and has absolutely nothing in common with its grandparent.
Do not give your money to the people who have done this, it will only encourage them.
The vintage is a lovely floral on which entire pages have been written, so I will be brief. I really felt like in a field of flowers in the middle of the European summer, when the pollen and the smell is particularly heady.
The new formulation smells of rotten fruit mixed with drain cleaner. That is literally the picture that formed in my head as I recoiled from the sample and tried not to throw up. It is just awful and has absolutely nothing in common with its grandparent.
Do not give your money to the people who have done this, it will only encourage them.
First the caveats
This review is for vintage Eau Arpege which, from what I could gather, is EDT version of original.
++++++++++++++++++
A great unisex fragrance. The aldehyde in this is not as strong as EDP and I prefer that. The aldehydes in original are suffocating. The whole fragrance is well balanced (better than the baroque edp) and drydown to die for.
I would highly recommend this at it can be had for cheaper that original. Get this instead of modern version.
Update 2023:
Bought the current EDT and I am shocked. It is really good. Much better than current No.5 (which also has been reformulated to be ,gasp, better). So either there is a new AC that both Arpege and No.5 use or I am getting old.
Just buy the damn thing.
This review is for vintage Eau Arpege which, from what I could gather, is EDT version of original.
++++++++++++++++++
A great unisex fragrance. The aldehyde in this is not as strong as EDP and I prefer that. The aldehydes in original are suffocating. The whole fragrance is well balanced (better than the baroque edp) and drydown to die for.
I would highly recommend this at it can be had for cheaper that original. Get this instead of modern version.
Update 2023:
Bought the current EDT and I am shocked. It is really good. Much better than current No.5 (which also has been reformulated to be ,gasp, better). So either there is a new AC that both Arpege and No.5 use or I am getting old.
Just buy the damn thing.
Aldehydes and indoles - All that flowery by-product goodness that was once all but unavoidable in perfumery. The listed notes might makes this sound like a fresh, semi-sweet bouquet, but this juice is practically filthy. And, whereas this used to be a desirable standard of fragrance for women, nowadays it might be seen as a more avant-garde masculine. It's a tough wear for what it is, but a pleasure to sample. The EDC formula peters out too soon on my skin, but some might call that a mercy.
I was reading the biography of Wanda Osisir, famous Italian actrice, singer and soubrette in the period 1930-50 that widely used arpège that she even sprayed on roses that she threw to the public.
I went to try it in a perfumery shop close to my flat and I decided to buy the first bottle (I already both other 2, one for a friend) over internet as its price is much lower.
I sometimes wear it (also famous LucaTurins says that it is also masculine) but nearly every day I spray it on the bed, it smells fantastic.
A dark, weighty, floral chypre that belongs to a fragrance category now out of fashion but in my opinion still very exciting, elegant, classy.
I would like to try the vintage version (reported as fantastic) but I do not want to buy it on line to avoid that the fragrance is not anymore good, hope i'll find it in an historic shop.
I went to try it in a perfumery shop close to my flat and I decided to buy the first bottle (I already both other 2, one for a friend) over internet as its price is much lower.
I sometimes wear it (also famous LucaTurins says that it is also masculine) but nearly every day I spray it on the bed, it smells fantastic.
A dark, weighty, floral chypre that belongs to a fragrance category now out of fashion but in my opinion still very exciting, elegant, classy.
I would like to try the vintage version (reported as fantastic) but I do not want to buy it on line to avoid that the fragrance is not anymore good, hope i'll find it in an historic shop.
This was my mother's signature scent and I remember her closet smelling of Arpage and cigarettes. This scent represented everything good about my childhood. heavenly.
I bought a bottle recently and it has been reformulated. Sadly, the cheapened ingredients don't do it any favors. A once complex and beautiful fugue has fallen apart into a dissonant unworkable mess.
I bought a bottle recently and it has been reformulated. Sadly, the cheapened ingredients don't do it any favors. A once complex and beautiful fugue has fallen apart into a dissonant unworkable mess.
This fragrance had to have been reformulated. It doesn't smell the same as I remember years ago. This review is for the contemporary one.
As with many of these reformulations (of the older classics), it has its feet stuck in two different worlds and doesn't live in either of them well. It opens with soapy aldehydes, slightly sweet, that tend to date it, yet behind it is a certain thinness of notes. And with this reformulation, a giant green swamp-like note emerged, a vegetal soup pot of three-day old greens soaking in warm water. I was trying to place what note was producing this, but it very likely was a combination with the soapy aldehydes. But it left this a murky mess, fit only for frogs. After 45 minutes the swamp notes dissipated, so I could finally smell the fragrance as it was intended. Except I hope not.
This fragrance has no real distinction of notes. While the swamp note went away, I was still in a murky pond. A sickly sweetness, that had smelled funky with the greens, is still present, and I can tell it is the vanilla, left to soak in soapy aldehydes and peachy musk too long. It doesn't really smell like vanilla anymore, only milky sweetness. A little nauseating really. I actually pick up a fair amount of green in this fragrance, which would have been nice if it had been crisper, but swimming in the slight sweetness made it unappetizing.
The dry down was the best part, a light base of attractive basenote roughness combined with mild vanillic soapiness, but it had little depth, one of those newer drydowns that just sort of fade away with a resigned acceptance of its fate. It went out with a pleasant soapy whimper.
How did this fragrance go so wrong on me? I tried it several times to make sure of the reaction, and it was the same. Beyond a truly unappealing sweet vegetal swamp, it doesn't seem to hang together. It's stripped of the elements that made it work at its inception. When the gene stripping by IFRA was done, so was this fragrance. Best to give it a respectful funeral and let it retain its dignity.
As with many of these reformulations (of the older classics), it has its feet stuck in two different worlds and doesn't live in either of them well. It opens with soapy aldehydes, slightly sweet, that tend to date it, yet behind it is a certain thinness of notes. And with this reformulation, a giant green swamp-like note emerged, a vegetal soup pot of three-day old greens soaking in warm water. I was trying to place what note was producing this, but it very likely was a combination with the soapy aldehydes. But it left this a murky mess, fit only for frogs. After 45 minutes the swamp notes dissipated, so I could finally smell the fragrance as it was intended. Except I hope not.
This fragrance has no real distinction of notes. While the swamp note went away, I was still in a murky pond. A sickly sweetness, that had smelled funky with the greens, is still present, and I can tell it is the vanilla, left to soak in soapy aldehydes and peachy musk too long. It doesn't really smell like vanilla anymore, only milky sweetness. A little nauseating really. I actually pick up a fair amount of green in this fragrance, which would have been nice if it had been crisper, but swimming in the slight sweetness made it unappetizing.
The dry down was the best part, a light base of attractive basenote roughness combined with mild vanillic soapiness, but it had little depth, one of those newer drydowns that just sort of fade away with a resigned acceptance of its fate. It went out with a pleasant soapy whimper.
How did this fragrance go so wrong on me? I tried it several times to make sure of the reaction, and it was the same. Beyond a truly unappealing sweet vegetal swamp, it doesn't seem to hang together. It's stripped of the elements that made it work at its inception. When the gene stripping by IFRA was done, so was this fragrance. Best to give it a respectful funeral and let it retain its dignity.
Way Off Scenter puts it perfectly: "Poor Arpège. As a dark, weighty, floral chypre, it belongs to a fragrance genre now so out of fashion as to be positively gauche. It lands on the skin potent and massive, arriving quickly at its central structure of a thick, rose-dominated floral accord and deep spices (the pyramid lists coriander, I smell cinnamon and nutmeg,) over an intense, earthy chypre. To contemporary sensibilities this sort of composition is liable to smell ponderous, perfumey, and hopelessly dated…"
Although that reviewer goes on to praise it as does almost everyone on this page, I must be the first and so far only dissenter.
I found it to be harshly tweedy with dry, heavy florals, most unpleasant and sharp. This is the way perfume should not smell. Yet, its popularity for almost 90 years and its iconic advertising slogan "Promise her anything, but give her Arpege" puts me in the obvious minority on this one.
My scent pyramid on Arpege is more extensive than the one above:
Top notes: Bergamot, Peach, Neroli, Honeysuckle, Iris, Muguet, Musk
Middle notes: Rose, Jasmine, Ylang, Coriander, Mimosa, Tuberose, Violet, Geranium,
Genet, Iris, Camellia
Base notes: Sandalwood, Vetiver, Patchouli, Vanilla, Benzoin, Ambergris
No wonder it smells dense, it has practically every note of its day in it.
Turin gives it four stars and calls it a "unisex classic."
It repels me, but no doubt it is due to my own scent profile, not that of the world at large.
Although that reviewer goes on to praise it as does almost everyone on this page, I must be the first and so far only dissenter.
I found it to be harshly tweedy with dry, heavy florals, most unpleasant and sharp. This is the way perfume should not smell. Yet, its popularity for almost 90 years and its iconic advertising slogan "Promise her anything, but give her Arpege" puts me in the obvious minority on this one.
My scent pyramid on Arpege is more extensive than the one above:
Top notes: Bergamot, Peach, Neroli, Honeysuckle, Iris, Muguet, Musk
Middle notes: Rose, Jasmine, Ylang, Coriander, Mimosa, Tuberose, Violet, Geranium,
Genet, Iris, Camellia
Base notes: Sandalwood, Vetiver, Patchouli, Vanilla, Benzoin, Ambergris
No wonder it smells dense, it has practically every note of its day in it.
Turin gives it four stars and calls it a "unisex classic."
It repels me, but no doubt it is due to my own scent profile, not that of the world at large.
This was the very first scent I ever wore on a regular basis - my voice teacher brought me back a little vial from France when I was 13! But that was the original formulation, back in 1961. I wore it as my "signature" fragrance until it suddenly became almost impossible to buy in the US - sometime in the 1990s, I think. (I switched to Lancome's Magie Noir, but that's another story.)
When I went looking for a new "signature" fragrance last year, I tried something that came in a familiar bottle labeled "Arpege". Alas, it wasn't at all what I remembered, and it smelled terrible on me. Why did they do that?
When I went looking for a new "signature" fragrance last year, I tried something that came in a familiar bottle labeled "Arpege". Alas, it wasn't at all what I remembered, and it smelled terrible on me. Why did they do that?
On me, this smells like a baby diaper if that baby ate nothing but jasmine. And yet I love it.
It goes fecal on me in the best possible way, dry, thick, indole, raspy, cold and dressy. It smells so vintage to me that it comes across as modern.
This could be said of Fracas as well, but on me Fracas is a screeching, needy, diva, attention-whore. Arpege, with its similarity to First by VC&A is more refined, confident and romantic.
It makes me feel rich.
It goes fecal on me in the best possible way, dry, thick, indole, raspy, cold and dressy. It smells so vintage to me that it comes across as modern.
This could be said of Fracas as well, but on me Fracas is a screeching, needy, diva, attention-whore. Arpege, with its similarity to First by VC&A is more refined, confident and romantic.
It makes me feel rich.
Genre: Floral
Poor Arpège. As a dark, weighty, floral chypre, it belongs to a fragrance genre now so out of fashion as to be positively gauche. It lands on the skin potent and massive, arriving quickly at its central structure of a thick, rose-dominated floral accord and deep spices (the pyramid lists coriander, I smell cinnamon and nutmeg,) over an intense, earthy chypre. To contemporary sensibilities this sort of composition is liable to smell ponderous, perfumey, and hopelessly dated, but it's really a better scent than that, and deserves to be judged on its own terms.
Even when met with an open mind, Arpège has a conspicuously awkward episode in its early development. Not long after application the floral accord mounts an enormous crescendo, during which an unfortunate combination of waxy aldehydes and a crudely artificial rose note makes for an embarrassingly crass, dowdy impression, the olfactory equivalent of Edna Turnblad answering the door in her housecoat. (I'm talking the Divine version here, not the scrubbed and sanitized John Travolta.) Then, somewhere between a half an hour and an hour's air time, a sweet, smooth amber settles in to bind the ingredients and tilt the composition into balance. What remains is an appealingly spicy and somewhat sweet oriental-tinged chypre, that while still bulky and opaque, nevertheless manages a staid brand of poise and grace in motion.
The remainder of Arpège's stay is very pleasant, especially once the ambery, mossy drydown sets in. In fact, the drydown exudes such elegance and understatement that the earlier clumsiness is forgiven, if not entirely forgotten. For those tolerant of its anachronistic style and patient enough to experience Arpège in its entirety, this grand old survivor offers some tempting pleasures.
Poor Arpège. As a dark, weighty, floral chypre, it belongs to a fragrance genre now so out of fashion as to be positively gauche. It lands on the skin potent and massive, arriving quickly at its central structure of a thick, rose-dominated floral accord and deep spices (the pyramid lists coriander, I smell cinnamon and nutmeg,) over an intense, earthy chypre. To contemporary sensibilities this sort of composition is liable to smell ponderous, perfumey, and hopelessly dated, but it's really a better scent than that, and deserves to be judged on its own terms.
Even when met with an open mind, Arpège has a conspicuously awkward episode in its early development. Not long after application the floral accord mounts an enormous crescendo, during which an unfortunate combination of waxy aldehydes and a crudely artificial rose note makes for an embarrassingly crass, dowdy impression, the olfactory equivalent of Edna Turnblad answering the door in her housecoat. (I'm talking the Divine version here, not the scrubbed and sanitized John Travolta.) Then, somewhere between a half an hour and an hour's air time, a sweet, smooth amber settles in to bind the ingredients and tilt the composition into balance. What remains is an appealingly spicy and somewhat sweet oriental-tinged chypre, that while still bulky and opaque, nevertheless manages a staid brand of poise and grace in motion.
The remainder of Arpège's stay is very pleasant, especially once the ambery, mossy drydown sets in. In fact, the drydown exudes such elegance and understatement that the earlier clumsiness is forgiven, if not entirely forgotten. For those tolerant of its anachronistic style and patient enough to experience Arpège in its entirety, this grand old survivor offers some tempting pleasures.