Fumabat fragrance notes
Head
- green tea, galbanum, mint absolute
Heart
- bulgarian black pine, carnation
Base
- somalian frankincense, smoky vetiver root, leather, oakmoss, patchouli
Latest Reviews of Fumabat
Fumabat by Couteau de Poche (2017) was for years the sole perfume from this Brooklyn upstart perfumer, at least until Metal Redux by Couteau de Poche (2024) came around. There isn't a ton of information on Parid Cefa or the house itself, and I think there probably doesn't need to be in this case. What's evident here is the intent to create a perfume out of time, one that most will liken to something from the 1970's, but for me feels far older still. Yes, there are lot of 70's nods in here with the way some of the base materials are handled, but the creamy carnation/clove heart cannot help but conjure feelings of masculine fragrances from the 1930's and 1940's, which are all but overlooked by others reviewing this scent. To each their own, so I'm not criticizing other reviewers, just making an observation.
The opening is lacking any significant aldehyde blast, although there is some volume in the first few seconds, with what feels like orange oil doing the rest of the talking into the galbanum, mint, and green tea notes listed. The carnation comes in fast, and to me, this creamy barbershop-like note really rings true to something like Dunhill Cologne, a.k.a. Dunhill for Men (1934), the only other leather fragrance I've smelled with such a creamy center as this. The pine and patchouli are the parts that ring true as from the 1970's, as they're both very oily and not the sharp dry pine you find in mid-century fragrances, nor the super-chocolatey patchouli that seems to be the standard variety in modern fragrances. Both have a slippery, green demeanor that folds well into the incense, oakmoss, and vetiver base. All these things meld with the pyralone, also known as isobutyl quinoline, to create that classic leather base. If you have to ask me about performance on something like this, you probably have no business being interested in it.
For me, this is too much of a pastiche across decades of classic 20th century leather perfumery for me to really peg it down to a single era. A little bit of Bandit by Robert Piguet (1944), a little bit of the aforementioned Dunhill from a decade prior, and a little bit of things like Etienne Aigner No. 1 (1976) or a touch of Halston 112 (1976), all rolled up into a postmodern artisanal perfume ball of goodness. Something like this is surprisingly harder to fully summarize than I initially thought it would be based on what I had heard about it before smelling Fumabat myself. The fragrance feels "old" in a way a restored car with the paint patina left on (with a clearcoat over) does, or the way an old piece of furniture with new upholstery with no attention paid to re-staining the wood. Fumabat is an old style done with fresh eyes that picks from an assortment of vintage tropes not all from the same period, making it feel "new" in spite of itself, yet "vintage" in style. Thumbs up
The opening is lacking any significant aldehyde blast, although there is some volume in the first few seconds, with what feels like orange oil doing the rest of the talking into the galbanum, mint, and green tea notes listed. The carnation comes in fast, and to me, this creamy barbershop-like note really rings true to something like Dunhill Cologne, a.k.a. Dunhill for Men (1934), the only other leather fragrance I've smelled with such a creamy center as this. The pine and patchouli are the parts that ring true as from the 1970's, as they're both very oily and not the sharp dry pine you find in mid-century fragrances, nor the super-chocolatey patchouli that seems to be the standard variety in modern fragrances. Both have a slippery, green demeanor that folds well into the incense, oakmoss, and vetiver base. All these things meld with the pyralone, also known as isobutyl quinoline, to create that classic leather base. If you have to ask me about performance on something like this, you probably have no business being interested in it.
For me, this is too much of a pastiche across decades of classic 20th century leather perfumery for me to really peg it down to a single era. A little bit of Bandit by Robert Piguet (1944), a little bit of the aforementioned Dunhill from a decade prior, and a little bit of things like Etienne Aigner No. 1 (1976) or a touch of Halston 112 (1976), all rolled up into a postmodern artisanal perfume ball of goodness. Something like this is surprisingly harder to fully summarize than I initially thought it would be based on what I had heard about it before smelling Fumabat myself. The fragrance feels "old" in a way a restored car with the paint patina left on (with a clearcoat over) does, or the way an old piece of furniture with new upholstery with no attention paid to re-staining the wood. Fumabat is an old style done with fresh eyes that picks from an assortment of vintage tropes not all from the same period, making it feel "new" in spite of itself, yet "vintage" in style. Thumbs up
The lone release from Brooklyn NY based Couteau de Poche, Fumabat has perfumer Parid Cefa approaching the time-tested leather chypre with an attention to elements heretofore missing from the style that reached its zenith in the late 70s. Yes, IBQ (isobutylquinoline, also known as pyroline) is here, with its verdant, grassy, rooty, spicy bite, dosed impeccably, which can't be said for other more recent efforts to recapture this style. However, there is a smokiness merging with galbanum and pine that imparts a more rustic sensation of pinon resin incense burning in a wood cabin.
Growing more shadowy, inky, and brooding, the incense sensation grows stronger as olibanum resin is more apparent, along with something that reminds of the way geranium leaves smell under the sun. I wear this as I listen to atmospheric ambient music and I have an urge to look out my window and just watch the trees and shrubs rustle in the breeze. Fumabat smolders, it evokes glowing embers that slowly fade into ash. This is one that sends me to my own personal "happy" place, which always somehow has a hint of melancholy.
Growing more shadowy, inky, and brooding, the incense sensation grows stronger as olibanum resin is more apparent, along with something that reminds of the way geranium leaves smell under the sun. I wear this as I listen to atmospheric ambient music and I have an urge to look out my window and just watch the trees and shrubs rustle in the breeze. Fumabat smolders, it evokes glowing embers that slowly fade into ash. This is one that sends me to my own personal "happy" place, which always somehow has a hint of melancholy.
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Fumabat is pretty striking, although probably not in the way the brand intended. Despite everything pointing to a smoky incense oriental along the same lines as Black Afgano or Sombre Negra, Fumabat actually smells like vintage Opium, specifically the last droplets of vintage parfum that’s evaporated over time until only a smear of brown sludge is left in the vial. Now, what on earth could be going on in this modern, urban, hipster-y perfume to give off such a pronounced retro flavor?
Well, let’s break it down. When first applied, the topnotes smells pleasantly of stale but minty furniture lacquer on old furniture or decorative Chinese fans that have been left to fester in a damp, closed-up room for decades. The slightly airless, varnishy smell make me think of certain aged oud oils at first, but then I realize that the notes are triggering a scent memory that goes further back, to my childhood. It takes me a while to pick apart the associations: there is the handsome smell of soap bars kept in clothing drawers, incense sticks, little sandalwood elephants, patchouli oil, and winter coats with last year’s woodsmoke still embedded in the wool.
Slowly, I follow the train of thought to my stepmother, a half-Danish, half-Macedonian woman with a gypsy spirit and a talent for making every abode smell like her within minutes of arriving. Her name is Snežana, or Snow White, and for me, the smell of vintage Opium is the closest thing in perfume form that matches the exotic-but-homely maelstrom of aroma that accompanies her. She smells of sandalwood, soap, colorful wool, and incense sticks, and so does Opium.
In Fumabat, the direct link is found in its soapy pine and varnishy incense notes, but also quite strongly in the spicy, powdery carnation note that gives Fumabat (and Opium) its balsamic warmth. Actually, from a technical standpoint, it’s possible that the heavy patchouli and oakmoss in the drydown places Fumabat closer to scents such as Paloma Picasso or Norma Kamali Perfume (original) than Opium, but let’s not quibble. The fact is that the strangely vintage “grande dame” perfume vibe will surely strike a familiar chord for anyone that wears or collects the classic patch or spicy sandalwood bombs of the 1970s.
Oddly, as the perfume hits the base, it shakes off the corduroy-brown glaze of the 1970’s, and stepping out from behind its bushy sideburns, reveals itself to be the smoky frankincense scent I thought it was always going to be, based on the notes. With a dry, sooty Somalian frankincense as matte as charcoal, it reminds me very much of Comme des Garcons’ Black, right down to the licorice twist. Lovely, smoky, satisfying stuff….albeit with zero connection to anything that had gone before.
Well, let’s break it down. When first applied, the topnotes smells pleasantly of stale but minty furniture lacquer on old furniture or decorative Chinese fans that have been left to fester in a damp, closed-up room for decades. The slightly airless, varnishy smell make me think of certain aged oud oils at first, but then I realize that the notes are triggering a scent memory that goes further back, to my childhood. It takes me a while to pick apart the associations: there is the handsome smell of soap bars kept in clothing drawers, incense sticks, little sandalwood elephants, patchouli oil, and winter coats with last year’s woodsmoke still embedded in the wool.
Slowly, I follow the train of thought to my stepmother, a half-Danish, half-Macedonian woman with a gypsy spirit and a talent for making every abode smell like her within minutes of arriving. Her name is Snežana, or Snow White, and for me, the smell of vintage Opium is the closest thing in perfume form that matches the exotic-but-homely maelstrom of aroma that accompanies her. She smells of sandalwood, soap, colorful wool, and incense sticks, and so does Opium.
In Fumabat, the direct link is found in its soapy pine and varnishy incense notes, but also quite strongly in the spicy, powdery carnation note that gives Fumabat (and Opium) its balsamic warmth. Actually, from a technical standpoint, it’s possible that the heavy patchouli and oakmoss in the drydown places Fumabat closer to scents such as Paloma Picasso or Norma Kamali Perfume (original) than Opium, but let’s not quibble. The fact is that the strangely vintage “grande dame” perfume vibe will surely strike a familiar chord for anyone that wears or collects the classic patch or spicy sandalwood bombs of the 1970s.
Oddly, as the perfume hits the base, it shakes off the corduroy-brown glaze of the 1970’s, and stepping out from behind its bushy sideburns, reveals itself to be the smoky frankincense scent I thought it was always going to be, based on the notes. With a dry, sooty Somalian frankincense as matte as charcoal, it reminds me very much of Comme des Garcons’ Black, right down to the licorice twist. Lovely, smoky, satisfying stuff….albeit with zero connection to anything that had gone before.
Very nice scent. Kind of love at first sniff for me due to the strong soapy piney and smokey opening.
Shifts around a bit in full wearing.
Love it, but alas it wears pretty weakly on me. Need more legs on a pricey frag like this.
Worth a sniff. But with only one scent in their whole arsenal, one wonders how long Fumabat will be around.
A well blended scent that can wear equally well on men or women in my opinion.
Shifts around a bit in full wearing.
Love it, but alas it wears pretty weakly on me. Need more legs on a pricey frag like this.
Worth a sniff. But with only one scent in their whole arsenal, one wonders how long Fumabat will be around.
A well blended scent that can wear equally well on men or women in my opinion.
This definitely smells vintage in a sort of 1970's way. It's not quite a headshop--it's more sophisticated than that--but it hints at herbs and patchouli and darkness in a rather attractive fashion. I think the smokey frankincense gives this fragrance some lift, while the muted carnation tips it over into the unisex category. The whole thing sort of winks at leather, in the same way that it flirts at all of its other notes; it simply refuses to be tied down to one firm category of scent. Its skittishness makes it interesting to me; I simply can't quite tell what I'm smelling from one moment to the next. Is it inky or herby? Incense-y or soapy? It's somehow all of these and more. I think males of all stripes may love this one, as well as females who enjoy old school orientals and funky scents like Bandit.
