Hasu-no-Hana
Grossmith (1888)

Wearing something like Hasu-no-Hana may require a specific optics that to many may be impossible to commit. What we are presented with is as close to the original, age-old formula as Robertet perfumer Richard Melchio could achieve given modern constraints—and it is impressive. So impressive that my impression is that it is a portal to the times evoked by the imagery of Middlemarch or the Trumpet-Major. The colors are refracted through the looking-glass of an age no one alive on Earth today can recollect. Therefore, experiencing Hasu-no-Hana (Japanese for "lotus flower") may be perceived by the practical perfume wearer as a period piece deemed inappropriate for anything but the most formal occasions (do these occasions even exist today?). 

Many who actually commit to reading my thoughts are thankfully not the most practical perfume wearers. I salute you all, as we are part of a subculture that can romanticize, fantasize, and conceptualize while wearing scent. Therefore, Hasu-no-Hana may be riveting by design. The sparkling bergamot and bitter orange that first greets my nose is already underlined by an ensemble of florals and the patina of oakmoss. The bouquet is naturally opaque, an assemblage of white and yellow florals, traced with a rosiness. Having smelled pink and blue lotus flowers, I can confidently say that this is a more poetic interpretation of the flower, rather than a resemblance of their aroma. It feels subtly sweetened by an almost praline-like quality. I could theorize that it's orris and tonka together that imparts this effect. 

Further in, there is a carrot-seed like facet, followed by a warm, earthy sensation, followed by the type of fuzzy-woody cedar-meets-question-mark characteristic that likely could only be experienced through the reconstruction of a nearly 140-year old composition. It dries into something so crepuscular, bewitching—alien even. This suggests the temporal shifts in beauty's convention: the initial impression of old world opulence winds down to a haunting dissolution. Fragmented attention won't work for this wearing experience: apply it, take a long walk, resist the urge to look at your device, or alternately, crack open a book, whether from the time period or not, and extract the passages from what you smell and you lose yourself in the imagery of what you read.

I tried this on paper yesterday and I found it hard to distinguish it from Shelm El Nessim and Phul Nana. On paper, they are all very much chypre chypre chypre. Clearly you should not try these out on paper. On the skin ( one at a time) the base comes through immediately and smells smoky. Like others said, on the skin it’s a light smokey, amber warmth with some herbal notes (vetiver and oakmoss) It reminds me a bit of Tea for Two, but the amber here gives it more warmth and the oakmoss gives it green complexity.

Intoxicating!

No matter how many times I smell this, I am always struck anew by its unusual beauty. Its opening salvo alone could be used to revive the fainting, thanks to its bracing top notes of bergamot and bitter orange. That first spray - what an amazing olfactory rush - wow! As others have noted, Hasu No Hana feels like a mash-up of Shalimar and something amazingly green and chypre-ish. Or of Shalimar and some old fashioned, spicy shaving creme. And for someone like me, who is averse to Shalimar's uber-feminine charms, it is the vetiver and combination of wood notes here that keep this firmly in unisex territory, while also providing a piquancy that I adore. There is something about this whole scent that reminds me of sticky pine sap resin--a smell I absolutely
relish.

There's a lot going on here, and all of it is painstakingly old-fashioned.

It kicks off with fusty lavender and bergamot, but mixed with that weird faux-castoreum gasoline note made famous by Knize Ten. There's a full pantry of spices as well, with sage and clove and leafy greens the most prominent. Then there's also a full amber base that's concentrated enough to be prominent from the start.

Over the course of the day, I smell different combinations of these ideas. Sometimes, it's chypre-ish, while other times it smells like an amber perfume. Other times, the spices come forward and it basically smells like a bay rhum.

All in all, I like Hasu-No-Hana. It's expertly put together, clearly with deep love and respect for its original formulation. But what I like the most about really old scents is the way they threaten to fly off the rails. Knize Ten is a careful step away from complete utter insanity. And Kolnisch Junchten is even closer, while perfumes like Jicky or SMN's Spanish Leather actually are completely nuts. Compared to these inspirations, Hasu-No-Hana seems a bit toned down, almost castrated or disinfected. I'm still giving it a thumbs up, but I wish it were a little wilder.

Old world, imperial luxury. How this can be considered a chypre is however beyond me - as a chypre lover I would be hugely disappointed if I encountered this excpecting a floral chypre. A soft, smooth oriental, with the balsamic basenotes present throughout, it is reminiscent of Shalimar. The woody drydown is almost smoky, with a dusty feel. Although it is meant to be unisex, to my mind it is rather masculine - like a freshly washed, clean shaven male cheak ready for a kiss.

No doubt, it is masterfully done. I can see why some people rave about it. If a fragrance has a color, Hasu No Hana would be golden honey. It is actually smooth and not sharp at all. I expected some sharpness from its being described as a chypre. I know honey is not listed as a note, but I can't help thinking it is exactly honey that I smell. The cedar and vetiver are well blended, barely perceptible although the cedar comes across better in the beginning. Of all the flowers, I feel the jasmine the best.

This composition evokes long-gone opulence. I can imagine Marie Antoinette wearing it while she is taking a stroll in her favorite, private garden of Trianon. I realize that perfumery during her time was quite different, of course. Despite its luxurious, rich texture, Hasu No Hana feels surprisingly modern.