Iris Poudre
Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle (2000)

(Review of the original matte cap release)

If I were to name a perfume I so desperately wish to work better on me than it does, it’s Iris Poudre. It needs heat and especially humidity to really work and get any durability out of it, both environmental factors are quite lacking in my part of California. I really have to layer it on thick to work out here, which, since I only have an original vintage release, means I rarely wear it for the sake of monetary practicality. Or, perhaps I’m slightly anosmic to parts of it. But, there was one time I wore it when I was in Chicago in the heat of a humid summer and it was such a different experience of Iris Poudre that I scribbled away notes all day long. I sincerely believe part of this is due to Bourdon’s quite odd and “inverted” structure to the perfume, shoving some materials into places they don’t really “belong”.

The opening of hesperidics is oily and zesty, and some odd players show up alongside in the form of pepper and cream, starchy and fruity ylang ylang, and a big slug of very stiff rosewood. The latter being particularly strident yet shortlived. Yep, it’s as bizarre as it sounds. Then, as they dispense and string down in some strange twisted-ball-of-yarn type way, you get a big strong heart of indolic jasmine, sweet and unctuous muguet, and… aldehydes. Yep, if but for only a brief moment, your nose tickles as the aldehydes shimmer and sparkle to introduce the white florals. Smelling them, here at this stage of the perfume, is like walking past a countertop or some surface in your house and finding your car keys or something that you have no recollection of putting there and shouldn’t be there. You’re happy to find it, but it’s a “how’d that get there” moment. It isn’t until the final skin scent that the titular star shows up in the form of starchy orris, partnered with a good amount of clean musks, and helped along by a subtle addition of sandalwood and an even more subtle vanilla. Seeing all of these notes should give you a clue: in other words, this perfume is far less about giving you a stellar naturalistic and realistic iris as it is about giving you iris in abstraction. You have to give it time and thought, like all of the best abstract works of art, but it gets you there.

I have no idea how this compares to new(er) formulations, but I’ve heard the amberic notes at the base are louder, turning the orris more buttery, the heart leans more towards jasmine, the hesperidics stronger and the rosewood turned to toothpicks at the top. I’ll have to get my hands on it and give it a good wearing to find out, but for now I’m treasuring my original. Despite its peculiar structure and nature, it is desperately pretty and one of the best iris perfumes I’ve worn - even though only a small part of it is iris, but that’s another matter. I told you it was odd, didn’t I….

It's like smelling a clean slate.

The scent is a huge paradox
So clean yet so dirty at the same time.
It's like fire under ice.
Calm and energetic.
Sunny and rainy.
Silent and loud.
It's sublime.
True art.

Thank you Pierre Bourdon.

A surprising amount of digital ink has been spilled reviewing this 2000 perfume by Pierre Bourdon for Frederic Malle. Surprising to me at least, since Iris Poudre doesn't seem to be one of the brand's more popular offerings. Then too, I also find the reviews themselves to be surprising, with people generally being mixed in their reactions. To some it's too old fashioned, to others too abstract, to others too light and fluffy, to others a perfect masterpiece...

The creation of Iris Poudre (and the entire Frederic Malle brand) came at a great junction between eras --the end of the 20th century and the beginning of a new, wilder, and less certain 21st which would be dominated by digital technology and the triumphs and conflicts of globalism--and the perfume pays homage to a distant era, that of classic early-to-mid 20th century perfumery and all the aesthetics that predominated then.

To me, it has a sort of cashmere-like heft to it while also being mist-like in its lightness. It opens cold and expansive, like an icy breeze on a clear winter day, and yet, like the bracing cold, it has a curiously burning effect: a cold flame. This ardent cool is accompanied by an abstraction of flowers in which only a blown-out and hazy rose is distinguishable to me, along with something vaguely green and earthy, and something cleanly body-like. It doesn't last terribly long on skin but clings beautifully to clothing, and dries down to a fine cosmetic powder fragrance that sits demurely for several hours after application. It's not an effusive projector, so it's best worn for yourself and those who you allow to get close...For whom is such a perfume created? Frederic Malle tells us it's for the Catherine Deneuve/Belle de Jour types among us; the curiously calm icy blond patricians who secretly yearn for sex, danger, and adventure. It's buttoned up, wintery sensuality; a cold sweat of intrigue masquerading as innocence. I can buy that for sure, even though this is undoubtedly a unisex fragrance and would lend an air of sophisticated mystery to wearers of any gender.

In all of its powdered aldehydic floral abstraction, Iris Poudre was practically built to be compared to the great antecedent of all modern perfumes, Chanel No. 5. I used to have trouble seeing the dead-ringer assertions others made between Chanel no. 5 and Iris Poudre until one day when I decided to douse myself in the 80s version of No. 5, the Eau de Parfum, and I caught ghostly glimpses of Iris Poudre wafting about me so surprising in their accuracy that I had to admit they shared a great something in common. Regarding No. 5, I don't currently have a bottle of the Eau de Toilette. I typically wear stockpiled bottles of the discontinued Eau de Cologne of No. 5 (the connoisseur's version if you ask me, along with the vintage extrait of course), and the connection with those versions is, in my opinion, not immediately perceptible. But with the Eau de Parfum version of No. 5, I see the connection quite clearly, despite enjoying that version of No. 5 perhaps the least, while enjoying Iris Poudre greatly among all perfumes I have ever tried. I guess here we see the importance of small details and differences, and the overall great subjectivity of perfume appreciation.

Notably, like Frederic Malle's other (in my opinion) masterpiece from the original line, Une Fleur de Cassie, Iris Poudre has had its price rocketed into the stratosphere post-Estee Lauder takeover, which will no doubt reinforce its status as a guarded connoisseur's gem (if indeed the current formulation is faithfully up to snuff with the original release). I'll refuse to comment further on that...though I must admit, it's not the kind of perfume people are actively seeking out these days (thought I think they should!).

It took all that to say, Iris Poudre is one of my all-time favorite perfumes. Perhaps it is nostalgia, since it's one of my first perfume 'loves' from when I first started getting into fragrances. Perhaps it is another type of nostalgia. With all its sensual flair, there is something really comforting about the beauty of Iris Poudre. It is like the beauty of your mother when you are young, and she is still the most glamorous woman you know, and everything about her seems perfect and right; it is the smell in the air of her getting ready for a night out on the town with your father and their friends; where are they going, all these grown up people in beautiful clothes leaving you at home with a baby sitter? It's so endearingly beautiful, so mysteriously out of reach with its beauty. A superbly constructed love letter to perfumery of another era.

This has lovely notes of ylang and jasmine with iris showing up a bit later. For an hour or two, it was glorious and then it was gone.
I've tested several of Luten's fragrances and sadly, none of them have adequate longevity on me to justify their cost. I'd like to get at least 4-6 hours from an edp.

When I pause to contemplate that Pierre Bourdon designed both Davidoff's Cool Water, 1988, and co-authored Shiseido's Féminité du Bois with Sheldrake and Lutens just four years later, I find it practically irreconcilable. The former drifts back to me from childhood, certainly the first of my father's scents I applied to my neck (far too excessively). I remember the refreshing opening and amber-sweet depth. The latter stands up to the hype around its iconic status: plummy and woody, spiced and only slightly camphorous, descending into a beguiling syrup of private grins, resin, and fruit pulp.

It's Bourdon's Iris Poudre, 2000, for Frederic Malle, that links up some of the underlying sensibilities in his extensive oeuvre (I've only just ticked off several of the highlights). Unexpectedly, passing ghosts of both Cool Waters and Féminité du Bois drift along Iris Poudre's edges.

Iris Poudre begins with huffy aldehydes, an exhalation of 1920s glitter in the order of early Chanel. Carried on this cloud is carnation at its most piquant–so complete in its depiction that one almost wonders why it isn't the flower listed in the title. For sure, I don't find iris prominent within the composition. Along with spicy carnation and the creamy lemon of magnolia, ylang ylang blends temptingly with a softly-expressed jasmine. Nestled here and there, tiny cool, hushed violets are crushed between the thumb and the heel of one's well manicured hand. A ravishing bouquet darkened with a shade of danger, under a starry night sky, aldehydic chemtrails streaking the floral nocturne.

The iris such as it is plays out like a silently repeated habit: a nightly beauty routine that iterates iris' velvety plushness, but leaves out the dirty rootiness of orris, the dark wet earth clinging under fingernails from digging. And what's called powder here is something like corn starch rather than the lusty, cosmetic notes that usually accompany iris/violet combinations.

Iris Poudre could use a little less composure, a little more beauty in the breakdown. It resorts to the easy likability of its big brother, Cool Waters: they share an amiable base of amber and wood, but most of all they both oblige in ways that defy a wearer's categorical prejudices for aquatics or powdery irises respectively. Bourdon's trick is simply that they aren't much of what they profess to be.

In Iris Poudre, a tarte au citron gathers from the magnolia and rosewood, and stands well supported by facets of sandalwood, ebony, and vetiver. The easy, narcotic cloud of plump floral petals persists across wearing. The whole arc of the scent is pretty fast for me: it huffs of aldehydes, puffs of flowers and wood, then out the door so to speak.

Iris Poudre is like a long lost family member who bursts on stage during a taping of Maury to confirm the paternity of icons like Cool Water and Féminité du Bois. It's fascinating more for what it reveals in a designer's life work and less for the efficacy of the scent itself. It's enjoyable enough, but for each of its traits, I could suggest handfuls of alternatives that do it all better.

Editions de Parfum Frédéric Malle wasn't Pierre Bourdon's first go-around with ultra-luxe brands, as he was the "ghost perfumer" behind scents like Creed Green Irish Tweed (1985), and Bois du Portugal (1987), so he was already well-equipped to deliver on the promise of olfactory exclusivity and prestige promised by the bottle graphics. Bourdon's creation helped launch the Editions de Parfum Frédéric Malle label back in 2000, which is when Iris Poudre hit counters. The concept behind this one was an honest-to-goodness aldehydic floral based on "powdered iris", which is effectively delivered in the dry down. Obviously, a scent like this was a direct stab at the classic early and mid 20th century feminine florals, which have increasingly become more suitable to men as tastes expand and barriers crumble, but unless you fancy yourself a modern dandy or are very liberal with your sexuality like myself, you might want to stay away from this one if you're a guy. I won't condemn this to "grandma's Avon" but it's pretty close with it's piquant top, creamy aldehyde heart, and musky base. Pierre Bourdon has certainly done better work (for less), but I find no fault in this since he was working under the context of a pretty strict theme, like with most Malle creations. Iris Poudre is absolutely nothing novel, nor even really anything particularly interesting, but you likely new that after reading the title of the perfume, and like a period-correct Penhaligon's scent, will appeal mainly to folks who romanticize this era of perfumery and it's surrounding culture.

Iris Poudre opens with bitter bergamot, orange peel, a faint rosewood, ylang ylang, and carnation, feeling like a "Sgt. Peppers" of old-school women's florals right away, and this opening lasts quite a while actually. I don't get much iris from Iris Poudre, at least not right away, and the florals give way to (wait for it)... more florals in the heart. The aldehydes aren't apparent right away, but when they show up, they're conjoined to a muguet note with just a drop of jasmine hedione. Magnolia is supposed to be here too, but I can't get a read on it personally. I'm also not getting much rose from this, but when you have two out of three tiers in a note pyramid dedicated to florals, this is bound to happen. The base here is as expected for this venerated type of scent, with musk, amber (hello Avon), vanilla, sandalwood, and finally that claimed powdered iris. It's the faintest of things right near the end, and although there at the finish for the skin-scent phase, really doesn't actually justify the name of "Iris Poudre" given, but maybe that's the point. Pierre Bourdon was instructed by Malle to make an old-fashioned floral aldehyde scent, and like most of them from back then playing on a single note theme, Iris Poudre gives the impression of the eponymous note through a build up of other notes, in effect being a high-end take on a drugstore synthetic iris scent a la something from the likes of Coty or Prince Matchabelli. Iris Poudre has a wear time that is in line with it's high-end theme, so if you dig what is presented here, a few sprays will keep you in a small bubble of flowers, aldehyde, and musk all day long, and is quite strong out of the sprayer, so be careful. I give a thumbs up to Iris Poudre for it's earnest approach to this kind style, but it's not really so much my thing.

Iris Poudre was likely a fun exercise for Pierre Bourdon back in the day, as 2000 was not exactly the time for aldehydic florals, and to be asked to go back in time 50+ years to make something this classic in style, and to do so with relatively low budgetary constraints is like asking a musician to record with vintage equipment his or her heroes used in decades past, and part of that "recreating history" shows in Iris Poudre. Is it wearable in the 21st century? Well, that depends on how much you care about what others think of the way you smell, but in the strictest of terms, not really. This is a very prim and proper scent regardless of gender, and feels like a cousin to something like L'Air du Temps by Nina Ricci (1948) or Wind Song by Matchabelli (1953), which is definitely a hard sell unless you're a rich hipster particularly into postmodernism through fragrance. I like Iris Poudre if only because I like how unapologetic it is about what it wants to be, and there is just something very comfortable about it's airy opening, smooth transition between floral layers, and eventual soft musky glow. I do detect some faint aromachemical assistance right at the very end, but it's nothing like the norlimbanol/ambroxen bombs that Malle is passing out nearly 20 years after this member of his debut lineup launched. Pierre Bourdon's dandy display of flower power will set you back a few hundred, so I'd definitely hit up a counter to sniff before you go home with a bottle, since many of the originals from the era this emulates still circulate online for a lot cheaper if you want to get your foot in the door on this style. That having been said, this is perfectly buttoned up for work or casual use in almost all seasons save winter, and the Malle faithful likely don't see the investment needed to enjoy the retro-modern Iris Poudre as that big of a deal.