Perfume Project 2026: Chasing the Unknown (Part 2 of 4)
In 2026, I set myself a constraint that felt equal parts arbitrary and necessary: I would only acquire and feature perfumes composed by noses I had never owned before. It was less a rule and more a quiet rebellion against habit — an attempt to keep discovery alive.
In the first installment, I spent time with Antoine Maisondieu, Annick Goutal, and Michel Roudnitska — names that carry both history and distinct signatures.
This second chapter continues that pursuit. Three more perfumers. Three more doors opened into the unknown.
Amouage — Gold Man
Perfumer: Guy Robert
Image Credit: fragrantica.com
Gold Man arrives not just as a perfume, but as a relic. Released in 1983 — and possibly Amouage’s very first creation — it carries the weight of an era when perfumery was unapologetically opulent.
Guy Robert is not prolific in numbers, but in influence he stands shoulder to shoulder with the greats. Alongside Edmond Roudnitska, he is often spoken of with a kind of reverence reserved for architects of the art itself.
This is my first encounter with Robert’s work, though not without hesitation. The alternatives were formidable: Hermès Calèche, Dior Dioressence, Hermès Équipage. Each one a pillar. But Gold Man pulled me in — not through consensus, but through curiosity.
I sourced a vintage sample first. Sat with it. Let it unfold. And then, almost inevitably, committed to a full bottle — though a modern one.
That distinction matters.
The version I know best, the one that persuaded me, is the vintage. Animalic, textured, unapologetically alive — civet, ambergris, white musk all present in a way that feels less composed and more inhabited. The modern bottle sits beside it now, quieter, perhaps more restrained. Reviews suggest the animalics have been softened. I suspect the Oakmoss is not real. I doubt the Mysore sandalwood very much.
Notes Top: Lily of the Valley, Omani Cistus, Omani Green Frankincense Heart: Jasmine, Iris, Myrrh Base: Civet, Ambergris, Cedarwood, Mysore Sandalwood, Oakmoss, White Musk, Patchouli
Parle Moi de Parfum — Papyrus Oud/71
Perfumer: Michel Almairac
To talk about Papyrus Oud 71, I have to take a detour — because Oud, as we encounter it today, is already a translation.
In its traditional Middle Eastern form, Oud is not softened or disguised. It is presented as it is: dense, animalic, sometimes confrontational. It carries a kind of sacred rawness — paired with rose, saffron, amber, musk — ingredients with centuries of cultural weight. The finest extractions command extraordinary prices, and for those who understand it, the cost is justified.
But this is not the Oud most of the Western world grew up with.
Enter “Western Oud” — a reinterpretation. Smoothed edges. Structured compositions. Oud made legible through citrus, leather, vanilla, iris, vetiver. Yves Saint Laurent’s M7 is often cited as the turning point — the moment Oud was translated rather than transported.
Papyrus Oud 71 exists somewhere in that lineage.
Released in 2018, it carries its own mythology. It is said to be Almairac’s free-handed return to Gucci Pour Homme (2003), a fragrance that has since achieved near-mythical status. Whether PO71 is truly its successor is still debated. But the comparison persists.
For me, the choice was simpler. If I was going to bring Almairac into my collection, it felt right to do so through his own house. Not through Dior, not through Davidoff, not through Van Cleef — but something closer to his personal expression.
What I find in PO71, at least so far, is restraint. It is minimal, almost austere. If there is Oud here, it is firmly Western — blended, abstracted, more texture than statement. At moments, it brushes close to M7 in spirit, though never quite inhabits the same space.
I am still early in this journey with it. This is less a conclusion and more an opening note.
Etat Libre d’Orange — Afternoon of a Faun
Perfumer: Ralf Schwieger
Some purchases are researched. Others are earned.
I have followed Dariush Alavi long enough to develop instincts around his reviewing style, his preferences, and his biases. Trust, in this space, is built slowly. It accumulates — over reviews, over time, over alignment of taste.
My first leap of faith based on his word was Neela Vermeire’s Trayee. Composed by Bertrand Duchaufour. Trayee is a spicebomb like no other, and if someone were to ask me “what is the first perfume in your collection that comes to your mind that is free of any overhangs from the 70s, 80s, or even 2000s — to me, it is Trayee. It is modern, chic, and honors tradition without being old.
Afternoon of a Faun is my second such leap. Centered around immortelle — a note that feels less like an ingredient and more like a landscape. I own it. I am still learning how to fully articulate it.
There were safer choices. Schwieger’s Lipstick Rose for Frederic Malle is beloved, understood, almost canonical. But safety, in a project like this, defeats the point.
It is strange in the way good art often is — suggestive rather than declarative, textured rather than linear. It feels less like wearing a perfume and more like stepping into a scene already in motion.
Sometimes, that is enough.