Oud possesses a great cultural significance because of its use in traditional incense and perfumes, and it is also mentioned in one of the w
Oud possesses a great cultural significance because of its use in traditional incense and perfumes, and it is also mentioned in one of the world's oldest written texts - the Sanskrit Vedas from India. When the once-light Aquilaria tree heartwood becomes infected with a specific type of mould, it defends itself with a dark, fragrant protective resin. This now dark wood, oud or agarwood, holds a complex fragrance, resembling few or no other natural ingredients. Oud Immortel is a chypre woody fragrance that merges patchouli and papyrus so the whole composition has a smoky character. Tobacco leaf and moss contribute to the depth and complexity of oud, while rosewood and incense cause the elegant silage on skin. Notes: Incense, Cardamom / Brazilian Rosewood, Papyrus, Patchouli / Moss, Tobacco Leaves, Oud
"CANDY!" Brain shouts in all caps.
"What kind of candy?" I ask.
"I, uh, don't know. Gimme a minute," says Brain. "Obviously not chocolate, though. Obviously."
After several seconds of consideration, Brain settles on hard candy (aka "boiled sweets" here in the UK), like a Jolly Rancher or a pear drop. Something solid and brittle-crunchy once you get past the first few molar-impenetrable layers. No powder, no sour citric acid - a shiny, lemony pineapple gem.
(Limoncello isn't mentioned in Byredo's official description, but it is listed as a top note on Fragrantica.)
That yellow-fruited sweetness makes such a bold impression that you assume it will be integral to the perfume's scent evolution, yet within five minutes the candy bowl begins to fill with ash, burying the sunny saccharinity beneath a layer of powdery residue.
"That must be the incense," Brain offers.
We're both in quiet agreement that the incense note leans more towards discarded cigarette ash than towards the dusty remains of precious woods and resins. That pungent stickiness of nicotine is absent from the ash; this isn't the cigarette break room, but someone definitely had a one-off smoke break here about a week ago.
"You know what this reminds me of?" I hear wistful nostalgia in Brain's voice. "The clothing section in a department store. It smells like those brown carpet tiles that JC Penny and Sears used to soften the floor, distinguishing the browsing sections from the laminated-tile walkways."
"Fuck, you're right, it totally does!"
"You can even smell the coldness of the metal clothing racks and the newness of all the still-tagged clothing."
At this point, I silently wonder whether Brain is merging childhood department-store memories with those of seated smoking islands sunk into the ground floor of 1980s malls (which were absolutely a thing until smoking was banned indoors, when those sunken areas were transformed into water fountains), but I don't say anything lest I ruin the sentimental moment we're sharing.
Lemon surprisingly reappears without pineapple, adding a citrus nuance to the cigarette ash. The two notes gently support one another, softening the most extreme elements on either side. The lemon removes the cigarette aspect of the incense, and the incense removes the candy sweetness of the lemon.
"You know what this reminds me of?" I ask, prompted by repeated inhalations. "That one lemon tea perfume by The Body Shop we wore way back, fifteen or twenty years ago. Thé Citron, I think?"
"Oh my God, yes! Absolutely! That was the crowd favourite. It was the one that inspired the most compliments from strangers."
"Crazy that it takes a decant of a $300 perfume to make you appreciate something that probably cost only $20 back then. I know we prefer funky, faecal ouds, but this has been kind of charming."
"Mm," Brain agrees as we let our nose linger just above our wrist, reminiscing about times past and perfumes past.
⚜️ Oud Immortel, by Byredo
