My fragrance-loving friend Darren recently discovered the delights of Robert Piguet's Fracas and told me excitedly that he was going to buy a bottle without delay. The exchange went something like this:
Me: "It's gorgeous, isn't it? But you realise it's considered one of those feminines that a man just can't wear?"
Darren: "I'm wearing Chanel No. 5 today."
Me: "Fair enough."
I thought about my own tuberose struggle. I have a beautiful little black and gold compact of Fracas solid perfume and whenever I slip it from its veleveteen pouch to look at, I'm powerless to prevent myself from anointing my wrists and neck with its amazing, juicy, fleshy, loud floral joyfulness. It's that old debate again... I certainly subscribe to the school of "if you love it, wear it" when it comes to the battle between masculinity and femininity in scent, but there's something so immediately, so self-consciously feminine in tuberose scents and in Fracas in particular that it simply roars "WOMAN" - like a top-heavy Russ Meyer vixen in twin-set and pearls.
So I was particularly excited when I read that Bertrand Duchaufour's Nuit de Tubereuse for L'Artisan Parfumeur might actually be that most elusive of scents - a tuberose-led creation that really has some masculine leanings. And it almost is...
I sniffed it, I loved it and I had to have it. The tuberose is right there, not hidden behind its other facets of subtle tropical fruitiness and dusky, smokiness, but it doesn't drip and ooze its feminine nectar in the vein of Fracas, Carnal Flower et al.
It is indeed tuberose behind the veil of night. There's some dry, dusty earth, some woods, the light spice of cardamom. It's tuberose in a smart, well cut grey suit. I wear it often.
[By ANDREW]
(Photograph features the wonderful Californian drag star Tammie Brown.)
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