Charenton Macerations opines on its website that customers should "disobey the rules of olfaction," and that it strives to "create fragrances that make a statement . . . The final ingredient is always you." Yikes. Anyway, this conceptual perfumery has one thing on point, which is its interest in ancient Egyptian perfumes and smells, something that has captured my imagination since I was a child. When I was five, I had a View-Master with a color reel of King Tutankhamun's tomb shortly after it was discovered, full to the brim with every manner of ornate furniture, bottles and pots, and statues. For those who weren't around, the 1980s saw a huge revival of interest in King Tut and Egyptology, and The American Museum of Natural History led the charge with an explosion of shows around the lost civilization and its rulers. You never quite grow out of that.
It was thus mandatory that I wear Charenton Maceration's 2016 release, Eye, Hatshepsut, which was composed by Cecile Hua. The brand says it's "an olfactive homage to one of history's most notable gender rebels: Pharaoh Hatshepsut of Egypt." Good grief, who writes this stuff? The perfume opens with a dazzling snap of bright green and smoky incense notes, which modulate off of their opposing frequencies to create a bracingly resinous impression of a "fresh" oriental, something I typically enjoy. This accord is not unpleasant but contains a slightly pickled accent that makes me wonder if palo santo is in the mix, and it's a little distracting. Swirling around in the ether are hints of fruity and floral notes, which only increase the curious draw of Hua's composition. After fifteen minutes the incense backs off and lets a distinct labdanum and patchouli accord step forward, with a notably powdery orris and musk to balance the resins, and it feels rich and civilized, but also overwhelmingly masculine to my nose. I guess that's the influence of our gender-bending female Pharaoh? I get serious seventies men's cologne vibes here.
Eye, Hatshepsut buzzes along on this trajectory for six or seven hours before the musk fades out, with only gentle spices remaining (cinnamon, coriander). This fragrance is traditional, but it doesn't make me think of ancient Egypt and its female Pharaoh glass-ceiling smashers. Instead it has me reminiscing about Jimmy Carter-era aftershaves, things you would've paid $1.99 for at Woolworths in 1979. It does have superior clarity and blending, which is good, because a bottle of Eye costs a C-note, plus tax, the price of entry for anything expertly crafted. However, I'm struck by a strong feeling that this one is riding the waves of its bizarre marketing, and I think it's an egregious example of an ad campaign/product misalignment.