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| Image by Bryan Ross |
Creating a fragrance that balances classical elegance with sensual allure is one of the most challenging tasks in perfumery. If the scent leans too much toward the classical, it risks feeling stuffy; if it pitches too far toward the sensual, it can seem overtly provocative. But when the balance is perfect, the fragrance evokes the image of an unknown woman -- beautiful, vulnerable, timeless, and mysterious. Christian Carbonnel's specialty is Middle Eastern orientals, with a portfolio spanning dozens of rich, resinous, floral, and oud-laden perfumes, so it comes as little surprise that he's the nose behind Camel (2017). This is an excellent fragrance, and, surprisingly, it doesn't try too hard to impress.
I feel a zing of delight upon first spraying it, as it rings out with a bright chord of Nag Champa incense, spicy myrrh, and soft orange zest—just enough to give the first fifteen minutes a freshness and roundness I've only encountered in pricier orientals. There's a palm date note in the pyramid; I'm not sure what that smells like, but my guess is it's the honeyed sweetness that mingles with the heart of amber, cedar, and orange blossom (the zest gradually deepens into the flower), yet I can make out cinnamon, civetone, rose, sandalwood, and tonka bean clearly in the drydown. Camel has a crystalline depth and quality, with every note perfectly balanced, every accord seamlessly connected, and every whiff a pleasure to experience. The Nag Champa aspect lingers throughout, but the way Carbonnel blended the synthetic civet with the florals and woods feels exotic and sultry, despite being standard oriental fare.
The sexiness here is likely in the musks, but to me, Camel reads as an updated take on classics like Arpège and Tabu, with enough classical poise that it never becomes gauche. There are no sharp angles in Camel; the structure is an assemblage of the many curvatures of resins and fibers, the gentle textures of floral softness against woody rasp, with the civet note lending a seductive skank that is sure to attract at least a few animals in the night. If you're familiar with Furyo by Jacques Bogart, you could consider that fragrance a masculine counterpart to Camel, which leans slightly unisex with a feminine tilt due to the prominent florals (rose, jasmine, orange blossom) and its unyielding brightness. This is one of the better offerings in the Zoologist line, and I'm here for it. Good stuff.