Over the years, I’ve immersed myself in a sea of perfume literature, and one of my biggest pet peeves is when people misidentify the classification of a fragrance by claiming it belongs to the wrong genre. This confusion is especially common with fougères, chypres, and aquatics, with the latter being the most perplexing. While I understand the confusion around fougères, given the tricky distinction between "traditional" and "aromatic," and chypres being somewhat outdated, the mislabeling of a fragrance as an aquatic mystifies me. How does this happen?
Let’s unpack the term. An "aquatic" fragrance is one that conveys "aqua" elements above all else. These elements can evoke the scent of either saltwater or freshwater, each with distinct olfactory traits. Saltwater fragrances, often referred to as "marine," tend to be more defined, while freshwater scents can sometimes blend into ozonic or laundry musk notes, rather than anything explicitly liquid. Interestingly, freshwater fragrances rarely advertise a watery theme and often simply feature a color palette between green and blue. In contrast, saltwater fragrances usually convey their aquatic nature through packaging and names, suggesting a beach escape or a dive to explore a coral reef.
So, how should a true aquatic fragrance smell? There’s no single answer, but the fragrance should impress with certain distinctive qualities. I often associate salinated water with a genuine aquatic scent, so oceanic compositions resonate most with me. Examples like Heeley’s Sel Marin, Mario Valentino’s Ocean Rain, Bvlgari’s Aqva, Ralph Lauren’s Polo Ultra Blue, Creed’s Millésime Impérial (and Armaf’s Club de Nuit Milestone), Halston’s Unbound for Men, Nautica's Voyage, and Azzaro’s Chrome Legend are quintessential examples of aquatics. Sel Marin stands out as a pristine example, featuring a tangy citrus blend saturated with sand, salt, seaweed, and brine. It evokes the scent of your skin after a refreshing swim in the Irish Sea on a crisp 55° day, clad in a Speedo.
Bvlgari Aqva combines seaweed and salty accords with an abstract floral arrangement, allowing its briny elements to bask in daylight. Polo Ultra Blue is intriguing for its synthetic nature and often criticized as overly generic, yet its balance of herbal and citrus tones contrasts well with heavy salt notes, creating an abstract representation of a rocky beach at high tide. Ocean Rain captures a similar beach at low tide but further down the coast, where sand meets gentle rain—a true representation of beach petrichor. The rest of these fragrances offer fruitier and fresher variants, but all share salty, vaguely briny seawater notes. These are true aquatics.
When it comes to freshwater aquatics, clear examples are rarer. From my collection, two notable ones are L'Eau Bleue Pour Homme by Issey Miyake and Silences by Jacomo. Yes, I consider Silences a freshwater aquatic. Wearing vintage Silences reveals it’s not aiming for a field of greens; Jean-Claude Niel’s 1978 creation evokes a foggy emerald over glassy pond water at dawn on a frigid 42° Fahrenheit morning. The scene is blanketed in mist, with only sage thickets and cattails visible through the murk. It’s eerie, green, and murky, reminiscent of pond water. Similarly, L'Eau Bleue offers a cool, crisp watery aroma, complemented by a complex mix of aromatics that gradually shift from aquatic to more terrestrial notes, though the water reference remains throughout.
So, what isn’t an aquatic? My prime example is Davidoff’s Cool Water. Despite its name and blue glass bottle, it doesn’t fit the aquatic profile. Yes, the name "Cool Water" and the blue bottle suggest an aquatic theme, but here’s the issue: Cool Water lacks the salty, marine quality, and its freshness doesn’t evoke natural freshwater. Pierre Bourdon aimed to create "a new kind of freshness" using familiar aromatics like linalool and Hedione, along with a substantial amount of dihydromyrcenol. This latter component smells ozonic, slightly metallic, and woody on its own. In Cool Water, it adds a frosted effect to mint, lavender, and florals, with a touch of room-temperature crab apple and tobacco notes.
Cool Water includes a hint of salty sea spray, sweetened by a smidge of Calone 1951, which is indeed an aquatic element. However, this doesn’t make the fragrance as a whole an aquatic. It’s better classified as Bourdon’s "modernized" aromatic fougère, with fougère notes making up about 90% of the composition. The remaining 10% consists of standalone aroma chemicals like Ambroxan, Hedione, and a more marine-like Methyl Cyclopentenolone. The name "Cool Water" implies the wearer is "cool" due to the fragrance, an update on the French "Eau Fraîche". While mint and lavender are cooling, and the blue glass suggests "coolness," these factors don’t make it an aquatic.
Another non-aquatic example is Bleu de Chanel. Despite the reference to "Blue," the fragrance has nothing to do with the ocean or a lake. Inspired by men’s aftershave, it bears a striking resemblance to Aqua Velva Ice Blue. Jacques Polge aimed for a moody-woody scent, using ginger for freshness and ingredients like incense and vetiver for depth. It’s a woody-fresh scent, more a glorified woody amber than anything aquatic. So, please stop calling Bleu de Chanel an aquatic.
There are other examples, but these two are significant. I could continue ad infinitum, but I’ll conclude by saying that if you want a true aquatic fragrance and want me to recognize it as such, avoid anything in the Green Irish Tweed or Dylan Blue realms. Instead, opt for something that genuinely evokes the sea or a lakeside, like the briny saltiness of a mineralic, sea-weedy coast or the murky dankness of a quiet fishing pier at dawn. Think of the essence of dirty water, and you’ll be on the right track.