Patchouli Cologne (Bourbon French Parfums)

When it comes to patchouli, people have experience-driven, subjective views. If you're older than 60, you picture headband-wearing, half-naked hippies who haven't bathed in months and use patchouli oil to cover the stench. If you're an old Millennial (X-ennial) like me, you tend to match it with balls-out masculine powerhouses of the '80s, stuff like Giorgio for Men and Lapidus pour Homme, which were still widely worn through at least the first half of the 1990s. If you're a young Millennial (born during or after 1986), you think of "dad" or "grandpa", and if you're a Gen Zombie with your characteristic lifeless stare, you recall Angel and A*Men, likely worn by an older brother or sister. In other words, somehow, someway, you know patchouli. 

Or do you? How many people turn to patchouli in the 21st century as a single-note material for niche perfumery? I'd hazard to guess, not many. An essential oil derived from the leaves of the Pogostemon cablin, an herb in the mint family, patchouli has a rich, earthy, and slightly sweet scent profile, and has been the cornerstone of perfumery since the dawn of time. A base material, it deepens and enlivens a scent structure while also strengthening core accords and enhancing longevity. Want a vibrant woody masculine that leans heavily in the abandoned sawmill direction? Patch. A crisp oriental with many disparate notes in desperate need of enduring unification? Patchety-patch patch patch. A basic fougère that simply needs a touch of testosterone? Where my Hare Krishnas at? 

But patchouli has a very real problem nowadays: it gets lost in the mix. The days of appreciating it as a "soli-note" material seem to have slipped into the distant past, with most of the Free Love era having aged out, and the remaining generations having disturbingly little love leftover for the natural woody distinctiveness of high-grade patchouli oil. Patchouli still gets used in perfume, as often as it ever did, finding its way in some form or another in many mainstream designer blends seeking to recapture the magic of the next Thierry Mugler phenomenon, but the heaploads of diabetes-inducing sugar that gets crammed into every new thing tends to obscure its presence, at best. When was the last time Paco Rabanne released a chesty one-note patchouli cologne? When was the last time a drugstore brand offered a mainline of patchouli with everything but the tourniquet and syringe? I hear crickets. 

Like nearly anything that is good these days, the only places to turn to for this sort of thing are ultra-expensive luxury brands or affordable but esoteric indie brands that require more than a modicum of interest to suss out of hiding. I've been on the market for a solid one-note patchouli fragrance for years now, but my hangup has been price; with so many economical classics on the market, I don't want to splurge and dump $350 on a Chanel like Coromandel, $450 on Dior's Patchouli Élixir Précieux (or their technically more budget friendly Coromandel comparative, Patchouli Impérial). Ironically, these perfumes are great and feature prominent patchouli, but with the exception of perhaps Patchouli Élixir Précieux, are somewhat embellished multi-note compositions that merely allow patchouli to star in an otherwise ensemble cast. No, I'd rather just find that hidden gem and truly one-note patchouli that insiders covet and gatekeep. The problem, of course, is that such a fragrance will be kept behind that gate, and finding it will happen only by chance. 

Enter "Patchouli" by Bourbon French Parfums. I happened upon it by chance. I tend to search for fragrances that are "grassy" and "green" and "woody-floral," so I was in the right ballpark. In my travels, and after reading about a handful of Lush and retired Jōvan fragrances, suddenly Fragrantica's Bourbon French page appeared. I was reading Shamus's reviews (author of the retired Pour Monsieur blog), and he had one for this fragrance. He writes:

"Whoa, this is some rip-roaring patchouli. Dark, damp, and dirty are the only words that adequately describe it. This is raw, balls-out, uncompromising patchouli that takes no prisoners . . . It's far too potent and ballsy to wear at the office, unless you're the guy in charge." 

This, of course, piqued my interest. Now, full disclosure: my familiarity with patchouli is limited to the essential oils found in health-food grocery stores and Indian markets. There are several of the former and only a few of the latter here in Connecticut. Most of the oils found at them are mid to low-grade in quality, and speak to the true essence of patchouli without offering a hi-fidelity take that you can comfortably wear. In other words, pretty good, but too crude. Decent enough to understand the scent, but rough enough to dissuade you from splashing it on. 

But a patchouli cologne from a respectable indie brand in the South that has offered fine toiletries since 1843? A scent that gets thumbs up from nearly every reviewer? Common threads—"raw" and "dark" and "potent"— mean count me in. I ordered the 4 ounce cologne blind and hoped I wouldn't be disappointed. After all, if it's "rip-roaring patchouli" and if it gets praise from Shamus, who spent years endorsing the most high-testosterone brews deemed worthy of a wardrobe, it must be the stuff. 

So, is it the stuff?

Well . . . not exactly. No.

Here's the thing. What Mary Behlar, owner and perfumer of French Bourbon, has done is take an essential oil akin to what you find in a health-food store, dilute it to a safe cologne strength (gotta abide that IFRA), and bottle it. Then she sells it for not much more than what you'd pay for the raw version at the grocery store. I should mention that it's unclear what concentration Shamus and other reviewers are writing about when describing this fragrance, so it's possible he's actually referring to the perfume strength version. I imagine that version would simply smell exactly like the grocery store oils, but then again, maybe the perfumes are where Behlar really showcases her artistry. 

Here in the cologne, however, I'm not exactly blown away. Bourbon French's Patchouli smells dark(ish), a little dirty, not at all damp, sawmill-floor dry, and mostly like a discreetly finessed and polished marble of a patchouli after the rough edges of the raw material have been tidily rebalanced and tamed via the aforementioned dilution process. I do sense a slight touch of real perfumery in the drydown, with what feels to me perhaps like a light brushing of watercolor cedar, a microdose of Iso E Super to enhance that crisp-woody finish that decent patchouli oil naturally possesses. And that's another point in its favor—quality patchouli oil. Say what you will about the complexity or artistry, but there's no denying that whatever grade of patchouli is used here is a cut above what you'd find at your local Whole Foods. 

It's possible that my post-Covid nose, which sometimes waffles in sensitivity, simply isn't picking up the richer and bolder nuances of this fragrance, and maybe with more time I'll come around. It's also true that I'm able to catch very vague whiffs of the stuff throughout the work day with pretty modest application, we're talking one spray to the shirt and a couple under it, and it comes and goes like a phantom, sometimes entirely invisible, and others tripping the olfactory center of my brain into action. I agree that it smells entirely natural, which is of course a good thing, and it also smells pretty exquisitely balanced, which is probably the greatest technical feat here. Taking something as saturnine and burly as natural patchouli from India and recalibrating it into an easily wearable yet appropriately raunchy cologne is no small feat. 

With that said, this isn't the balls-out monster I was led to believe it would be. It's easily wearable at work. I wear it to work, and I work with several people who have no idea what a landline is. It is commanding in profile, yes, but in performance it feels civilized to a fault. I think my Givenchy Gentleman, which isn't even vintage, swings its patchouli dick more than Bourbon French's does. I get unwashed hippie imagery with both fragrances, but that honeyed chocolate snarl in reformulated Gentleman (even sans the intense civet of its 1970s formula) just feels more aggressive to me. It's an EDT concentration with very artfully blended supporting notes, while Behlar's blend has the disadvantage of being a lighter concentration with patchouli and not much else, so perhaps this isn't a good comparison. I will say again that it is uncontroversially better than the raw oils you get at your corner granola dive, so if you want something at least better (and allergenically safer) than that, this fragrance is a good place to look. 

I should also sincerely acknowledge that I do like this fragrance quite a lot, and I wear it, and I'm glad to own it. As a patchouli fragrance, it is undeniably good. And also, I want to age it a bit in the bottle, especially with air in there, and see how it matures. Perhaps in a few years it will darken and take on a more throaty timbre. Perhaps I should drop the extra $40 and look to the perfume?

In the meantime, the search for the truly intense and complex patchouli, which might only exist in my mind, continues . . .