It is with pleasure that I hold Lalique pour Homme, the original “Lion” EDP version from 1997, in hand. It is a marvel of vertical, squared-off Art Deco geometry with an Art Nouveau flourish in the form of a lion’s head rendered in reverse relief. Every detail of this bottle design is well conceived, from the gentle curves of its sides to its metal shoulders and cog-shaped cap, which is also bizarrely reminiscent of classical Greek dentil molding. It is possibly the most beautiful bottle in my sizable collection, and I tip my hat to the Lalique Group for honoring their legacy with this degree of artful packaging. Well done.
The perfume within is by Maurice Roucel, who by 1997 had tinkered conservatively at the periphery of the male fragrance market with the understated Eros Homme (1990) for Tristano Onofri and the equally low-key R (1995) for Révillon. It is no surprise to me, then, that Lalique pour Homme is a barbershop dream of a woody-oriental fougère, with a subtle, streamlined design of its own: soft, bittersweet grapefruit, lavender, rosemary, sandalwood, sugarless vanilla in the vein of Caron pour Un Homme, a microdrop of patchouli, and a powdery mossy musk. There is no oakmoss or treemoss listed on the box, but I do detect something powdery and oakmoss-adjacent in the base accord, which I will return to in a moment.
It reads as perfectly simple, and its material quality is high enough for me to parse each note clearly. It reminds me of Clubman Classic Vanilla aftershave, and by extension, Caron Le Troisième Homme, minus the jasmine. Roucel’s scent is frequently likened to Creed Bois du Portugal (1987), and I think its dusty lavender and sour sandalwood are responsible for that particular comparison. I can agree, but the two aforementioned fragrances outweigh the Creed comparison for me. Maurice Roucel is incredibly talented, and he managed to capture a 1970s or ’80s gentleman’s cologne vibe on a budget without sacrificing quality. His creation smells crisp and fresh, yet sturdily masculine, with dry herbs and woods. It is an olfactory statement: “I am a true gentleman.”
I love this fragrance. I have read reviews where authors contextualize it as “a dying breed” and “the last of its style,” with yet more comparisons to classics like Patou pour Homme, Cardin pour Monsieur, and Arden Sandalwood, but I am not so sure. Yes, the staid earthiness of the traditionally French lavender-sandalwood-oakmoss fougère speaks to that fading lineage, but Roucel cleverly added a very dry and ephemerally powdery orris note, like a pale gemstone in the center of an otherwise austere landscape of clean lines and muted tones. It hints at the makeup-powder iris fragrances that would follow.
The orris-laden Deauville by Michel Germain, released two years later, smells like a logical next step after Lalique pour Homme, as does the ambery and conservative Allure Homme, also released in 1999. Eventually, this desiccated and diffusive woody-floral style reached its apotheosis nearly ten years later in Dior Homme (2005). So it is not contradictory to view Lalique pour Homme as an old-school fragrance that also foreshadowed things to come.
Ultimately, it is simply a pleasurable barbershop fougère for me, something I will pair with Clubman aftershave on facial hair management days, when Brut feels a little too gauche or Azzaro feels too aggressive and macho. Lalique pour Homme is the guy who makes the girls grin by wearing a sport jacket to lunch, and who still has a landline phone in his apartment because his mom is hopelessly cellphone illiterate.
He is, in a word, charming.