Rose 31 (Le Labo)

Le Labo is one of those renowned niche lines with a reputation that often precedes it, problematic, to say the least. As I approach their fragrances, I’m reminded that they rarely smell like what they’re named after. I also recall their subtler reputations for being somewhat synthetic, a bit weak, and perhaps, more damningly, not especially complex. None of this dissuades me from liking Le Labo (Iris 39 is excellent), but it doesn’t inspire confidence. Expectation can be the enemy of enjoyment; if I anticipate disappointment, confirmation bias becomes a risk.

I needn’t have worried with Rose 31. I like it, not enough to buy a bottle or even wear it again, but I appreciate what it achieves. In a perfect world, it would be called Vetiver 31, as it strikes me more as a vetiver fragrance with a hint of dry rose. Perhaps that’s the reputation of its name catching up with it. The vetiver is well-executed, with a distinctly rooty and slightly green quality, showcasing a smooth, woodsy character. This woodiness is complemented by clean notes of cedar, a hint of synthetic oud reminiscent of what you might find in Dirty English, and cool incense.

The romance comes from musks, greens, and spices: white pepper, carrot seed, cumin, castoreum, and a touch of cold, powdery galbanum, all weaving together into a gauzy veil of earthiness that casts shadows across the bright wood notes. Poking through it all is the dry, bitter rose note, reminiscent of the one found in Van Cleef & Arpels PH, but here it’s less intense and more of a suggestion than a declaration. If you prefer traditional rose fragrances, you may not care much for Rose 31. However, if you’re intrigued by the mood that a dry, masculine rose note can evoke, this is worth exploring. Personally, I’m indifferent. I tend to like or dislike rose fragrances as they come, and I rarely find myself yearning for this one. Is it too synthetic? While it’s obviously not natural, I’m not overwhelmed by harsh aroma chemicals, either. Is it too weak? Perhaps. Complex? Yes, but in a linear way. Overall, it’s nice and certainly worth a sniff.

Iris 39 (Le Labo)

Before I die, I will own a bottle of this. I remember my first wearing of Dior Homme vividly—applying it and thinking, This is not how I want my iris to smell. I knew what I didn’t like, but struggled to pinpoint what could have been done differently. Was it too sweet? Too fruity? Too much labdanum? Not enough iris? Today, as I wear Iris 39, those questions resurface, intertwined with a remark from an acquaintance: It’s better on men. And sure enough, this is an iris composition that feels ready to knock Dior Homme off the shelf and smash it to bits. Once you experience it, you realize it stands apart from anything else on the market.

The fragrance is simply beautiful. The top accord—a seamless blend of ginger, civet, iris, and patchouli—has a perfect balance, with rafters of spice, skank, powder, and earthy herbs that are second to none. Hailing from Firmenich, Frank Voelkl shows incredible skill here, making me wonder if his relatively obscure portfolio is all that keeps him from being a household name. He’s the creator of Zirh’s Ikon, a well-regarded designer fragrance that holds its own among high-quality competition, and he even sold a formula to Guerlain! Ultimately, his work for Le Labo will be his legacy, and Iris 39 is not easily overlooked.

What I love most is how the arresting top notes transition gently into a plush, super-powdery blend of iris and discreetly sweet violet, creating a warm, rosier, and more expansive glow with time. A pert lime peel note subtly maintains lift, preventing the weight of iris from dragging it down. There’s true genius here, but wearing Iris 39 doesn’t demand an intellectual dissection—it’s simply, and effortlessly, enjoyable. It radiates a calming elegance that any confident man or woman can embody, if they approach it with an open mind and nose.