Tea Rose Jasmin (The Perfumer's Workshop)

I've been receiving compliments lately, but not on any of my expensive YSLs, Creeds, or Chanels. I've been complimented on Tea Rose and its younger sister, Tea Rose Jasmin. I think the cost for both bottles was a grand total of ten dollars. That two terrific fragrances can cost so little is incredible, but what's more impressive is that they smell of natural floral essences and rich green notes, the sort of stuff I'd expect royalty to wear, bargain prices be damned. Fact: Perfumes by The Perfumer's Workshop are beautiful, masterfully made, and as good or better than most of the niche florals I've encountered. Tea Rose Jasmin is no exception.

This little fragrance has been criticized for being more tuberose than jasmine, but I think the jasmine is front and center here. Tuberose lingers as a supporting note, with hints of muguet and rose whispering alongside it while jasmine dominates, unfurling velvety wings to catch summer breezes. This is "suntan lotion jasmine," not the hyper-realistic book pressed flower, yet its directness and delicate complexity keep it smelling fresh and luminous. Think a greener, somewhat improved Vanilla Fields. It doesn't smell cheap. It doesn't smell kitschy. It just smells very rich and clean and real. At fifty cents an ounce, you'd expect it to smell of cleaning solvents, but somehow its anonymous nose took dirt cheap materials and roped their best qualities into a lovely composition.

To receive compliments on it is heartening, as most would consider the Tea Rose line strictly for ladies. One female coworker said, "I don't usually like smelling flowery things, but that's really nice. I like that." I often fantasize that the Twenties, now just five years away, will be a decade of even more decadence and debauchery than its twentieth century precursor, and gender stereotypes in perfume will finally bite the dust. Men will smell of sweet flowers, and women will emit wafts of bitter leather and oakmoss. Maybe flapper girls will make a comeback. Short haircuts, cigarette holders, and jazz will return with a vengeance. Hey, a guy can dream.

Tea Rose Amber (The Perfumer's Workshop)

The original Tea Rose is a marvelous fragrance, one of the seven wonders of the olfactory world (not sure what the other six are, but they sound good), something that delivers more than you'll ever pay for. Unbeknownst to many a fumehead, there are three Tea Rose flankers: Tea Rose Jasmin, Tea Rose Mesk, and Tea Rose Amber. Rumors of something called Tea Rose Rosebud abound, but I have never even seen a picture of that one. I'm not really sure it even exists. If someone out there has it, please speak up, I'd love to hear about it. Amber, Mesk, and Jasmin are a little more well-known, but all three are difficult to find, and probably impossible to sample. Fortunately they're cheap enough to blind buy without risk.

Tea Rose Amber can be found in one ounce bottles at Marshalls or TJ Maxx for $5. If you happen to see it, buy it. You have purchased fragrances for twenty-five dollars that are not nearly as good as this one is. I'm not saying Amber is as good as the original Tea Rose - sadly it isn't - but it's still very good. It's a simple amber, mainly synthetic sandalwood and vanilla with a touch of skin musk. Its top accord is very brief and rather interesting, an animalic honey note with a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg, but it's gone within five minutes. The warm vanillic wood note, enshrouded in soft musk, pretty much dominates the show from that point onward. These notes smell well crafted and lucid, but they weaken fairly quickly. It's also difficult to determine what the components of the amber actually are, beyond the handful of notes I've already mentioned. I'd like to think this scent is more complex than it's credited for, but can't say there's much in its pyramid. Maybe expecting more for $5 is unreasonable.

Unlike its progenitor, Amber is quiet and short-lived. Expect maybe three or four hours out of it before it fades off without a trace. I own this fragrance because I think The Perfumer's Workshop is a quality outfit that sells surprisingly high-quality perfumes for very little money (their's is not drugstore fare), and there is almost nothing written about Tea Rose Amber, so I wanted to get some info about it out there. I could be mistaken, but I think this is the only review of this fragrance on the internet. It was released in 1999, and the fact that it has flown under the radar for almost fifteen years is interesting. However, I will warn that if you're an amber fanatic, owning and wearing this scent will be an underwhelming experience for you. It can't compete with Amber Sultan or Ambre Precieux. It's something pleasant for a Saturday afternoon shopping, or baking cookies for the kids. If you enjoy collecting hard-to-find fragrances, you'll probably enjoy owning and occasionally wearing Tea Rose Amber.

Tea Rose (The Perfumer's Workshop)

I don't know how they did it, and it doesn't really matter - The Perfumer's Workshop created a deceptively complex soliflore on a budget, and found a way to make it accessible to the public for an absurdly reasonable price. My hesitation prior to trying Tea Rose was caused by the reputation of cheap soliflores for being stuffy, grandmotherly, dull. To say that I missed the mark in my prefiguring of Tea Rose is an understatement. I missed the continent on this one. The scent is crystalline, natural, sweet, and unforgettable.

The budget does present itself a little in the far drydown, but it's nothing to lose sleep over. An unwanted rubbery edge to the crispness, something outside of the soliflore realm that reeks of "supporting note," as though the chemical that makes the star notes dance and sing is vying for an unscripted number of its own. Ultimately, Tea Rose succeeds on every level as a pleasantly green rose scent, something either a man or woman can wear to enhance their charisma in a variety of circumstances. 

You don't have to be on the red carpet with this one. It's fine for daytime dates, dinner dates, Sunday brunch with the fam, or just slumming at the park. I wouldn't wear it to work, unless you're a florist, as the sillage here is tremendous, and you're looking at around ten hours for longevity. But hey, if you're tired of the same-old, same-old, maybe this could get you through a draggy casual Friday.

A parting thought - if this scent were available in the 18th and 19th centuries, it would now cost $100 an ounce, as it would certainly have been worn by royalty.