Aromatics Elixir

**From 2014** How does a man go from proclaiming a fragrance to be his favorite, his life essence, for years depleting large bottles with alarming frequency, to a total purge and bitter dismissal of it? Aromatics and I had a torrid Last Tango in Paris love affair, if you could call it love. This is the story of my sadomasochistic obsession with her. I purchased my first bottle of Aromatics Elixir from Sephora in 2008, along with my first bottle of Angel, another Perfume of Contempt that has since distanced itself from me with reformulation. Aromatics had gotten my attention because my friend Monica told me it smelled like dirty pussy. After one sniff of the tester bottle, which gave the impression of patchouli and vinegar, I purchased 100 Ml and took it out to the car, where I sprayed a bunch on my arm. If you think the current stuff is strong, you should smell what it used to be like. It famously comes out of the bottle with a disturbing and addictive vinegar astringence that immediately renders you unable to smell it or anything else. There is a massive sour, soapy floral accord with jasmine, rose, and all the usual players petrified in a highly synthetic aldehydic chemical spill that prevents it from ever smelling natural. The chypre base smells how all the Estee Lauders used to smell when they had access to as much oakmoss as they wanted, with a distinctive dry, powdery "Lauderaide" that ran through all of them from Youth-Dew to Knowing but with a pronounced marijuana effect. Aromatics has a gorgeous, rich patchouli, which is the only thing that smells natural in this perfume that ironically was marketed to appeal to the first wave of hippies clamoring for "green" products. Estee Lauder created Clinique as the 70s-spirited "natural" branch of her cosmetics empire. Its phony Francophile name, like the pseudonym Josephine Esther Mentzer gave herself, was conjured for a sense of European glamour and authority. The employees were made to wear white lab coats in a charade of medical seriousness. Pristine still-life photographs by Irving Penn were used as advertisements and solidified the chic minimalism of the products. The products themselves were hyped for their lack of fragrances and suitability for allergic people. It's a lovely irony, then, that Clinique launched as its flagship one of the strongest perfumes of all time, which has a reputation for inducing severe allergic reactions in the perfume sensitive. Aromatics (the "Elixir" part of its name was added later) was marketed as an early form of aromatherapy and capitalized on the hippie fashion for single-note oils of patchouli and musk. Its first print ads were psychedelic sketches of a Cher "Half Breed" type in solitary D.H. Lawrence communion with nature, a popular 70s aesthetic that was also used for Clairol Herbal Essence shampoo and Eve cigarettes. Aveda, also launched in the 70s and later purchased by Lauder, appealed to a similar demographic, and is known for its products' distinctive Aromatics-like essential oil fragrances. A diluted companion cologne for men, Aramis 900, was released soon after. Customers have always complained about how strong Aromatics, sold only in a bluntly named, skunky "Perfume Spray" concentration, is, so Clinique salespeople were told to tell people it was meant to be sprayed and walked through, a method still proselytized by flibbertigibbets who are frightened of being noticed for their fragrance. My first real experience actually wearing Aromatics was in a film editing class at community college that took place in a small computer lab. I used about ten sprays of it, that was just the way I did things then. The nebbish professor looked sick mid-lecture and excused himself to go out to the hall. A Perfume of Contempt had been born. During my four or five years wearing Aromatics I got many compliments, mostly from those who liked patchouli, incense, and pot. After my first bottle there was a big change, and I began hearing comments about bug spray. Because of the reduced presence of oakmoss or the replacement of treemoss or whatever they did to it, it never entirely settled on skin, just got sourer and sourer. I told myself that it was still great, but I was in denial. I also steadfastly denied that it gave me a dull throbbing headache, even when worn in minuscule amounts, for years. Monica said that the original Herbal Essence shampoo, with its nefarious cocktail of chemicals masquerading as Garden of Eden naturalness, would strip your hair down to a straw-like texture, and it felt like Aromatics was doing this to my mind. Nonetheless, I went through four large bottles of it in as many years, two pots of body cream, one tube of lotion, one tube of body wash, one solid perfume, and three candles. My self-image was deeply entwined with Aromatics and its 70s strangeness. One of my crowning achievements was when a boyfriend bought his own bottle and wore it in lament even after I had broken up with him, to the consternation of all other faggots he encountered. Then one day I just grew out of it. I'd been wearing "old lady" perfumes that repelled men for so many years and had such a schizophrenic fragrance identity that I thought it was time to wear things that might make me more approachable and wouldn't make me feel vaguely ill. I pared down my collection to essentials and shockingly kept no Lauders, almost all of which I had owned and worn for years. I also had to finally admit that Aromatics had been destroyed by reformulation. It's still an interesting perfume and worth smelling as the most intact ghost of classical French chypre perfumery still available in department stores, despite its American origins. With the ban of essential ingredients, however, Clinique has seemingly streamlined it into a more conventional rose-patchouli accord in the Coco Mademoiselle realm while maintaining an approximation of the vinegar astringence Aromatics is known for. Like most reformulations, it just refuses to sit comfortably on skin because of its weak base notes. Aromatics has always appealed to women who are a little off, a little different, a little perverted: art teachers, French teachers, hippies. It inspires dogmatic loyalty in its users in the way Angel does, and when you meet another Aromatics lover it's like meeting another member of your secret coven. You instantly know more about each other than many people who've known each other all their lives. Aromatics and I learned dark things about ourselves through each other while it lasted, though. We went right up into the ass of death. She wanted to kill me by the end. She was going to shoot me, claim self-defense, and say that I'd raped her, but I got away. I have passed her on the street, but it took me a minute to realize who she was.

Hello, fragrance-loving community! This is my first review of a perfume on this site. I have been utilizing the website for a long time to look up notes in the fragrances I find interesting. I have yet to find something as interesting or as mesmerizing as Aromatics Elixir. This perfume... Wow. Haha Where should we begin? I enjoy the occasional freshness of a squeezed lemon, pear, or grapefruit. Though I have sampled many sweet scents, they simply do not call to me like the layers of complexity here. Chanel No. 5 seems more potent in aldehydes to my nose than Aromatics Elixir does; nevertheless, I adore almost every aldehyde I have worn. Dolce & Gabbana Red Cap (EuroItalia version) is another that I find lovely and soft in the way freshly-laundered towels smell from the dryer, but it does not hold a candle to the softness of AE. Yes, the first spray today was quite strong, but I was expecting it. I adore patchouli and often wear actual patchouli oil as a lone fragrance - even in the summer! Daring and a bit scandalous in the muggy summers of the south, I know... I should also mention that I am 29, and I absolutely adore wearing Aromatics Elixir. Upon first spray, I gathered the wherewithal to sniff my wrist immediately. I do understand where some people detect a hint of urine there, but it eventually evolves into the hauntingly beautiful scent of rose petals on my skin. If you have ever smelled Tea Rose, you will know well the smell I am referring to. Add a bit of dry leaves and a dark forest filled with the soft lullaby of a crisp breeze that gently presses a cluster of fallen flower petals onto your naked skin and messy hair... there you have it... the power and otherworldly allure of this magical potion. I see a half-dressed, pale woman with natural curves brushing out her dry, dark hair with a wooden brush that she picked up off the dirt floor of her little hand-made shack in the valley of some disturbingly familiar residence. She pushes away at her untamed mane and glides blissfully over to an array of glass jars in the window to pluck up a handful of dried flowers and tie them up above the doorframe outside. She casually jots a few scribbles in a leather journal and tosses it onto a weatherworn table inside before returning to the night to stoke the fire for dinner. As she sits in the damp, night air, she revels in the freedom she has created for herself and closes her eyes to enjoy the warmth of the flames before her. From within the dwelling... a man of equal, carnal desire emerges to gaze upon her exquisite beauty and places a hand upon her soft shoulder. As she lifts her glowing eyes to his, he gently caresses her hands and guides her up to his level in the darkness. He places a warm, reassuring arm about her waist and folds a quilt around them as she rests her face in his bare chest. The exciting danger of her unknown freedom is accompanied by his earthy pheromones, and she feels safe in his calm strength of presence... The two live and dwell in the heart of humans and their beings. They sing songs of deep longing with voices torn by age. They cry into soft sheets of grass as they consummate their love in grace to the grave. In short, this is the scent of a woman who has found her place in life but always yearns to find the truth to that untimely question: why? It’s brash, but it’s not trash. I detect the scent of salty tears and of drowned herbs in oil tinctures presented to mend a broken soul of a loved one long since passed... or the yearning whimpers of a lover fallen to your kindness in the pleasure of your kiss upon his or her bare, sweaty flesh. This is an herbal remedy for the soul, alright. I find it just as tempting as a walk through crunchy, autumn leaves... as I find it as perplexing as a toxic relationship with a man or woman you love to hate and hate to love. There is a turmoil of baseless claims and shocking developments and yet... a heartwarming melody of endless passionate nights and hopeless apologies. It is the scent of an open casket and a face of someone you loved but is no longer there - tied to the feelings of grief and a realization that you no longer can be perfectly sure where they have gone. There is the smokiness of a dying fire and of a rose left rotting in a glass case. A calming embrace of a friend who feels your soul in tragedy... and the conclusive nature of a written motive from the heart of someone who never truly loved and lost. At least, that’s what I smell. It’s sexy. It’s mature. It’s maternal. It’s calming. It’s blissful. It’s seductive. It’s odd. It’s bizarre. It’s harrowing. It’s cold. It’s warm. It’s dirty. It’s clean. It’s lonely. It’s lovely. It’s tempting. It’s assuring. It’s pleasant. It’s astonishing, It’s earth. It’s water. It’s air. It’s fire. It is, in fact, a glimpse into the fragility and complexity of human existence through the lens of grounding scents of the world we dwell within. I find it speaks softly to the human condition. That is, however ironically, all.

In the AI-generated pros-and-cons list above, I found this one, and it made me laugh so hard: “May be viewed as a punishment or a troll scent by some.” Because honestly, the first time I had to wear it was at a Truth or Dare drinking party after a Halloween zombie parade. On that day, I probably became the best-smelling zombie in the world (bite me if you disagree). So, for that one above, I’m torn — I can give it both a thumbs up and a thumbs down. Jokes aside: now I own it. It’s half of a tiny 25ml bottle I bought second-hand two years ago from a lovely lady at a bargain price (£10 plus postage). “No more than 2 spritzes,” she told me — and she was right. I usually only do one, behind my lower back. And it smells amazing. Here’s why the place of application matters: this fragrance is very special. Your nose will pick up different scents depending on where you are in its scent bubble. If you spray it on the back of your hand, even after it dries down, and sniff with your nose right up close, you’ll smell something aggressive. But if you’re a bit further away, it’s completely different. I guess this is true for many perfumes, and maybe that’s why we sometimes find that something smells great on others but not on ourselves. So, if you have such a fragrance in your collection, try spraying it behind your back. In summer, try behind your knees. You might discover a new experience and feel reintroduced to a scent that once disappointed you, but always smells great on other people. Back to this one — if A.E. is still too scary for you to try, even behind your back, try spraying it in a space. Yes, spray it in the air in a room. Leave the room, and come back 30 minutes later. You’ll understand exactly what I mean. The scent bubble is big enough for you to appreciate from a distance, and you’ll want your nose to stay just far enough from where the scent is sprayed. Also, I see people say this is a winter fragrance. But personally, I wear it almost exclusively in the heat, for several reasons: 1. It’s not fabric-friendly. It requires the warmth of your skin to develop. That means you want to spray it on yourself, not on your clothes. So you need enough skin space for it, especially if you want to spray it sparingly (which is what I always do). 2. Placement matters. I apply it behind my back, not behind my neck — behind the neck would still be too close to my nose. In winter, that area is completely under thick layers, so the scent wouldn’t have enough space to create its bubble. But in summer, when I wear garments like a little vest or a loosely fitted dress, it’s the perfect environment for this scent to develop underneath. 3. The opening behaves differently in heat. The aggressive opening develops much faster in a warm environment than in a cold one. And the opening, I guess, is what most people consider off-putting. In winter, it just isn’t warm enough for it to evaporate and move on. 4. Patchouli and herbs = summer nostalgia. I’m from East Asia — patchouli and herbs just scream summer to me. They feel nostalgic and smell like home. Last but not least, my grandma wore Elizabeth Arden and Chanel, and my mom doesn’t use perfume at all. So for me, it doesn’t read as “old.” However, I know men who wear this, and they smell completely elegant and dashing with this scent, so to me, it strikes a balance that feels quite androgynous.

(Bottle c. mid-1980s) Hey! We have an example of Estée Lauder being able to make a beautiful perfume via a different brand that they own...! Now, granted, this happened more than 50 years ago, but the novelty is still very noteworthy even this many years on. No less noteworthy - certainly more so - is just how good this perfume is. For one, this still has one of the best chamomile accords of any perfume I have ever smelled. Once the bergamot and galbanum dispenses, which happens very quickly in bottles prior to the early 2000s, the gently honeyed, hay like and grassy, pale yellow floral of chamomile rings true. Additional depth is not needed at this point, but rose and coriander come into play anyway to add to the breadth instead. The cool woody character of the coriander gives the honey character levity, while the rose makes the pale yellow floral character more saturated and vivid, turning it almost gold. It makes me want to open my bag of pure, dried chamomile flowers I use for tea and give them a big whiff but I won’t because I do not want to be disappointed by a comparison to the real thing. As time slowly marches on the rose becomes more prominent, powdery and elegant. With the spiciness it comes across nearly as an ultra-vivid carnation, helped by a headiness also becoming more apparent and growing. Then finally, here it comes, the heady and unctuous muguet flanked on both sides by a properly indolic jasmine. The jasmine is also allowed a bit of its citrusy and green facets here, but the star is that creamy and savory muguet. Then comes the surprise, which is that Aromatics Elixir - an oak moss/chypre or amber bomb it is not! This is where it steers clear of many of its predecessors and affiliates by focusing on a clean, musky, earthiness of dried top-soil patchouli and floral musks. Some resins, balsams, and a touch of animalics live here too but it is inarguably and determinedly trying to be cleanly earthy without resorting to oak moss - and it does so utterly beautifully. Every time I smell this heart to base transition of Aromatics Elixir I can feel my muscles relax, my heart slow down, and my mind empty in ecstasy. And this is where I must detract a bit from others who laud this perfume, rightfully so as I do. It is strong, yes, and it projects and sillages like warfare going off, yes, but it is still restrained. The Lauder compositions of the relative period it is so frequently compared to have a brash American confidence to them, largely thanks to the oak moss and animalics, in conjunction with heavier amber facets in some case, that will control a room without asking permission. Beautiful though they are, they do not know how to not announce themselves nor to not be the focus of attention. Aromatics Elixir will stand in the middle of the room, all eyes on it, without saying a word. That clean, ethereal, radiant character is like the sun shining through the window of the room - impossible to ignore but not trying to take anything from anyone either. It’s the stunning beauty that everyone has noticed but no one wants to work up the courage to talk with to find out why they are so quiet. It does not matter if you are a man or a woman, work up the courage to see if Aromatics Elixir will hang on your arm. Now.

Aromatic Elixir is among the legendary fragrances of the 20th century: instantly recognizable, profoundly polarizing, but for the right person, simultaneously intoxicating and grounding (if that somehow is possible). In 2020, it seems that more men might be gravitating to this beauty, perhaps since the mainstream women under the age of 35 are terrified of anything that isn't sweet, edible, light, and fresh. AE is none of these: it makes its presence known, shows a depth that it is rarely found even in the most flossy of current niche fragrances, and has qualities that immediately make the wearer feel wrapped up and comforted (even if its over-application comes at the expense of the wearer's company). For this masterpiece of modern perfumery, a light hand is critical: sillage, projection, and longevity kicks the hineys of 98% of fragrances in existence. AE is one of my all-time favorites, so forgive me if I gush, but from its very opening of aldehydes, chamomile and clary sage, you immediately know that you are in for a ride, but thankfully, not a bumpy ride. Its opening deceives the wearer into think this might wear a bit lighter, but give it about fifteen minutes and the florals, patchouli, woods, and moss just bloom (Gucci has NOTHING on this kind of "bloom."). The florals are evident but not foofy or feminine, they are rather narcotic and yellow. Carnation and rose are indeed most evident, but ylang-ylang is quite apparent as well, lending a ripe floral quality that makes this stage of AE more unisex than feminine. However, it is the base that anchors it all which makes this so memorable. It is the hallmark of AE, and merely listing the notes does not do it any justice, it must just be experienced to understand. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts, after all, and here it is just its own entity, with no one element yelling over any other. It's a harmonious chorus. I must stress again that this is not for the faint of heart, and it may seem like more of a "dare" for someone and a horror story for others. Alas, time shapes tastes, and unfortunately tastes in scent have really gone in a less dynamic and complex direction, as evidenced in the many designers saturating the market with insipid or even offensive bilge containing overdoses of tonka, ambroxan, and iso e super. Older designers such as these, even reformulated, are something to relish while still in production, because the general public isn't really showing much of a shift back to these kinds of fragrances any time soon. Perhaps the niche crowd or those more passionate about fragrance, but I am afraid to say, something like AE's days are numbered. Grab bottles while you can. I just bought another (a 100ml) for spare change at one of the Lord & Taylor locations going out of business here in the northeast. God I love Aromatic Elixir. See also: Aramis 900, its lighter, rosier sibling that was marketed to men, which is also phenomenal. Bernard Chant = utter genius. 10/10