Attaquer le Soleil Marquis de Sade

It is sometimes rather disheartening to see how readily some of us surrender our critical faculties in exchange for marketing-driven intellectual shortcuts. If you are unfamiliar with this fragrance, I would strongly recommend disregarding reviews that dwell on the alleged perversity of Attaquer le Soleil. I have read so much nonsense about this perfume that I feel compelled to correct what seems worth addressing. The key olfactory element here is cistus resin, better known as labdanum. There may also be notes of amber (labdanum itself is often regarded as a vegetal amber) and vanilla that are not explicitly listed by the brand, though I cannot say whether this is actually the case. I live in Southwestern France, where countless varieties of cistus adorn our coastal parks and grow along country paths. I frequently gather sprigs of it, as it is a scent I am particularly fond of. To me, the smell of cistus resembles a polygon, possessing a multitude of facets within itself. What appeals to me most is what I can only describe as a "dog's coat" quality—an animalic aspect, for the sake of clarity, though not an organic one. Rather, it is a kind of living resinousness: the scent of a dog's fur after it has rolled through grass or emerged from the water. I often wondered how such a scent might come alive on warm skin. My first sprays of Attaquer le Soleil, tested cold on paper, were nothing short of transcendent. The labdanum is unmistakably present, yet enriched from every angle. I smell the scent of a blazing furnace, resinous pines, and a mystical dimension I never expected to encounter. The brand invokes the Jesuit Pierre Teilhard de Chardin in relation to Ghost in the Shell, but I would sooner associate his name with Attaquer le Soleil. Speaking of his love for God, Teilhard once wrote that his own heart was a furnace. That is precisely the energy I felt upon discovering this release. When I eventually wore the fragrance on skin during cooler weather, I found it surprisingly easy to wear. It immediately struck me that I could perfectly imagine Columbo wearing this scent, moving from case to case in a world that no longer resembles our own—a world where people kill for beautiful diamonds, yet still speak to one another and exist as part of a collective whole. After a few hours, the drydown becomes, when compared directly to freshly cut cistus branches in hand, virtually identical to the smell of the plant itself. It is here that I rediscover that beloved animalic facet. You will read here and there online that Attaquer le Soleil smells nothing like cistus. Allow me to suggest that such people are far too certain of themselves, as is so often the case with foolishness. It is entirely possible that the varieties of cistus growing around them are simply different from those found where I live. Some species possess a much greener, more herbaceous profile than Cistus ladanifer. Unfortunately, France has been plagued by relentless heatwaves since May, and I regret to report that Attaquer le Soleil quickly becomes cumbersome in intense heat. I wore it during a walk through town on a particularly hot day and found myself uncomfortable. On warm skin, its fiery character becomes too pronounced, too invasive. I would also note that I recommend applying this fragrance with no more than one or two sprays, and certainly not directly onto the body's pulse points. Ultimately, I believe this fragrance flourishes best in spiritual settings—or at least in situations where consensus and seduction are not the primary objectives. Finally, I find the choice of the Marquis de Sade somewhat unfair. Did ELDO choose Sade's name because only those indifferent to the opinions of others could wear this fragrance without hesitation? Perhaps. Yet I believe cistus—and this creation in particular—deserves better than to be reduced to an archetypal symbol of perversion. One only has to read the comments to see the consequences: countless misplaced and irrelevant opinions invoking little more than a caricatured notion of sadism. I could just as easily have named this fragrance God's Paw, Burning Mediterranean, or Furnace. Less provocative, perhaps, but infinitely clearer. More importantly, it would spare the Mediterranean heritage embodied by cistus from being tarnished by groups of young thirty-somethings who, at the mere mention of this creation, seem intent on reducing it to a collection of tired clichés. This will likely be the most irritated review I have ever written, and for that I sincerely apologize. Yet if Cistus ladanifer, or one of its close relatives, captivates you in its raw form as much as it captivates me, then I urge you to give this fragrance a chance. Set aside the narrative that surrounds it, and you too may find yourself struck by its beauty like a bolt from the blue.

Attaquer le Soleil creeps up on you. There’s something unsettling about it: an enigmatic, gothic atmosphere that’s both threatening and enticing, and it keeps me coming back for more. I saw someone else describe it as “liminal,” which feels accurate: imagine a disquieting dream in which you’re about to discover something secret and dangerous. The dark, coniferous woody opening transports me to an aristocratic alpine chalet enclosed by black trees. I wake alone at night. Called by some obscure premonition of pleasure, I venture out to explore the cold, candlelit hallway, walls panelled in polished ebony, until I come upon a dim study—a cabinet of curiosities stuffed with leatherbound books, strange insects encased in amber, and exotic devices of unknown purpose. Open on the desk is a massive antique volume with gilt edges, not meant for my eyes. Is it obscene pornography, an occult spell book, or a diary of monstrous crimes? My nose fills with the intoxicating fragrance of resinous incense as the fear mounts, undercut with a faint, powdery bitterness (camphor?). Do I hear footsteps in the hall? I try to peer closer at the forbidden book, catching a glimpse of illustrations of twisted bodies, but someone (or something) is drawing closer. I turn...and wake up. (All this is perhaps more seductive than it sounds.) Curiously, the only listed note for this fragrance is labdanum—supposedly it was a challenge that perfumer Quentin Bisch set for himself to make something focusing solely on a note/material that he dislikes. I don’t have a detailed sense of what labdanum is supposed to smell like, other than it’s a sweet, musky resin often used in incense—I associate it with CDG's trademark clean-incense base (as used in CDG Original, Blackpepper, and many others), which I sometimes find soapy or powdery. I’m sure there are a lot of things going on in Attaquer le Soleil other than pure cistus resin, but I really like how it seems to pull out so many different facets of the material: it’s a little smoky and woody, a little bit clean and powdery, a little bit musky and animalic (it smells very embodied, like skin), very resinous in a sweet, enveloping way, but cold and slightly bitter at the same time. It’s this interplay that keeps me sniffing myself over and over! Some people have written that this is too wearable for a Sadean perfume, but I find that there is something vaguely perverse about it, though it doesn't at all veer into smells that are overtly off-putting. It's a really excellent winter fragrance, especially for lovers of woody, leathery incense scents, or anyone who wants a non-churchy incense (it's definitely unholy). Incidentally, I first tried this right before trying Apoteker Tepe’s The Holy Mountain, and they have a lot of similarities: they’re both coniferously woody on first sniff before easing into an incense-heavy amber finish. The latter initially made a bigger impression—it’s showier, with a massive smoky opening and a glorious golden drydown—but Attaquer le Soleil has really grown on me. It's subtly dark and weird in a very addictive (but not overpowering) way that's led it to become one my most-worn cold-weather scents, quickly becoming an overall favourite. Moderate projection and good longevity, fwiw.

*UPDATE* It’s funny, after writing this review every wearing of Marquis De Sade I notice something different. One day I think it smells like a bonfire in a secluded woodland off the beaten path, like you wandered a little too deep into the trees and seen something you shouldn’t have. The next day I wear it I get a more coniferous tinge, but with a subtle, metallic, fresh sweat scent; like the smell of intense sex bringing on a cold sweat, intermingling with the pine trees and oozing resin sap in this pagan woodland. Another night I noticed spiced fruits, like mulled wine and berries. Either there is more than one note in here or Labdanum is a truly complex ingredient. Read Dex1901’s review on this perfume. I’m not sure if it was intentional, but they described the perfect liminal-space scent. The mixture of the old storage room, cellotape, dusty boxes, photocopying paper and printer ink; but there is something wrong. You smell smoke and wet fur, and there is a trail of muddy pine needles leading to the slightly opened door at the end of the room that you did not notice at first - or was it even there before? You shuffle past the boxes, shelves, paper on the floor, trying to get to the door, but for as long as you move past the debris, the door isn’t any closer. A faint whisper echoes from the steps down of this door into darkness - asking you to come closer. This is what I smell when I spray Marquis De Sade. Not really fitting to the name, but Dex1901’s review is spot on to me. It reminds me of an old wooden chapel found in the middle of nowhere. There is something religious or biblical in this and I can’t figure out what. Maybe that feeds into the whole liminal space vibe I get when smelling this perfume, like a regular dream that has one glaring oddity, something off but you can’t put your finger on it, and when your curiosity has bested you, you dig at the roots, only to find the dream has changed into a nightmare. If I were to match the vibe of an album to this fragrance, it would be Knocked Loose’s You Won’t Go Before You’re Supposed to - it has a real A24 horror feeling to it. The game Outlast II also fits this perfume, with that whole Catholic school / midwestern religious gothic horror aesthetic. TLDR; smoky, slightly fruity resin, dry amber with a conifer/pine note on the tail end, and something animalic/cold sweat-like.

It is of my belief, as someone who owns a small sample bottle of this, and as someone who is thoroughly fascinated by this perfume, that it ages in a way similar to wine? I first purchased my small sample bottle quite some time ago, and I first smelled it the day it arrived at my front door. I was hit with pine. Like pine sap on your fingers after climbing around Ina pine tree pine. And I know pine, my hometown is half pine trees and half white supremacists. You can guess where my time was spent. Anyways, after moving a town over and having a whirlwind summer, I rediscovered the small bottle and decided on a whim to give it a smell again. The pine remained, but it was no longer single note. This incense-y undertone was the most developed, it reminded me of this old pine church that used to be used by the old loggers of my hometown as a place of worship. Now its a part of my local state park as a historical site, but the pine and incense smells still remain in the buildso. The second note is vanilla. Its faint, like tasting a hint of vanilla on your wine glass after a beautiful woman wearing a vanilla chapstick gives it a sip. The third and most distracting is the note of leather. It is leather, pure and simple. Like a leather whip. All in all, it reminds me of this encounter I had with this vampire couple a few towns over. They needed a 3rd to feed on and took me to their home. This happened to be an old church, similar to the one in the state park, but renovated of course. The basement was this sex dungeon wine cellar combo, and now whenever I smell this perfume all I can think of is that beautiful vampire woman whipping my back to shreds while her husband whipped my bottom. I don't understand where some folks are getting ball sweat and olive from. If you like pine and you are willing to allow this to age for a time to develop, then I would highly recommend. If you are a prude, perhaps try someone else? I'm unsure of the prudish lifestyle and cannot speak for your wants, however for me this is distractingly horny.

Attaquer le Soleil was one of the most surprising colognes I have ever encountered. It was 2019, and I happened to be in Portsmouth, New Hampshire—one of America’s most underrated tourist destinations. The town is the epitome of quintessential colonial New England, so picturesque it could easily be mistaken for a European city. While there, I visited an exceptional fragrance shop called Pickwick’s Mercantile, a place that looks as though it was lifted straight out of Harry Potter. The staff are remarkably knowledgeable, expertly guiding customers through hundreds of fragrances. Among them all, this one immediately stood out. Smelling it felt like catching a glimpse of a past life in the 1700s. It instantly conjured images of powdered wigs, Rococo ballrooms, candlelit salons, and refined social gatherings accompanied by harpsichords. Imagine rural England or France in that era—that’s the atmosphere it captures, anchored by a rich, resinous labdanum note. Despite its historical soul, the fragrance feels unmistakably modern. It never comes across as dated; instead, it is refined, elegant, and timeless. I sprayed a sample before heading to the cinema to see The Favourite, starring Olivia Colman, and the pairing felt uncannily perfect. By the end of the night, I knew I had to return and purchase a bottle. To me, Attaquer le Soleil shines best from winter into early spring. In fact, it evokes early springtime itself—something about it feels reminiscent of the Easter season, where history, renewal, and quiet grandeur meet.

My first thought when I put this on my wrist was confusion. It smelled unlike any fragrance I'd ever encountered before. With only one ingredient on the list -- cistus -- it's an anomaly from the start. Cistus are flowering plants in the rockrose family, but this isn't a floral smell at all. The scent has to come from the plant itself. There was something about it that initially reminded me of broom straw and an old-fashioned topical medicine for cuts, so it seemed just weird. But then, it turned nostalgic for me with the scent of fresh pine tar oozing down the side of a pine tree. I loved that smell as a kid and accidentally ruined too many clothes with it. There's something infinitely sniffable about it. I don't even understand how this got turned into a fragrance, but I love it far more than I expected from the descriptions and opening sniff. It gets more woody, and I swear there's a faintly sweet undertone to it the longer it lingers on my skin. I'd love to experience cistus mixed with something sweet, but I worry that it would overpower this unique scent. It's definitely a scent for connoisseurs of unique smells. It's never going to become a pop scent of the year, but it's going to keep delighting people who delight in scent discovery. If I could change anything about it, it would be having it named after the person who inspired the word "sadism" because there's nothing sadistic about the scent unless I walked into an unassuming world with 20 sprays of it on me. I don't think the world is ready for that.

Attaquer le Soleil Marquis de Sade by Etat Libre d’Orange is a fascinating, daring fragrance that brings forth the raw, resinous beauty of labdanum in its purest form. This scent is unapologetically bold and minimalist, showcasing labdanum as both the heart and soul of the fragrance, with no supporting notes to soften or embellish its character. Upon application, you’re immediately enveloped in a rich, ambery warmth that feels both smoky and slightly animalic. The labdanum here is intense and sensual, with hints of leather and a touch of earthiness that give it an undeniable edge. It’s as if this fragrance defies the need for complexity, instead relying on the power and depth of a single, beautifully rendered note. Projection is moderate, making it suitable for close encounters and lending a sense of intimacy to its wear. Longevity is impressive; it lingers for hours, clinging to the skin with a quiet but persistent intensity. This fragrance isn’t for everyone—it’s for those who appreciate niche perfumery and are drawn to the untamed, slightly dark facets of fragrance. Attaquer le Soleil Marquis de Sade is a tribute to audacity, offering a scent experience that is both primal and refined. For anyone who wants to explore the raw beauty of labdanum in an unconventional yet masterfully crafted scent, this is a remarkable choice. It’s the perfect fragrance for those who appreciate the darker, more daring side of perfume.

Piney, resinous and skanky. This is my favourite perfume if i wear something just for myself. Its a labdanum bomb which keeps its character from spray to drydown. Starts more stinky (in a nice way) and resinous with a heavy "freshness" to it. In the drydown it becomes warmer and more sensual (sweet). Not only i love it, but also insects (while walking trough the forest i got constantly attacked by all sorts of flying insects, just on the spot where i sprayed on). This attests to its natural smell. If you hate synthetic smelling perfumes this could be for you. It truly is magnetic, i have to constantly sniff it. Wow. I no NOTHING like it! Outstanding and singular. It really does not share a lot with other ELO perfumes except for the last hours of the drydown where the typical sweet, musky-milky notes reveal themselves. Performance is great. A dense and heavy smell sitting closer to the skin than most. Will buy another full bottle for storage. 9.5/10 Edit: Something very interesting to me are the reactions by other people i have asked. I was expecting VERY strong reactions since i react strongly to this repulsive yet magnetic scent but to my astonishment everyone i asked (3 or 4 persons, males and females) found this perfume to be nice but generic smelling. HOW? Whomever doesn't get the idiosyncrasy of this perfume must live in a different smell-universe than i do.

So this perfume was too weird and I desperately needed to try it.... So I had to blind buy it.. Now, I read all the comments and I agree with the piney opening like a forest. But I would say very fast, in like some seconds I can smell something that reminds me of a barn, with some manure in the distance, however not overpowering or insulting. Just like walking in the forest and there is a barn at some distance, giving you hints of an animalic smell. After a while I would say it smells like a church. But like those old kind of orthodox churches where the incense and the smell of burnt beeswax candles and myrrh have seeped into the walls and wooden chairs.. Also, there is a dusty smell to it, but not too dry. It really smells like burnt olibanum (frankincense), and I am very familiar with this smell. It's very common in Greek churches. No matter how hard I tried I could not smell balls.. I guess it is the barn like smell with the sweet beeswax smell that's been reminding most people of balls. It is sexy? Yes it is. It's a very personal fragrance and extremely unique. Pine, manure, beeswax and olibanum really give a kinky tone to it, which is also complimented by the dry feeling it leaves to the nose... A perfect intimate scent, and with the right attitude, I would say it's very animalic and sadistic... Love it so far.

Earthy isn't listed in the accords but it definitely should be, there's something so sopping and bitter about this fragrance, it's, as the reviewer below me said, like fresh mulch. It's dew drops during the glummest days of spring/fall, the perspiration on cold stone. It's ancient, dusty wood and lacquer. It's resin, smoky and pine-like, definitely with a note of frankincense. It's fog. It's sweet as much as dried, dusty flowers are. For a supposedly one note fragrance, the complexity of it is impressive. It's stuffy in a way, and I get that it would be for most noses that aren't fond of overpowering, vintage perfumes and don't think that cloying is a bit of a compliment. It's as if you sprayed perfume in a closed, dusty room and let it sit like that for a few hours. In the dry down it starts to get a musky, dried spit sort of note, that might be unpleasant to some. If you enjoy polarizing, unique scents, I definitely recommend this one. It doesn't attempt at being conventional or overtly pleasant, but rather, it allows you to get lost in it, to become one with the imagery. I assume it would be very becoming and mysterious when worn in colder weather, and I'm planning on buying a full bottle for that reason.

Got a sample of this one with my bottle of bloody smoke. It instantly reminded me of something extremely specific and personal, a memory that had been buried deep down in my mind, not accessible to my consciousness until this scent unearthed it again. My dad had a room for work in my childhood home where he would solder electronics. The solder and flux smelled exactly like this to young me, whenever I would accompany him while he worked. Him telling me to be careful not to burn my tiny hands on the soldering iron. Smelling it again was so intriguing to me, invoking so many complex, long forgotten feelings, that I had to get a bottle. Of course I can also appreciate this scent in other aspects, most mentioned here already, that make it enjoyable to wear. And I doubt that to anyone else their first impression would be metallic electronics and hot lsolder, so don't worry about that. But this unique feeling of familiarity is personal to me, landing this scent a very special place in my heart. I now wear it often, especially during spring and summer (most of my other fragrances are pretty heavy or almost offensive), making it my second signature scent for daily wear. (PS my dad agrees it smells like solder)

An Assault on Conformity This fragrance caught my attention long before I smelled it. The story behind it — the Marquis de Sade's desire to "attack the sun" — is one of the most provocative concepts I have encountered in perfumery. Then comes the scent itself: a fascinating exploration of labdanum in its many forms. Resinous, dark, warm, smoky, and constantly evolving. What makes this fragrance truly special to me is the story behind its creation. Quentin Bisch openly admits that cistus was a material he often avoided or hid beneath layers of vanilla and amber. Here, he chose to confront it directly. That creative discomfort is present throughout the fragrance. Etat Libre d'Orange continues to impress me because they create fragrances that are not designed to please everyone. They challenge, provoke, and reward curiosity. For me, this is more than a perfume. It is a statement about embracing discomfort, questioning assumptions, and discovering what lies beyond familiar territory. Sometimes the most rewarding journeys begin with the things we would rather avoid.

This is one of the most stunning and well realised and unadulterated labdanum fragrances I’ve ever smelled. I wouldn’t of minded it being sharper, harsher and less balanced but Marquis de Sade gives up every facet of incense and resin from bright, frankinscense type freshness to dry benzoin warmth and the spicy density of tolu balm, yet with its own quality too. Labdanum is my favourite ingredient in perfumery with good reason and easily complex enough to star solo in a perfume. The only thing that prevents me from buying this straight away, outright and with no hesitation, is the performance or lack thereof. Labdanum is a notorious catalyst, designed for use within a composition and despite smelling heavenly is like most resins, they go on heavy and luxurious but it’s a bit of an illusion as they fade rapidly. I’m also not sure this is raw or daring enough to bear the name Marquis de Sade. I’m not one to moan about performance but gone after two hours ain’t good enough or worth the money, although I love the smell so much I might reassess that in the future.

Wow, what a great composition. It’s a must for incense lovers. Don’t know if truly there’s only one note, yet, it smells complex. It is exactly how pencil shavings smell like, dry and sharp in the best way possible, with green facets of fir / pine. It smells of churchy incense, deep woods, white cedar / thuja while the backbone is iso-e-super. Performance is great, lasted more than 12 hours on skin yet projection is moderate - arms’ length. Could be perceived as formal, fancy, sophisticated, cold and aloof. I have tried so many incense fragrances, it’s one of my most favorite categories yet incense fragrances face one of the most rigorous standards for me in order to “pass the test”, while: “Gucci Pour Homme” / “Parle Moi De Parfum - Papyrus Oud 71”, being my favorite alongside: “Le Labo - Vetiver 46” / “Comme Des Garcons - 2 Man”, this joins the favorites’ shelf. It’s a love for me. It’s a signature worthy fragrance, though may be too dry for the hot summer.

god im properly obsessed with this right now. I was expecting the worst bc of some other reviews on here and generally not being drawn to amber-ish fragrances but wow. More than anything I get beeswax, like fresh delicious, earthy, raw beeswax. Reminds me of making candles as a kid by wrapping those beeswax sheets around a wick. Or my ex shoplifting beeswax candles from whole foods for me to pour on him. hm. Anyways, I find this scent so delightful and comforting. I often find myself drawn to put it on before bed but works equally as well for going out. Not so peculiar that I think a passerby would ever be off put, but also distinctive enough to be noticed and carry a level of intrigue and personality. Smells comfortable. Smells historical. Wears for quite a few hours but isn't cloyingly intense or annoying in how it sticks around. As others have noted, more of a cold weather scent that balances coolness and coziness. Can't get enough.

This smells like a warm, spicy cup of chai tea, an old bookstore filled with ancient tomes, a little-used basement of a centuries-old church, and a street market in a foreign country selling a variety of spices like cinnamon and black pepper. It's deep, mysterious, beguiling, comforting, and inviting, and although it's not a scent I'd usually think of smelling on one's person, it works wonderfully well! I don't find myself going nose-blind to this, which is a super pleasant surprise---I just getting whiffs that transport me somewhere far away. Delightfully long-lasting, unisex, and with a sillage that extends beyond arm's reach for quite some time, I could actually see myself buying a full bottle of this sometime in the future once I've emptied my sample. Also, the labdanum/Cretan rockrose/cistus in this is what inspired me to try growing it in my garden this year!

labdanum woody incense I bought a discovery kit of Etat Libre d’Orange, with 20 samples and this is my favorite one. The first vibe I got from this fragrance was a burning wood in rainy weather with smoke (incense) coming up. This is not a heavy amber fragrance as defined as a main accord in Fragrantica. Amber just added to the fragrance to balance other accords. This is a woody, incense, green, balsamic fragrance in the best-refined format. Most incense lovers miss it because incense was not mentioned in the notes or accords. Truly a hidden gem. This is mysterious, rich, dark, and even animalic with depth and personality. But the magic is that it is very versatile you can wear it for the office, or even before sleep. I do not know any other rich and deep fragrance that could be this wearable. PERFECT SIGNATURE SCENT if you have a specific style. 9/10

"How many times, dear God, have I not wished I could attack the sun, pluck it from the sky, create general darkness, or use that star to light up the world." A fragrance dedicated to the Marquis de Sade ... well ... what can I say, I see all the shocking personality of this character reflected in it ... a fragrance that opens strongly, almost as to arouse a sense of repulsion, I feel it peppery, spicy, until it leaves room with animalic , pungent , violent scents : in short , the Marquis himself . You can absolutely feel the hand of Quentin Bisch, this nonconformist nose who has created real masterpieces. A perfume that is strong, with an immense personality, but that doesn't exempt me from keeping my nose attached to my wrist... it has something magnetic... wonderful. Henry Ossawa Tanner, “Sodom and Gomorrah”, which painting else.

Attaquer le Soleil Marquis de Sade in cold weather: dark church incense and amber. Attaquer le Soleil Marquis de Sade in warm / hot weather: tobacco leaves, osmanthus, wet soil after rain, a bit of caramel, dried aromatic bushes and shrubs, freshly baked plum cake, myrtle flowers on Mediterranean shore above Bay of Kotor, olive cakes after extracting oil, nutmeg, tarragon and French fines herbes, sour cherry liquor, frankincense, black tea, spruce forest, you name them. I think this perfume has a mind of its own. It is a delicious unisex juice that has to be worn in the warm weather, and not by the faint hearted. It is spectacular the way it changes every 30 minutes. It is dry, cooling, clean, comforting, with moderate sillage but enough to create a cloud around the wearer. It speaks only to those who know what to listen to.

Unique scent, like nothing I ever smelled before, not meaning that is out of this world, it just doesn't have the sweetness you expect when you hear amber. It has some sweetness, some leather, some smoke, something slightly animalic, slightly sour, some resin... it just smells special and yes it does smell like say an old mansion in the fall, it has that slightly damp smell, yes a little old, but somehow sophisticated. The name is very well chosen because you can picture a french nobleman smelling like this or surrounded by this smell in his family mansion. You can smell the wood of the old furniture, the old leather on the furniture, the incense in the house, the wet dog on the floor and the wet forest outside.