Superstitious

I vividly remember the first time I tried Superstitious. It was during the days when Frederic Malle still proudly advertised itself as an exclusive niche/independent house, and it was very difficult to try their fragrances. You could either order samples from their website or walk into one of their few and select boutiques. Ah, the good days. Anyway, at the time I wanted to try Dries Van Noten, which I was convinced I’d love given the notes, and only decided to test Superstitious because it was new, the bottle looked interesting, and it was difficult to find at the time. I sprayed both on a card and immediately recoiled when smelling Dries. It took me several years to warm up to its opening, which even today takes me by surprise. However, my disappointment quickly turned into awe as soon as I smelt the paper strip where I sprayed Superstitious. It was fabulous and highly unexpected. At that time, I was a fan of Chanel No.5 but could not bring myself to wear it (too sweet for my tastes). Superstitious struck me as those vintage, larger-than-life aldehydic-floral-orientals (Arpège, Baghari, No. 5, No.22) executed in the characteristic Malle and Ropion fashion. I was surprised to smell something like this from Malle, and even more puzzled because while it recalled those classic perfumes, it didn’t belong to that era. It felt modern, experimental, and avant-garde. I told the sales assistant that I loved it, and asked if she could decant a sample for me. She was generous enough to accommodate my request and told me that Superstitious was a very divisive perfume, and that most people didn’t like it. I went through my sample fast and later purchased a bottle, and as I wore it, I realized why it didn’t vibe with many enthusiasts. Remember the perfumes mentioned? Superstitious fits that slot but doesn’t smell old-school. It’s vintage in style (big aldehydic-floral), but through its execution, it pushes the artistic boundaries. The aldehydes are the most important component, and they are present from start to finish, not just as an opener. They only lose some of their strength and change texture as they slowly transition into the sharp and cold incense note, the other major player. It’s like a huge cloud of smoke and aldehydes, which starts soapy and thick, like foam or bubbles from the most luxurious-smelling bar of soap, and slowly transitions into a cold incense accord that cuts like a knife through that fat soap wall. There is a metallic edge to it, and I can’t tell whether it’s the aldehydes or the frankincense that creates this effect. Behind this wall, several other notes can be identified: peach, jasmine, rose, resins, and sandalwood. But to my nose, the most relevant are: peach, jasmine, and the sandalwood. The peach feels desiccated and sour, akin to the skin and not the flesh of the fruit. It’s very prickly and lasts for a long time. The jasmine has been dissected and reassembled. Most of its facets have been discarded. However, they not only kept the indoles but amplified them, as well as the milky qualities, which synergize well with the aldehydes. The indoles are worth mentioning, and I suspect it is one of the aspects that steer people away. I know folks who can tolerate all sorts of animalistic notes but can’t stand indoles. The sandalwood is also mutated and perhaps combines with some cedarwood aroma molecule to give off this pencil-shaving sensation, which I enjoy. All of the elements in Superstitious are broken down and rearranged in a bizarre and futuristic fashion: the aldehydes are foamy, fat, and everlasting, the incense seems to sprout from them and later merge in unison, the peach is prickly and acidic, the jasmine is mostly made of indoles, and the sandalwood has an uncharacteristically abrasive texture. Vintage-inspired, it may be, but it feels way ahead of its time. I always felt that Superstitious was the most futuristic perfume in the Fréderic Malle line, and one of the most underrated. I also realized that there is little constructive feedback about it in the community. Short impressions and thoughts, but I rarely come across someone who is not only familiar with the fragrance but admits to loving it. I believe it is disfavored partly due to its nature. On one end, you have the vintage perfume lovers who’d rather go with Arpège and the like and find Superstitious “the weird rich kid” among them. At the other end, perfume lovers who shun everything that smells “dated” or old-school. Therefore, it finds appreciation among the few who enjoy both vintage and weird and avant-garde fragrances. And now, it will likely recede even more into the shadows since its discontinuation. Another aspect I find peculiar is the name and the color they opted for the bottle. To me, this perfume smells white, gray, and golden, most certainly not black. They did get the cap right, though, not just in color, but also in the material. I feel it accurately represents part of the perfume’s smell and the metallic quality that creeps in at times. IG:@memory.of.scents

Some days I love Superstitious, and some days I put it on and think “what the hell is that??” Many days it’s a grand jasmine sandalwood perfume, bold and elegant, other days it’s nails on a chalkboard, loud and grating and impossible to ignore. Starting with the waxy aldehydes at the top, that are as far from being the effervescent and sparkling aldehydes we get in most florals, they are more akin to a bubbling mud pot. They are thick, dense, and opaque. Some days these intrigue me and make my brain go “hmm!” Some days they make me feel like I forgot to shower. The jasmine in the heart is jasmine to the Nth degree, concentrated to point of being infinitely dense like a collapsed white star. It is floral, for sure, but more so throat-scratching dry, dirty and musky. There is a bit of rose lurking in the background, lending more depth to the jasmine and giving it a pink pepper type scratch. Some days this massive floral heart makes me feel like a mad scientist or explorer, who’s just stumbled upon some extraterrestrial cousin of the jasmine that’s in my backyard. Some days I want to cough it clear from my throat. The base of the perfume is an unholy alliance of sandalwood and vetiver. The sandalwood isn’t gently aged and sanded, clean, milky, and aromatic, it’s been chiseled with a chainsaw out of a fresh green sandalwood tree into a bat meant to clobber you over the head. It’s splintery, wet, and heavy. Combine this with the green aromatics of a salty vetiver, and it’s as if you’ve uprooted a sandalwood tree out of a fetid swamp. Some days this base makes me feel alive, strong, and confident. Some days I wonder if the people around me are going to think that I just spent hours in a hippie head shop. This perfume is both Jekyll and Hyde. Normally I’m not susceptible to large emotional swings with a perfume but somehow Superstitious does it. For that reason, if there weren’t other reasons, I find it plenty intriguing and notable. Regardless of how Superstitious makes me feel at a particular time, one string of the theme remains at all times: Superstitious is always confident. The power and the weight it carries gives it a relentlessness that is either going to be magnetically attractive or repelling. Love it or hate it, you need to have cajones to wear it.

I don't know why this isn't completely adored. This is a beautiful fragrance. I understand that it may not get selected when smelling on strips. I even understand that wearing it once through a small tester, may not change your mind. However... If you can wear this a second time, I think you will see that your mood is changed by the wearing of this fragrance. It's really not a throwback to old ways as much as is said about it. Instead it is very modern. I am a man, but like many of you, I own and wear, and love a wide variety of fragrances. I own masculines, and those marketed pour femme, however when I wear Mitsuoko, although I love it, I see why it was marketed to the audience that it was, especially in it's time! Superstitious, may not be for the man who prefers to shop for Aramis time after time, or has only ever worn Kouros once released, however, I don't think that audience is shopping for the new Malle floral anyway. Point is, this is as unisex as any floral/aldehyde has ever been. (To my nose of course!) Think about it this way. When I wear Superstitious, it has the most amazing feeling, circulating the air around me, ever fresh and light, never suffocating. I continue to see comparisons to No. 5, and to me, this is not doing any favors as a comparable; mostly because many of us have very specific associations with that fragrance, almost as if it were an acquaintance we all knew. Some of us are the best of friends with here, and others of us see her as the tawdry jezebel from a by gone era. Either way, I think the comparison is disadvantageous. I am clearly biased by my adoration of this fragrance, but I in no way think it to be earth shattering, I just think it is misunderstood, and miss-conveyed, almost to the point of scaring those who are looking for something modernistic, which it absolutely is! Is it Aldehydic? Yes! Is it Floral? Absolutely! Does it combine all of this with a beautiful Incense? Yep! Is it old? Maybe in quality. Words to aid in the description of this could be: "Superstitious by Frederic Malle is..." “Now” “what's happening!” “Crisp” “Supplementary” “Glistening, albeit a bit crude” “Neoteric” “Sparkling” and “Youthful” Try it, I think you may just like it!

The sensory journey that Superstitious takes me on is hard to articulate, but it simply culminates into this: a bar of vintage soap still in its gilded wrapper, à la Palmolive Gold, Cussons Imperial Leather, or Lux. Other olfactive memories that come to mind are the smell of YSL Rive Gauche being sprayed out of its iconic banded metallic bottle; slim canned deodorants marketed to teen girls in the '80s (I was one of them); the gold cap from a yeasty bottle of beer; the wire cage from a champagne cork. My favorite synesthetic picture that manifests when I smell Superstitious is the barbarically elegant act of testing genuine pearls on your teeth — yes, that feeling that grates every cell in your body like nails on a chalkboard. Superstitious is fascinating that way. It feels primal yet sophisticated. Occasionally I get an indolic whiff of musky butt-funk jasmine that holds me captive, commingled with static electricity, sterile papery woods, and ghostly sweet ash. Spray too much and it will overwhelm. But just a veil on the wrists is the perfect way to wear Superstitious. This scent is dynamic and lively; if you restrain it under your clothes (like I usually like to wear perfume, low and discreet in my cleavage) it turns into something quite dense and almost bitter and unpleasant, like actually chewing on a bar of soap. Given plenty of breathing room, Superstitious can be well behaved and not feel the need to tug on its leash. It's much like the white space that delivers a focal point to ad copy, or the right-of-way you might give to a tulle skirt. Frankly, this is one perfume which I find hard to describe, perhaps because it is familiar but the world around it has changed so radically and relating to it is not the same as it used to be. Context is everything. This bottle, the creation of Alber Elbaz, former Yves St Laurent fashion designer and creative director of Lanvin, in collaboration with Frederic Malle, and crafted by Dominique Ropion is a welcome addition to my wardrobe as an homage to times past, and a departure from mass-pleasing fragrances. Superstitious is my urban classic.

When I first tried this at the mall, it reminded me of two perfumes from the same line; Une Fleur De Cassie at the top and Portrait of a Lady in the base. I was captivated by the smell for the next few days as the scent settled on the inside of the cuffs of my coat. I was scratching my chin when I first noticed a gorgeous whiff of something then I remembered it was Superstitious. It felt so good that I knew I had to buy a bottle. I received my bottled a few days ago and have hesitated to spray it. Reason being; when something costs so much, you want to savour it and this did come across as a special occasion fragrance. So today I just decided to spray it and I am still getting references to Cassie and POAL for which I am so glad but it also made me think of Carnal Flower. It oddly opened up with a creamy coconuty tuberose (Maybe people will notice it if they spray for the first time from their new bottle?!?) which I didn't mind at all. This loses power in the next half an hour but it's still there giving that soapy hint I think people are referring to. I liked Carnal Flower as a fragrance but it was so overwhelmingly tuberosy for me. I am glad that I could have the taste of all three fragrances packed into one bottle so that makes me feel better about the price I paid. Another strange thing I just noticed... It is for women! Such a shock to the system but it is decidedly feminine but I like it so I am going to wear this one. The dry down to my nose is like Cardinal with a hint of rose water so I am even more happy now because I let all the aforementioned fragrances go because of performance issues but they all come together as one in Superstitious and I really have no reason to complain. Projection is close to skin and can be perceived for about 4-5 hours. Stays on clothing for a couple of days which is why I bought this after having experienced what happened when I firs tried this. I think it will perform better when the weather is a bit mild. And... I don't really care that it's for women. Life is too short for people pleasing and justifying your fragrance choices.