Mitsouko Eau de Parfum

In the past, I've scoffed at the notion that Mitsouko EDP is the canonical Mitsouko, and that the EDT is, in comparison, but a harsh, pale shadow. After all, it's simply a difference in concentration, isn't it? How can they be so different? Now, having tried three different Mitsoukos, I understand that this is a highly context-dependent fragrance, and no one Mitsouko in one context will smell like any other. Somehow, then, it's true what they say about the EDP in comparison to the EDT: it's smoother, richer, and, somehow, creamier -- not in a lactonic way that suggests literal cream, but in a way that conveys silky, decadent elegance. The EDP is not necessarily less bitter, but it folds in the bitterness in a way that comes out as less harsh in many contexts than the EDP might. Mitsouko EDP opens on me with a bright burst of lemon. This is precisely like the scent of a pure lemon essential oil: concentrated, a little sharp, a little green. This is paired with a lovely breath of bergamot, which, combined with the bitter tannin-like inkiness of the oakmoss, always tricks me into thinking I smell tea somewhere in Mitsouko. This bergamot tea with lemon essential oil is much more prominent on me in the most recent EDP than in the most recent EDT, where the suggestion of citrus had only sparkled for a few minutes. Here, lemon remains a dominant and noticeable top note for at least the first two hours. In these first two hours, I'd describe Mitsouko EDP as a lemon bergamot tea chypre, citrusy-clean in a way slightly reminiscent of a nostalgic cleaning product, like some home-made essential oil concoction, along with a bitter cup of earl grey tea left on the kitchen table. The oakmoss here feels much more gentle and rich here, carefully blended to support the citrus top, where the EDT feels more harsh at times (though I adore this harshness also). I don't get the astringent clove-forward spicy cleaner wipe opening here that I got in the most recent EDT formulation, but I suspect that may have been more present due to the warmer weather when I tried it, and perhaps in warmer months the EDP will have this feature in its opening as well. At times, Mitsouko EDT has shown me a glimmer of peach: I don't detect any in Mitsouko EDP on this wear, but trust that another time, perhaps under different weather conditions, the peach will reveal herself to me. I also can't point to any particular florals here, although I never detected any true floral notes on me with the EDT anyway, and I've always been relieved: this is, at its heart, a truly earthy yet refreshing chypre, light and breathable, not weighed down by thick florals or overbearing spices. And now, some four hours in: ah! Suddenly, taking my mask off and smelling Mitsouko in the cold wind, I get a fruity slice of that delightful, instantly recognizable peach. I return to my warm room and get a whiff of my wrists, realizing some of that cinnamon-anise-clove spice has emerged after all, though not as astringent and sharp as the spices in the opening of the EDT in warm weather. In my scarf, I can smell the peach and a whisper of something like orange, a citrus I'd overlooked in the opening. On the edge of my mask that touched my neck, I am more aware of the slight animalic musky undertone of Mitsouko -- not heavy or dirty, but a reminder that this is a living spirit with a heartbeat, not a dead forest log or a slice of pumpkin pie. It's a tiny spot of authentic muskiness that grounds the scent and ties it to the earth. After the first two hours, the lemony citrus brightness fades away some (though not entirely), and some of the opening tea-like bitterness of oakmoss has subsided, leaving room for a touch of the amber, woods, and spices as the base to bloom, gently shifting the fragrance nearly-imperceptibly, minute by minute, from a clean, refreshing citrus scent to a more warm and expansive base. A very subtle hint of amber sweetness creeps in little by little under the refreshing citruses and earthy oakmoss, although Mitsouko remains altogether a scent without any heavy sweetness. The spices here are more about warmth than they are about bite: a touch of warm cinnamon melds with the amber to form a comforting undercurrent to the citrus and moss. I realize now that the tea-like solidness of the bergamot and oakmoss is supported by the sturdy masculine woodiness of vetiver, which adds fullness and body, allowing the tea illusion to grow and bloom as time goes on, transforming from a more refreshing and citrusy beverage to a more contemplative, solid woody scent. All in all, on this early winter day, this Mitsouko EDP is somewhat linear on me, without any complete-180 turnarounds or blooming surprises, yet it shifts and evolves slightly, shedding light on its many different facets, and never gets boring while managing to hold its recognizable form for some twelve hours. No, there are no gimmicks here: the thing to note about the shape of Mitsouko is its elegant restraint, the way the scent metamorphoses between different contexts, revealing different flashes of itself. The focus shifts slightly, from citrus and oakmoss to vetiver and oakmoss to a base warmed by amber and spices, but the scent is recognizable throughout as Mitsouko. Put simply, I love her, and I can't picture reverting to the EDT, although she is also lovely. There are different nuances to each Mitsouko, and this one is doubtless sleeker, gentler, and easier to like (although this notion always threw me into vehement defense of the lovable sharp edges of Mitsouko EDT). Although I never could have anticipated it, this is the smooth lemony-bergamot citrus concoction I was dreaming of as I dripped a single drop of lemon essential oil onto my sweater in my first year of high school before a mock trial competition, reveling in the freshness of the scent. I imagine this Mitsouko is lovely in warm and cool seasons alike. She is unstifling and gentle, without any eagerness to impress. She simply keeps you company and soothes you with her presence. This morning in the shower I felt nauseous and dreaded sorting through the sweet and aggressive scents vying for my attention from my latest order of samples. Before given any other sample a try, I inevitably knew: Mitsouko comes first. She soothed me instantly, refreshing me, making me eager to breathe in fresh, cool, unsweet air, no longer feeling sick and full of dread. Mitsouko cools down the parts of you that you hadn't realize were overheating. She is a staple of my fragrance pleasure practice, a breath of air between any loud, grand, sweet scents, clean without being banal or at all like a laundry or bathroom product. She is unlike any other. I never detected any florals in Mitsouko EDT. Over time, I went from disappointed to grateful, imagining some heavy, overbearing cacophony of indolic jasmine intruding on my Mitsouko peace, or perhaps some screechy roses waking me from my oakmoss reverie. But then... around hour seven, an odd thing happened. I was having dinner with my boyfriend, and the skin on my left wrist was a few degrees warmer than on my right, because he had been holding my hand. (How do men do that? How are they so warm all the time?) I took an impulsive whiff of the left wrist and marveled: blooming florals, living ones, precisely like the ones in a botanical garden. It was a muddle of indoles and pure, singing sweetness and tang: I could name jasmine and ylang ylang, and a softer sweetness that perhaps resembled lilac, but it all came together in the muddled live floral scent of a warm, steamy room in a botanical garden. I sniffed my right wrist, and mostly got dry spices and wood, with a base featuring that increasingly prominent musky animalic note. I suddenly realized that the faint dirtiness and musk I'd always sensed at the bottom of Mitsouko was more than just amber and oakmoss: these were the indolic hints which never quite bloomed into florals for me in the EDT, but now bloom beautifully in the EDP. I don't think I've ever seen a fragrance before that hid florals so entirely for the entire opening and middle, only to suddenly reveal them in the drydown. If there is one dramatic twist to Mitsouko, this is it, at least on me. I simply hadn't expected I would ever sense the fabled florals in this one, and oh, they are florals of such a marvelous, living, pampered timbre, like exotic pets kept in a beautiful glass dome. I let my boyfriend smell my left wrist, and he said exactly what I was thinking: "It's like they built a church in a botanical garden. I can show you the exact spot in Longwood Gardens that smells like this." Spot on. Seven to nine hours in, Mitsouko positively blooms. In an incredible final act, lilac, jasmine, and ylang ylang dance on a warm background of woods and spice. The overall impression is now mildly floral-sweet, positively botanical, and alive, alive, alive. This is a Mitsouko I have never experienced before, and I'm head-over-heels in love.

Whenever I've been stopped and asked, "Just what is that you're wearing?" My answer is usually "Mitsouko." Everything about Mitsouko is timeless; an actual post-impressionist, post-Les Nabis group work of art, or, given the year of its release, an exercise of the Expressionist and Intimist art movements bottled in a languid, aloof, yet warm embrace of a fragrance. Expressionism's key focus was imparting an emotional effect, taking impressionism's abstraction of form to a different level of fantasy if it meant accurately embodying the desired emotion pictured therein or felt, usually without explicit traditional allegorical symbols that "tell" the viewer. Intimism was about closeness and portraying intimate, domestic moments, usually of family life, full of tenderness and brevity. Following in Jicky's footsteps as an abstract summation of its parts, Mitsouko typifies both art forms for its refusal to be fully known or understood, yet generous in its most powerful delivery of comfort and nostalgic longing. A true chypre of billowing Guerlainade powder, mossy florals, woods, and autumnal spice earthiness, one could variously describe Mitsouko as fancy scented makeup powders for a maiko, chalky incense ash on fallen leaves to even cinnamon-spiced peach fritter doughnuts fried in peanut oil, coated with powdered sugar and eaten on a picnic in a woodland clearing. Even more conceptual? A portrait of a tragic heroine, a tender moment between lovers. Love lost, love found, love or comfort remembered. A dandy actor or bohemian actress lounging at a subdued party, whispering things in people's ears by the fire. A more literal take? It's simply just a powdery, spicy, woody, impressionistically fruity "old" perfume. It is all of those things, and yet none of them. It's not a true gourmand by any means, the peach coming off as more or a suggestion to me than an actuality, and despite the inane Japonism of its being, nor is it what you would call a perfume -y Oriental of which Shalimar, its sister, typifies. It also lands Mitsouko as fairly unisex and universal, perhaps the most surprising and generous part of it's intimisim nature despite otherwise being a shifting puzzle box. Such universaliry may be partly because of the chypre genre itself, with moss and other moody green and woody notes tempering others with a sense of shadow; florals are there but, washed with impressionist blurred edges in sheer mossy netting, they are hard to identify (for me). Is that rose? I suppose so? Do I care? Not really. The abstraction of what Mitsouko unfurls with a gesture then retreats; its "mystery" is part of the fun. What smells so good? Oh it's me! Perhaps it's the perception of what and who is "old," having moved on with time and with the passing of her 100th birthday, Mitsouko is now so old and so far removed from trends that she is in a way new again, feeling less perfume-y than later vintage offerings and often even less literal in it's concept than many modern, even niche perfume house thematic offerings today. Very few other scents can pull this off. Mitsouko, too via the House guerlainade accord and its plush woody powder, has an additional long lineage at Guerlain worth respecting, with clear descendants, including chypre-oriental daughter Vol De Nuit, which lifts Mitsouko's earthiness with more sparkling aldehydes and iris up into the air, to the later Chant d'Aromes, Parure, and even the relatively new Encens Mythique with its heart of a salty amber-rose. One could argue that even Vetiver and Habit Rogue are among such sons or nephews too. Guerlain is the house of gossamer powder, and it should never faulter in that identity. While I'm not happy that as of writing the fragrance has moved to a separate, less available, and more expensive line of products with the recent relaunch, the fact Guerlain has kept Mitsouko alive for over 100 years and generally has kept reformulation relatively high quality and has kept the spirit of the original as best as they can in the face of regulation means quite a lot. For what a shame would it be not to be able to be graced by such art and history.

The following information is for those who are obsessed with batches(like myself). I have researched the interesting history of MITSOUKO batches and reformulation for many days. I read all the French blogs, English blogs, and Chinese blogs that I could possibly find. In general, many people believed that before 2000, Mitsouko did not go through much of a major change (I suspect that J.P. Guerlain's reforms were going to be approved by most people anyway). Then, as far as I understand, in 2000 Edouard Fléchier, the perfumer behind the legendary "Une Rose" by Frederic Malle, took over at Guerlain to work on Mitsouko. At that time, there were already warnings that oakmoss was to be restricted, so in order to find a substitute for it, the perfumer changed the formulation and used a form of tree moss extract (Evernia Furfuracea) as a substitute. This on-and-off reformulation process probably continued until 2012. Some fragrance enthusiasts say that the scent of Mitsouko in 2007-2012 is rather thin. But the famous critic Luca Turin said that this version is pretty good. I also heard from a member that their 2010 version of EDP is quite similar to the vintage Extrait but projected better. I have not smelled the vintage extrait, so I can not comment on this. T. Wasser entered Guerlain in 2008 with the mission of restoring the classics. In 2011 he decided to start recreating the original olfactory experience of Mitsouko from 1919. So at the end of 2013, the famous reformated version was completed, and this version has also won an award for replicating the original version of Mitsouko. This is one of the rare cases in the industry where a reformulation is widely praised. Unfortunately, this happiness did not last. In 2014, Takasago ceased the production of a methylionone compound, leading to a problem of Symrise's iriséine, which then lead to the stinky 2015 batches of Mitsouko and L'Heure Bleue. From my research, there is a big problem with batches 5Txx, 5Uxx, etc. Many customers went to Guerlain's counter to complain about the off-putting scents. Guerlain then openly and officially admitted that there was something wrong with the formula, and they took action by discontinuing Mitsouko and L'Heure Bleue (EDP and extrait). Interestingly, Guerlain believed that the EDT was not affected, which they continued to produce. (I feel that there is still a bit of impact, maybe avoid these batches) After intense redevelopment, blending, and testing, this crisis was finally resolved in September 2016. Some people compared 6X01 (the second-time fix) to 5N02 (the award-winning restoration of the vintage before the crisis). The chypre part of the 2013 award-winning version is more rounded and fuller than the post-crisis formulation of 2016. On the other hand, the top citrusy notes are brighter and more luminous in the newer formulation. You may not notice it unless you smell it carefully, and maceration may play a role. Between the middle to the end of 2017, Guerlain changed the packaging to a white box, the formula code also changed, and I don't know if the actual formulation has changed (the formula code seems to be determined by packaging, not formulation: a 2009 bottle has the same formula code as 2016, which does not make any sense). The ingredients list also seems different after the re-packaging. But I hear from friends that an 8A01 batch (early 2018) smells very good, even better than an EDT from the '90s, with its chypre part pretty much retained compared to the EDT, which is certainly reassuring to hear. Finally, according to my own experience, many Guerlain perfumes have been reformulated in 2019-2020, perhaps due to regulations again, for the worse (performance wise). I was told that the 2022 EDP version (the pure-colored sticker) smells good, with emphasis on oakmoss but only 5-6h of longevity. I now have a bottle of 2010, number 0v01 (this is the version that some people call "thin", some others say good). I also have a bottle of the award-winning 2013 formulation (4q01) and a re-packaged 2017 (7x02) on the way. A comparison will be here soon.

Words alone cannot convey how good Guerlain Mitsouko Eau de Parfum is. It's the reference chypre from 1919, composed by the legendary Jacques Guerlain. Mitsouko is marketed for women, but to my sense of smell, this is a unisex fragrance, where the fruity top notes are feminine-leaning and the drydown of the middle and base notes is tilting over to the masculine side of the spectrum. On my skin, it has either a unisex or masculine lean, so I wouldn't discourage guys from trying it out. Many guys seem to be enamored with Guerlain Jicky, which again is technically marketed for women. Luca Turin gave Guerlain Mitsouko 5 out of 5 stars, called it the "reference chypre," and stated that Mitsouko is one of the top 10 chypre fragrances out there. I definitely think this legendary scent deserves its iconic status, and I can understand why this is the pride of the house of Guerlain. The structure of the fragrance is such that it opens up very bright, fruity, youthful, and uplifting, with a prominent peach note. This is the "feminine" part of the scent. Metaphorically, it's the "facade" of the young Japanese woman who fell in love with the British officer but kept appearances up to hide her pain and suffering. As Mitsouko dries down, you're greeted with oakmoss, spices, cinnamon, vetiver, and amber. The drydown is the interesting part of the fragrance since this is unisex but also dark, gothic, mysterious, alluring, refined, polished, and sophisticated. Again, metaphorically, I'm assuming this represents the deeper side of the young Japanese woman's feelings and inner world, hiding behind the "facade." How should I describe Guerlain Mitsouko EDP to a person who has never smelled it before? The fragrance smells like a gentle, semi-sweet, slightly powdery, and perfumed forest floor consisting of oakmoss, the dark earthy smell of the soil, decomposing plants, fallen leaves, and mushrooms. Mitsouko smells feminine, unisex, and masculine; urban and outdoorsy; chic and darkly gothic; and foresty all at once. There are no rough edges; there is no disharmony of notes. No particular note is overpowering. The whole olfactory impression exudes impeccable craftsmanship, seamless elegance, and perfection, and everything fits perfectly together like a tailored suit or glove. Mitsouko, in my opinion, leans formal and should probably be used (by men) with elegant attire for more formal or festive occasions, leaning toward nighttime, fall, and winter. If this is what a true chypre smells like, then I can definitely say I've fallen in love with the chypre family of fragrances. I can definitely recognize the chypre base or foundation of other fragrances such as Aramis Classic (a leather chypre for men), Geo F. Trumper Eucris EDT/EDP (a dark, gothic, gentlemanly chypre), and of course, last but not least, Chanel Pour Monsieur EDT. The chypre DNA is present in all these fragrances and instantly recognizable to my sense of smell. I've heard rumors that Rogue Perfumery Chypre Siam is very similar to Guerlain Mitsouko, so I'm eager to get a sample of that. This is perfumery at its finest. It's an artistic representation of the highest form of perfumery, refined elegance, and seamless perfection. Final score: I give Guerlain Mitsouko a 10/10! PS: @Mystères du Château de Dé, the 75ml bottle with the spot label is the one I reviewed.

CATNIP for NECROPHILES - the scent of thanatos. The best of Mitsouko is highlighted by reviewers Enrium & theautumnfaerie (1st review) below: "...rich widow’s apartment in 1920s decorated in warm green and gold notes and dark massive wood furniture at golden hour. smoke from cigarette making an ambient veiled atmosphere in her living room. her getting ready for girls’ night out, putting red lipstick on and arranging her feather headpiece... ...". What more could I possibly offer?... except to tell you with sincerity what they're leaving out. I used to like her, this rich widow, when we were newly acquainted and I was young and hopeful in my passion for fragrance. Standing in the foyer of her apartment I felt the intoxicating pull of her sophistication and even a glimmer of peachy promise. Despite the lure of her fame & sophistication, the further in I've ventured, the less sophisticated she's become without her wig of sycophants. Inside that rich widow's apartment is a very old garden (ancient even) that hasn't been cultivated in quite some time, such that it has fallen into disuse, represented by a civet note (not listed) that is dry and crusty, being hedged about with dusty oakmoss and caked full of something unmentionable. And the only reason I've lived to tell the story is because I spooked early, because In a way I know this scent, as I've been here before, though I'd like to forget. Trying to cultivate an appreciation for this scent I have been working at it, and am still working at it, tossing aside dead cats and mouldy leaves, trying to bring her back from the dead and restore her to health. Always on the verge of giving up. Scratching my head at the thought that Jacques Guerlain marketed this for women. Scrubbing my hands multiple times with the errant thought of 'why didn't I wear gloves?'. Yeah, I think I just talked myself out of it. Time to bag & tag for the specimen shelf. But if I don't give up, and one day I do find treasure, I will surely never tell. On the other hand, why would I train myself to love & wear something that at this point could only be catnip for necrophiles? Note the spiralling indecision, despite an obviously futile situation. This, my friends, is the scent of death. We all feel it, that inexorable pull toward destruction - the Greeks call it thanatos, or the death drive in psychoanalytic parlance. So heed this warning: flirt with her if you must, or wield her deadly power in the way that goths scare off bullies, but do not, I repeat do not venture ever closer to her garden.... Update 02/11/25: I don't know what happened, but I decided to return to this after a year and a half and something clicked. I don't know if it was the scent macerating, or my nose getting smarter, or a recent tendency to smell the air more than my wrist. I'm not sure what, but this has become just beautiful in the air. I'm at a loss for words. Gone is the musty, dank whatever-it-was, which has been replaced by the most gorgeous soft sillage of silky vintage Guerlain-ness (I'm even getting the lilac note). Stunned, and in love, and needing to apologize for my previous rantings. I'm sorry, this is epic. 10/10.