Montecristo

Monte Cristo is my first introduction to this house, and I find myself thoroughly impressed. At first, the scent felt familiar, though elusive in its precise nature. It vaguely reminded me of Initio Rehab with a hint of that distinct tobacco note, though only slightly. On my skin, it’s a chameleon of a fragrance, evolving in ways that both intrigue and captivate. While initially difficult to describe, it's exactly what I expect from a niche fragrance: unique, elusive, and filled with character. The fragrance presents a subtle contradiction that I find compelling. While I do wish it had more projection, it’s undeniably an art piece in a bottle. For its current price point, it offers an accessible journey into perfumery that feels like stepping into a forgotten attic—an old space, but not dusty or dry. There’s an element of nostalgia: a leather jacket, a high-end tobacco pouch, perhaps the scent of well-kept cigars. Interestingly, though, it’s not smoky. The tobacco comes across as moist, almost juicy, with a touch of freshness that feels out of place in this sealed room. As the fragrance develops, it takes on a subtle sensuality that's hard to pinpoint but incredibly alluring. There's a balance between the scent of freshly laid wood floors and something simultaneously aged. Then, honey appears. It's as though someone spilled honey in this forgotten attic, while a faint ghost lingers, enjoying the sweet remnants. I finally recognized the familiar note: Palo Santo. It brings me back to my days of handling it in bulk, with that unmistakable scent filling the space. While many detect a boozy, spiced rum note, I don’t pick that up on my skin. For me, Monte Cristo is masculine, but in a refined way. It exudes strength, control, and sensuality without being overbearing. It conveys a sense of security and assurance, while remaining sensitive, never veering into aggression. It’s a magical elixir, one that gives off a golden aura. It reminds me of the early morning sun gently warming the dew-covered grass—there’s no scent of grass or dew, but the fragrance evokes the feeling of gentle yet inevitable control. It’s delicate at first, considerate even, before fully asserting itself. Monte Cristo is a fragrance that I find hard to stop smelling—it's captivating, complex, and truly a work of art.

Being familiar with and having in my possession some hyraceum (aka 'African stone') tincture, I can guarantee that Delphine Thierry has used it here, and to great effect, might I add. Hyraceum, from semi-fossilized waste of the endearing rock hyrax (Procavia capensis), whose habitat is the arid lands of the African continent, is quite complex. The most obvious assumption is that it is musky, animalic, even pissy or fecal given its origins, however, much like ambergris, there are some surprising qualities here. Most noteworthy is its similarity to that of dried tobacco leaves, earthy, hay-like and smoky. It's also reminiscent of the more raw qualities of castoreum, old wood, barnyards, goat fur, and even, dare I say, the very distant odor of skunk. In spite of such a bold material, Thierry has dosed in Montecristo in such a way that brings out the best qualities of not only hyraceum, but all that accompanies it here. I am dazzled by the way it fuses with the velvety, nutty muskiness of ambrette and the accompaniment of celery seed oil (another material I love to pieces), seedy, leafy, "crunchy" in profile, adds even more interest. What results as the top notes settle into the heart is a nuanced tobacco and agrestic "weeds and seeds" effect, with an added layer of vanillic-benzoin booziness further underneath the layers. I am even reminded of a certain Laphroaig peatiness here, a malt, a bitter smoke, a tanning leather finish (presumably courtesy of styrax). It is dusty, rustic, even pastoral, yet it carries with it an animal warmth that only seems at first defiant but is rather cuddly and discreet. That's what is remarkable about Montecristo: it isn't loud, yet is still robust. It has a certain good nature and come-hither intimacy that belies its seeming skank and feculence. It's not so challenging after all, and smells quite beautiful in the same way as classics such as Yatagan, Phileas, or Portos, treading the precipice of indecency while showing enough restraint to be read as a perfume rather than malodor. A skilled perfumer such as Thierry can achieve such a balance using animalics in a way less formally trained creatives may not (see Tsvga, Areej la Dore, Prin Lomros). Montecristo is magnificent!

Montecristo is a fragrance that needs to mature in the bottle before showing its true colors. When I first tried it after buying my bottle, it felt somewhat flat, with less sillage and longevity than the tester bottle. So I quickly set it aside, hidden in my wardrobe. Fast forward to this autumn. I began using my Musc Tonkin again and noticed that the scent was much deeper with an even more pronounced animalic vibe. I also started using Salome more often and it also felt more rich than when I got my bottle this last summer. So I added 1+1 and the common note in all three? Hyrax! After some Google and blog search, it turns out that Hyrax needs some time to mature when bottled. As the aging process begins, the note comes alive and starts infusing its animalic qualities, warming the fragrance and making the complementary facets surface. So I dug my bottle of Montecristo and sprayed a couple of times on my chest and neck. Wow! The opening bang was more or less like the first encounter. A sudden rush of alcohol, animal notes, wood and leather fighting for dominance. Notes aren't different, but instead of muted they appear in technicolor. The rum is boozy and the ambrette shows that warm skin sensation of a lover licking its loved ones nape. I don't detect cumin, but I do detect the facets of civet and castoreum that Hyrax has in its DNA. The woods are dry, but the patchouli lends an earthiness that makes the whole image seem less arid and much more lived in. As a whole, the fragrance is animalic, boozy, sweet and woody. It gives me the same feeling of dusty rooms that L'air de Rien does. Only difference is that L'air de Rien takes place among the dusty shelves of the library, while Montecristo happens in the living room; half lit candles, a bottle of rum, worn leather sofa, a wooden floor full of memories and the warmth given of by the people in the room. No idea what they're doing. But when the animalics start to rise and growl, up until the very last minute, it's pretty obvious that the aforementioned sofa is gonna get a lot more torn! Excellent longevity with above average sillage.

Montecristo is the second release in the story of Masque Milano: Act I, Perfume II (stylized as I:II on the bottle and cap). The inspiration behind Montecristo is the interior of a villa wherein the different elements fairly seamlessly blend together. It’s not a loud announcement of any of the pleasures (tobacco, rum, benzoin) or environmental features (patchouli, guaiac, cedar, cistus, etc.) but rather a balanced rendition that doesn’t lean too heavily on any one note in particular. It has the booze and woods of many fragrances, and these notes are featured first for me, with the earthy basement feeling following and proportionally being a bit bigger of a part of the experience in the dry down. The earthiness reminds me a bit of Tom Ford Patchouli Absolu—dense, green, mossy, dank, and quite interesting. It’s usually not my cup of tea, genre-wise, but in harmony with the tobacco and rum, it’s a very interesting. I frankly get more whiffs of the patchouli and tobacco on and off during the dry down, alternating which aspect of the fragrance seems more dominant. The bite of the rum subsides after a few hours, in my estimation. Overall, I dig it. Usually, the earthiness might be objectionable but it’s done so well in Montecristo that I want to keep smelling, like a curiosity, a kaleidoscope where I get different colors with each sniff. Very well done, and on the cheaper side of the line, at $125 for 35ml. As with Terralba, the performance isn’t extraordinary on my skin but its nuances and complexity make it a fun wear, and frankly, more versatile since it’s not loud. It’s one that I’m going to try further but will likely be a full bottle pick up. Like Terralba, I had an instant connection when smelling Montecristo for the first time, my other favorite being the resinous Tango of Act III. 8 out of 10

I came across Montecristo while researching animalic musks to try after discovering that I’m quite drawn to this genre. Montecristo has been a revelation for me, but not for the reasons I was expecting. It’s often brought up as one of the more challenging animalic musks out there, but I find that assessment somewhat misleading. While it definitely has a sharply animalic, almost urinous note when smelled up close, in the air it reads as more of a boozy, woody scent with an animalic undertone. Cabreuva is one of the listed notes here, and if you’ve ever encountered it, you’ll immediately get it. It smells a bit like cedar. The animalics aren’t the main focus, they’re there to support that accord, adding depth, a leathery quality, and that faint sourness you sometimes get from that type of wood. Imagine walking into a room with a varnished, red wooden floor. You’re wearing a fur coat, sitting on a leather couch, chewing on an unlit cigar while pouring yourself a glass of liqueur. Take that mental image and dial it up to 100. That’s it, that’s what it smells like. I think Montecristo is a bit of a unicorn, I rarely come across something that smells this convincing, matching the house’s description to a T, and it does so in a way that feels unsettlingly unembellished and devoid of conventional perfumery clichés. No vanilla, no tonka, no blaring aldehydes, no dihydromyrcenol, no floral bouquet, nothing to soften the blow. It’s brutal. Oh, and it’s absolutely gorgeous.