L'Air de Rien

Before I try to describe this thing, I just want to say that this fragrance is...it. Not a signature scent, exactly, because I don't always want others to smell it on me. L'Air de Rien - "The Essence of Nothing" - is the one perfume I would keep if I had to throw out everything else. It does something for me that the others just don't. Experiencing different fragrances had been such a major hobby of mine for years. After I discovered this, I quit exploring for the longest time and now only sample on rare occasions. I'll skip the history with Jane Birkin, but what an enchantress she must have been for this masterpiece to be made for her. As far as the individual notes go, it would be completely and utterly useless to read them if you're trying to imagine what LAdR smells like. This is an extremely well blended piece, and it also isn't one that dramatically changes over wear time. It smells like...many things to different people, depending on who you ask, because the scent has such a personal and intimate nature. The common comparisons are: Powder, pencil shavings, antique store, sex in an attic, worn pants/underwear, dust, saliva, moss, home. All of those comparisons are technically correct, but they don't capture the full experience of wearing LAdR. To me, above all else, this is a HUMAN smell, which is so rare and difficult for any perfume to pull off properly. It isn't a primal/pissy animalic in my opinion, but it also isn't a truly safe "skin scent". It is atmospheric, effortless, and mysterious. Languid and complex. It is soft and doesn't project especially far, but you still feel a little exposed wearing it in public. It is inexplicably addictive. My absolute first impression was caution, because I detected powder and I'm not big on that. But then I kept sniffing and picking up something...else, something spiritual and warm, and then it was like I never hated powder at all. Before I knew it I was fully indoctrinated into its weird little cult that makes you not want to wear anything else. I spray it on myself pretty much every night after I shower, and it's perfect. It doesn't smell the exact same every time, but it's always beautiful. Sometimes, it's the patchouli that most sticks out. Sometimes, it's the oakmoss. Sometimes, breath. Or straight powder. Always, an ethereal warmth, like an amicable ghost that's content to share its home with you. It's called "intimate" for good reason. It really does smell like you're standing very close to someone, or sharing a hug. Some reviews call LAdR very sexual and dirty, but I personally am not getting that. Do I feel sexy when I wear it? Maybe a little, but in a "lounging on the sofa in a T-shirt and undies" way. It's not a wild romp. Wearing this feels calming, easy, great for bed and lazy days. It smells like closeness and sighs and whispered secrets. This is an unsafe blind buy. It is not for everyone. But if it is for you, congratulations, your hunt for other fragrances will stop or significantly slow down. It's difficult for me to imagine anyone just mildly enjoying this perfume. It's either complete envelopment, or rejection. This stuff is soul in a gorgeous little bottle.

After sampling (and loving) a few scents from Perfumer H, I‘ve become increasingly fixated on the talents of Lyn Harris (I’ve also ordered some of the scents she produced for Trudon), but I had yet to try any of the offerings from the house that she previously founded (and then sold), Miller Harris. L’Air de Rien came freighted with praise so lavish that it attained a nearly mythic status in my mind before I was able to smell it, not least because it ranked highly in some lists of fragrances that evoke old books, and I’m eagerly searching for the perfect library/bookstore scent. This wasn’t easy to get, either—I had to prevail upon a stateside relative to procure this vial for me (so many eBay sellers won’t ship to Canada!). All this to say that expectations were high. My first sniff was a mix of thrill and disappointment: it’s a ravishing, beautiful smell, and the press and marketing don’t lie—it really does feel as intimate as a lover’s embrace, with a mix of sensuality and private quietude. It smells like skin and hair (not sweat or body odour, just the natural sweetness of a person), a tiny bit spicy, with an ever-so-slight warm, vanillic mustiness, as of slept-in sheets, a dusty room, or—yes—a stack of old books. Imagine an afternoon tryst in a sun-dappled attic full of chests of leather-bound volumes and antique furniture draped in sheets. The description of "watching dust dance in the light as you lay entwined” is amazingly accurate and feels like a remarkable avhievement: such a subtle and specific thing to evoke. The idea that this was composed for Jane Birkin (in 2006, when she would have been 60) also lends this perfume an aura that’s quite different from the Perfumer H signature, which is decidely British: minimalist, sober, artfully serious. L’Air de Rien is warm and languorous, sexy, chic, and graceful. It smells like what I imagined Musc Ravageur would be like, before I tried it (and didn’t like it). So all that accounts for the thrill. Whats the disappointment, then? The thing is, on the first spritz, I thought, “Oh, I love it, but this isn’t for me.” First off, I feel like it leans a bit more feminine than I want, but more importantly, it immediately made me feel guilty . It’s absurd to say, but it smells so much like the physical presence of a person, and not my own body. It also isn’t the familiar smell of my girlfriend, so it gives me the overwhelming sensation of having been intimate with someone else . It’s as if I expect to be accused: “Where have you been? Who were you with?” I protest: “I was just at the library! I mean, the bookstore!” "A likely story!"

Everyone who loves L'Artisan Parfumeur Skin on Skin needs to become familiar with L'Air de Rien. They remind me of one another but each creates its own unique aura within the universe of fragrances that shine a spotlight on musk. While both Skin on Skin and L'Air de Rien are unquestionably "my skin only better" scents, they're different enough to justify having both. To me and on my skin there's not a hint of raunchiness in either one, no "morning after" sheets, nothing suggesting a shower is needed or overdue. I think of both as scents of warmth, closeness and comfort. SoS is warm and quiet, a "come nuzzle my neck" silky musk. L'Air de Rien's musk has a bright, sweet aspect that seems fluffy rather than silky -- like the difference between the soft, warm fragrance of the fur of a short-haired cat and that of a long-haired one. Skin on Skin is kitten's fur while L'Air de Rien is a mama cat whose favorite spot to curl up in is a warm lap. L'Air de Rien's oakmoss is warmed, sweetened and brightened by both amber & vanilla with patchouli providing depth beneath the musk. I find it has a wider sillage than Skin on Skin and lasts far longer. Also, I get no vanilla in Skin on Skin so that might in fact be the major difference between the blends with vanilla being the note in L'Air de Rien that creates the unmistakable and oh, so pleasant scent of old books. I've had a 5ml sample of L'Air de Rien for several years but each time I wore it I somehow persuaded myself I didn't need it. My 100ml bottle arrived a few hours ago and I realize I've been wrong... I do need L'Air de Rien and I've needed it all along. (I understand 2 versions have been produced so, for reference: the box and bottle I have both differ from the photo at the top. My bottle matches the one showing today on the MH website. The front of the box is dark green with black print/graphics & has no flower, just an angel on the right, curving slightly around the corner. Clearance priced from Fragnet.) Edit 2/8/20: My bottle arrived yesterday and I wore it outside the house today for the first time. First stop the UPS store -- complimented by the guy behind the counter AND the woman behind me in line. So, definitely no dirty laundry and no BO, just "You really smell great!" Score!

L’Air de Rien sent me into raptures. This doesn’t just smell like a bookstore. It’s the scented aura of much older books inside an artisan library... the pages are rough, you can see and feel the fibers meshing together if you look close enough. These pages have a slight wax-like texture and emanate the scent of vanillin. There’s sunlight seeping in through the windows, the dust pirouettes within the beams of light after flicking the aged, vanillic pages. L’Air de Rien smells lived in, like an unmade bed and clothes that have been worn. A hoodie your pet has nuzzled itself into. Your child’s favourite blanket. A long hug that entices the purest soul connection, one where you inhale the scent of that person you love and it is just heavenly to you. Home. It is a multi-faceted experience and on my skin unravels such beautiful complexities in its evolution. In the crooks of my elbows the scent of neroli lingers the longest, on my wrists the powdery and dusty nuances are the most pronounced, as the fragrance delves into the skin and warms gently, I sense the dry vanilla and animalic musky tones. Moss and patchouli meandering throughout, complimenting the dusty feel and adding a quiet bohemian “forest green” earthiness. The musk hums above the skin in a silken haze. This scent is so intimate but very much there, alluring and spellbinding without having to try at all. Heartwrenchingly contemplative. I didn’t think I’d ever find a perfume like this. This is the first perfume I’ve ever properly applied on my son. He is two years old and bears witness to my utter enthralment by perfumes every day and I pray that he will follow suit. He sees me smell everything, he watches me as I organise my bottle shelves and looks on intently when I apply my perfumes. He wanted to try this beauty on the inside of his arm after he saw me spray. He had never asked me to do this until L’Air de Rien. All day he was putting his nose to his arm, smelling and smiling to himself, completely enchanted—he never knew I was watching him. L’Air de Rien now has such a significant, warm and tender memory woven into it for me, too. Forever etched into my heart.

I'd been curious about this fragrance for quite some time, particularly given its history, concept, and reception. Well, I finally managed to acquire a bottle, and I am impressed and enchanted! Impressed, since out of all the fragrances I've tested (which number far more than they probably should, ha), I can't say I've ever encountered another like this. And enchanted, precisely because the singularity of L'Air de Rien lies in its paradoxical marriage of the strange and the familiar. If I try hard enough, I can distinguish mossy, musky, vanillic, and lactonic notes, but no clear separation between them, or progression from one to another. For me, this isn't a bad thing: the blend is superb and lasting. Most striking, however, is the way L'Air de Rien merges with that not unpleasant muskiness that sometimes emanates from clean skin and hair which, over the course of a day, have accrued a kind of residue of air, light, heat, and evaporated transpiration. It's as though the fragrance—which to me smells like a comforting yet sultry combination of old books, dusty spices, worn wool, and dried saliva—refines the body's natural odor, neither amplifying it to artistic effect, nor ineptly attempting to mask it. It feels like hugging an old friend, or perhaps like meeting somebody who is sure to become one. It's truly marvelous. I think L'Air de Rien might suit the cooler months slightly better, given the gentle warmth, fuzzy rounded fullness, and slight sweetness of its aromatic presence. It projects well but never becomes overwhelming, and lasts an eternity (especially on fabric), becoming a tad more vanillic in the drydown. Anybody of any age or gender could—and should—wear this. In terms of occasion, it feels almost too friendly or intimate to be worn in a formal setting, but depending on the venue and crowd, it might just work. This is the kind of perfume that keeps me excited about the future of fragrance. I’m eager to try more from Miller Harris!