Papier Carbone

Those of a certain age will remember mimeograph paper, straight from the press and warm to the touch, with that unmistakable aroma from the duplicating fluid. It was sort of like the smell of rubbing alcohol without the harshness combined with an aromatic sweetness, a sensation like heliotrope without benzaldehyde-cherry-almond. The color of the ink: a violet blue, almost glowing on the paper. I looked at some images of old mimeo pages (or "ditto," as it was also often called) and was immediately transported to sitting at one of those desks made of heavy-duty plastic in pastel color, with the chrome legs. Papier Carbone reminds me of mimeograph paper, and of sharing Good n' Plenty candy with friends or plucking all the Brach's black gum drops out of the bag. I loved pens as a precocious child, and while I was still not yet allowed to use them in grade (primary) school, I was given Bic ballpoint pens at home—ahhh, that new pen smell, blue ink please. I'd scribble and draw and write to my heart's content into a fresh Mead paper pad, making schedules for an imaginary TV channel that I ran, or I would create road maps for imaginary towns. There was also my previous Mortimer Ichabod marker that I would use religiously whenever Picture Pages would air on Nickelodeon—I was the only kid in my neighborhood to actually own one, and yes, it did make fun electronic sounds! This fragrance takes me back to all of this and more. In the muted milkiness of its heart, its clary sage comfort and ambrette seed warmth, there is this poignant reminder of the purest form of human curiosity and receptiveness, something we lose sight of in our hard-worn adulthood. Herein lies the power of scent: it can be so very personal, opening the vaults of our memory in such a profound way. Perhaps many of us who seek out fragrance so voraciously, with such abandon, are seeking keys to these vaults, knowing that we are often made to feel whole once we reconnect to our past—we can return to the very core, the essence of who we are.

I bought Ormaie samples a few years ago and while I enjoyed all of them, I found myself wanting to purchase one of either Toï Toï Toï or Papier Carbone. They have rather similar spicy/gourmandish profiles and at the time I didn't know anything about perfumes so I ended up liking and later purchasing Toï Toï Toï. Not to say it was a mistake, but it's definitely the more tame and banal choice of the two. The star anise was the most prominent note upon spraying Papier Carbone, and it was quickly followed by the fresh and ticklish spiciness of the bergamot and cardamom. This acord is most obvious during the first 15-20min. After that point the fragrance mellows out into a more calming lavender. Nonetheless Papier Carbone retains a spicy profile, making it a much more compelling perfume overall. Both the fresh spice and the woodiness ground the scent perfectly, otherwise it would have a been a bit too out-there. I don't get any coffee at any point during the presentation, at least on my skin. It has decent projection but rather mediocre longevity (as do all of the Ormaie fragrances). All in all I really enjoy this fragrance, and find it to be a very appropriate autumnal scent - it's both playful and cozy. I can imagine myself all bundled up out on a nice breezy and cool walk outside wearing this. I will consider buying a full bottle once I'm done with Toï Toï Toï.

As below defiantly getting Sanuf, the mix of wood nutmeg and star anise give it that but with a spicy black pepper dry down I think this scent is fantastically unique its creative and professional, I'd remember someone wearing this

A true gem! Memorable, unique, and effortlessly cool. It stands out with its artistic vibe and leaves a subtle, lasting impression. Love, love, love it!

I definitely understand why some might dislike Papier Carbone but to me it recalls rising from my desk in my Catholic grade school and walking to the corner of the classroom to use the wall-mounted pencil sharpener to avoid being called on, and I’m really a sucker for that sort of specific association. The chalk accumulating on the blackboard ledge, the jar of old candies on the teacher’s desk. It was an unusually hot spring that year and one girl fainted during Mass because the church had no AC; the onion-skin-thin paper of the missalettes warped in the oppressive humidity. I’m not sure I would wear this since I don’t necessarily ever want to think about Catholic school again but I can’t stop smelling the sample I bought, even though I’d agree it’s sort of musty, muddied, etc. tl;dr: baked bible pages ground to dust w/ an anise pod