Fils de Joie

This is my first Lutens and the brand couldn't have made a better impression. If you're a jasmine lover, particularly a strong, heady, seductive jasmine adorer who also appreciates a rich honey in their fragrances, then stay tuned: you'll love Fils de Joie as much as I do. I've given away a lot with the above comment, but in short: the perfume opens with a wonderful, heady scent of night blooming jasmine and regular soft jasmine, accompanied by a hint of ylang-ylang. That hint becomes strong enough in the sensual heart to overpower the jasmine accord, giving way to a thickly honeyed ylang-ylang with the blooming jasmine on a summer night in the background. The dry down adds a hint of clean musk that merely prevents all notes to become indolic. Fils de Joie is the ideal combination of sensually seductive and sophistication. This isn't screaming sleezy vamp messing with your libido, but belongs with a mature woman embracing her femininity, feeling sexy and empowered by it. I'm using woman and femininity because I think the majority of noses will label FdJ overtly feminine leaning. But I can completely imagine this being heartbreakingly sexy on a man. While I sadly experienced anosmia with this fragrance, every 'fresh nose' outside or quick movement of my body introduced me anew to this fragrance, that went from brand-new to 'top fave' in the span of an hour. If your olfactory senses do the same, don't worry: you'll keep a scent bubble that's noticeable when moving your arms or when your hair is being ruffled or lifted by a breeze for example. In a way it reminds me of Molecule 01 by Escentric Molecules that often couldn't be perceived by its wearers, or only every now and then. However, purposefully putting your nose to dab spot gives me that glorious, sweet smell as well if I've cleared my senses. I even noticed her during the night, thinking sleepily what on earth smelled so delicious - only to fall back asleep again with a smile on my face. It says it all: Fils de Joie's longevity is great, so truly test your nose before reapplying. As I can count the perfumes that last me over 8hrs on one hand (almost 200 bottle collection pre declutter) due to my very dry, perfume eating skin, the performance of this Sheldrake creation is worth some applause. The projection and sillage are quite decent as well. Not beastmode, but FdJ is certainly capable of giving you a lovely arm length projection with only a handful of pulse point dabs*. On my skin, that's astonishing. I put an asterisk* after 'dabs' as there's one small - or big depending how you look at it - issue with Fils de Joie. I've no idea if it's my skin chemistry, as this issue confuses the heck out of me. BUT...I can't spray this fragrance. Well, sure, I cóuld. But after having dabbed it three days, mixing it with spraying for three days one thing has become abundantly clear: dabbing Fils de Joie gives me the yummy scent I described above. Using the atomiser and spraying on my pulse points - or wherever actually - makes me want to scrub with the speed of light. Spraying gives me an extremely strong chalky, throat irritating saliva-ish scent accord from the musk with a soft jasmine that's barely noticeable. That disgusting start becomes even worse when we enter heart and dry down > that simply smells like... urine. The saliva note disappates almost completely after an hour, but the rest of the weird dirty musk remains, together with the piss note, for a good three hours. It's around that time when Fils de Joie becomes a softer projected fragrance anyway, making the finally (!) similar dry down to the dabbing days (just less intense and less sensually sweet) almost useless. I mean: I had to stay home due to physical issues and could test sprays. But no one in their right mind wants to noticeably smell like a combination of chalk, saliva and piss for three hours straight. No, not éven when it's niche. I really do not understand the reason behind this, but be warned: it could mean that FdJ simply performs best in concentrated spots and reacts badly when coming into contact with bigger stretches of skin if you have, like me, the 'wrong' chemistry. It means that it's best to test both ways before you decide to declutter this otherwise gorgeous scent. It's a bummer as dabbing, in this case holding the opening of the bottle against the skin of my pulse points, and pulling it upright again, is a spill waiting to happen. And with the bloodred colour of this juice that's very very tricky (I advise pre-wardrobe application in any case). Applying like that also costs me more perfume. But... I've been looking for a great sweet & sexy jasmine fragrance for years. Fils de Joie more might be a simple juice, but it's a luscious concoction and practically 'made for me'. I'll dab it. Prices of Lutens fragrances aren't exactly low, but in comparison to the bizarre pricetags other niche brands hang around their bottles, the Frenchman isn't asking too ridiculous amounts. When you're wiling to take the risk to go for a discount grey market 50ml bottle you're usually paying regular designer perfume prices, not niche ones (though I quite often play it safe, like now, and get my perfume via well known shops like Notino or the brand shop, as we Europeans don't have that fascinating luxury of returning an opened box and - gasp - used bottle!). Besides: the quality of ingredients is obvious here, and I was rather pleased with the projection & longevity, making me soon forget I could have normally bought 5 Middle Eastern fragrances for the same amount this 100ml cost me. To me Fils de Joie falls in the categories as long as you're able and wiling to spend such a big amount untested (I couldn't get a sample, but loved the pyramid and read and watched many reviews) and . I can't wait to build a small collection of Serge Lutens' if Fils de Joie is any indication.

I do not know what to make of the official Lutens description, which I will reproduce here, just so you too can marvel over the obliquity in the event that you missed it up top: "Laughter awaits a phrase, a word, a situation proclaim itself. A laugh may burst forth or be stifled by a hand that tries to contain it. But if it is sincere, it cannot be contained." -- Serge Lutens I also keep puzzling over the name, fils de joie, which literally means "son of joy" in French but carries with it the association of prostitution, insofar as it's obviously a play on "fille de joie," daughter of joy in French--and a well-known term for a young female sex worker. So I put together the name with the gnomic description of uncontainable laughter, and I try to reconcile all these things with the scent, which is a mildly camphorous tuberose, a mildly skanky honeyed jasmine, and a musk that reminds me for all the world like hot buttered popcorn and a hint of fish. I get that intermittently, though, and for the most part I would describe this as a softer, friendlier version of Carnal Flower. I don't regret buying a travel-size sprayer, but I don't see myself buying a full bottle anytime soon, if ever. I greatly prefer Serge Lutens Fille de Berlin, which is also that same impractical but gorgeous cranberry red--you can't spray this on pale fabric, that's for sure. It's better on skin than paper anyway. Update: I keep thinking about whether this perfume is as unisex as marketed. Maybe in some cultures, but I just can't imagine my husband wearing it, or any other straight man I know. Not to say that they can't or shouldn't--I guess I just think of white florals as hyperfeminine, and it would take a great deal of conditioning for me to think otherwise. I'm enjoying this a lot more today, perhaps because it's warmer. The honey note is downright beautiful. Update: Wearing again today, and liking it more all the time. I still smell a slightly mentholated or campor-ish note that makes me think of tuberose, but my husband thought it smelled of incense. That's possibly also because he's used to jasmine-scented incense, of course. Update: I heard it was being discontinued or reformulated under a slightly different name, so I bought a 50-ml tester. I told myself I was on a no-buy, but I knew I will be very sad when my travel-sprayer runs out and I can't buy another bottle. There is just something about that honey/jasmine note that sends me. I do not regret buying the full bottle; if anything I regret not buying two if it has indeed been discontinued. I was wrong about this before, and the musk is nowhere near as horrible as I had described it; even though there is a bit of animalic skank lurking in the heady, mildly indolic jasmine, it is not fishy at all. There are no green notes as in Carnal Flower, and I don't know why I thought there was tuberose. I think I registered it that way at first because of the ylang-ylang/jasmine(s) juggernaut. The longer I own this fragrance, the more the honey notes sing on my skin. If you love the scent of fresh raw honey and pollen-laden white and yellow florals, you will enjoy this, but the reviewers above who say that this is almost too much is right. I work from home, but I think if I worked in an office I would feel self-conscious about choking people out with this brazen hussy juice.

After searching through at least 1000 fragrances to find my dream scent, I could never find it. So I used to envision in my imagination the smell of what my perfect scent would be. I knew it was a yellow floral that smelt like summertime florals, but realistic florals, complete with pollen and sunshine - in my head it encapsulated what nectar must taste like to hummingbirds. I’ve been smelling my imagined scent in my mind for decades. Then I smelt Fils De Joie and instantly recognised it “it smells like summertime” was my exclamation. I’d found my signature scent, I used to wish I found a scent like the sweetly fragrant Daphne’s in my garden. But everything until now smelt synthetic or sweetened by vanilla (which I can’t stand). Fils De Joie is the perfect level of sweet, as it’s done with golden honey so there’s zero reliance on vanilla, amber or tonka. It smells like yellow mimosa pollen from every intoxicating floral that comes to life in the heat of a summer garden. It encapsulates the essence of pollinated flowers and floral nectar after the scorching sun has left the flowers throbbing in the heat of the night. And the plus is - it’s relatively affordable for 100ml of divine French perfumery and it’s beast-mode, as it lasts of fabric for weeks. It’s all I ever wanted. Only potential downsides - it’s very feminine, so not sure if an Aventus-loving man can pull this off and although it came out in 2020, it smells like classic perfumery from a golden era gone by, so might be too classically grand for some (?). I’m clutching at straws to find downsides as it’s perfect. Update: So this is officially being discontinued. Only 4 years of greatness and now it’s being pulled. I’ve tried recreating this by layering jasmine with honey scents but I’ve given up. Nor am I bulk-buying what’s left, as one day I won’t be able to get hold of it altogether, so I’ll just give it up now so I don’t get too attached. Such a shame. Back to searching for my signature scent. I’m selling within Canada if anyone is interested.

Serge Lutens is no stranger to playing jokes and word games on us. Fils de Joie certainly seems like another one of his tricks. The "Son of Joy" might actually be a reference to a prostitute (might is an understatement). This is a lot more believable than anything referencing "joy" since FdJ is anything but joyous. The jasmine of FdJ has had all daylight, citrus piquancy and energy, and smiling innocent white floral qualities removed from it. FdJ is one of the darkest, muskiest, driest, slinkiest and lascivious jasmines I've smelled. We are all (hopefully, by now) familiar with one of jasmine's critical qualities, that of being indolic, presenting as very dryly musky and coarse-smelling like mothballs. FdJ revels in this seedy character. In the opening there is a very cold, woody clove note - seemingly the same material and trick Sheldrake used in A la Nuit - that makes the dry and indolic qualities even colder and drier. The starchy banana character of ylang-ylang presents itself in the heart and through to the base, adding thicker texture and also a touch of grainy sweetness, while soapy white musks continue to parch your palate of all moisture. So, yes, nothing that can really be called joyous or joyful in FdJ, it is far too dry and far too debauched to be joyful. Some might discern that it is too "old lady" like, interpretting the dryness for powderiness, and that's not entirely inaccurate, but it's far too heady, heavy, and dirty-musky to be palatable for the gentile elderly. I cannot help but be allured by its sultry side-smile character. Just when we thought Lutens and Sheldrake likely didn't have anything else, or anything more, to say on jasmine they give us another masterful example that comfortably sits side-by-side with Sarrasins and A La Nuit, and a very sound example of their tremendous ability to interpret and handle this amazing flower of nature and perfumery.

When falling prey to a vampire, I would assume that there is some sort of hypnosis that gets you into this predicament. Your adrenaline is pumping and you want your fight or flight responses to take action, but your paralysis keeps you motionless before the inevitable and fatal bite. This feeling of irresistible surrender is what Serge Lutens’s Fils de Joie evokes for me – a hypnotic and dense fragrance so intoxicating and so narcotic that you feel as though she is doing you a favor in sucking you dry. The bottle houses a deliciously evil and deep, dark red juice conjures up that cursed button with “do not press” written underneath. The fragrance opens with a sticky, soaked, red cherry, at times both medicinal and syrupy sweet. The overture of cherry makes way for the heady and narcotic florals composed of Night Blooming Jasmine, Jasmine Sambac, and Ylang-Ylang to come into the fore. Among this floral bouquet, Night Blooming Jasmine is the light that shines through, its aroma evoking the humid sweetness of summer nights. Yet, beneath this beauty, a faint indolic facet, reminiscent of mothballs, begins to emerge, hinting at a darker motive and a sense of fleeting time. These waxy, white petals are not light; but in fact, they are seeping with honey. While the idea of a honeyed jasmine scent sounds innocent enough, this fragrance reveals itself to be unctuous and devilish on skin. At the cadence of its wear, Fils de Joie settles into a sweet, skin musk – a faint whisper of what it once was, leaving you craving its return. You don’t reapply Fils de Joie because you simply want to, but because you need to relive that experience once again – hence the name narcotic white florals. For those innocent bystanders who stand in the way of this fragrance, beware, for they will be drowned by a concoction of indolic white florals and honey–I can think of worse ways to die.