L'innommable

L'innommable or "the un-nameable" is a deliberate self-reference, incorporating elements of Lutens' perfumery that the brand is known for in a more sleek and elegant way than the other big self-reference (Le Participe Passe, which is burnt sugar, pine needles and fruit). L'innommable is fundamentally a sweetened (amber more so than syrup) caraway seed fragrance. There are many Lutens fragrances which take a given material to its absolute extreme (almond in Louve, orange blossom in Fleurs d'Oranger, herbs and amber in Ambre Sultan). This follows on from those themes but the new fetish is caraway seeds, tempered with sweet amber. Cumin and caraway notes have both been mainstays in Lutens' line ever since the original launch of Feminite du Bois, which used these spices with a restrained hand (although a liberal hand by standards back then). Both plants (cumin and caraway) belong to the carrot family and produce tiny, curved (like a scimitar), very similar looking (and smelling, tasting) seeds which can be ground into a spice for curries or used whole, generally into spice-breads. Speaking from my own experience, cumin smells innately sweaty, dusty and savoury and is essentially a complete perfume in and of itself. Caraway, I feel, is distinguished primarily by its strong mentholated taste, which offsets the spice to give a delirious mix of hot and cold - it is also less pungent/ sweaty to me and is even a touch soapy in its own way. It is for this reason that cumin is typically favoured over caraway in making stews, soups, curries etc., as caraway would yield too much of a 'mint-like' element. If you can smell some caraway seeds (or ground caraway) and imagine steeping it in something very sweet like honey or liquid amber then you can estimate the scent of L'innommable. This perfume recapitulates the caraway seed right down to the mentholated note I mentioned, which appears as a short-lived burst in the opening half an hour. The faux-mint note then fades away to leave behind a very spicy, sweet and sclerotic scent which wafts with modest projection for around 8 hours. It's sweet, yes, but somehow not sticky and not cloying: L'innommable follows a similar dance as Ambre Sultan by vying two opposite elements, sweet and savoury, against one-another and culminates in a final victory (sweetness wins big in AS, savoury wins by a hair's breadth in L'innommable). Smelling this scent makes me think of being on all fours on a wooden floor which is carved with motifs of vines and plants, faint flickering of candle-lanterns nearby and dark hymns in the air - there's a woody, medicinal, quality which is quite captivating. As with all Serge Lutens, it's unisex: but leans conventionally masculine ever so slightly. It's also going to be a hard sell to the people around you, who may assume you had a run-in with a rebellious spice rack... I love it though...

There is a sensation of sour, decomposing autumn leaves and the fermentation of waning organic matter that begins L'innomable. It may strike many noses as coarse and unbecoming of a perfume, but I find it both evocative and quite enjoyable. Another layer is peeled back as it evaporates and a blend of prune compote and sukkari dates could be attributed to the merging of benzoin and immortelle here. The outline of a tuberose appears, but feels more like an apparition, not quite fully present. The sweetness is tempered by a leathery core and a prominent addition of caraway seed (*not* cumin, as is listed both Fragrantica and Basenotes, the SL site does confirm that it's caraway, and so does my nose). It imparts a sharp tang, a feral, human body warmth, a granular texture, rye bread-like. This caraway seems to amplify the immortelle and when the frankincense resin in the base follows, it feels animal-vegetable-mineral all rolled into one: salty, urinous, flinty, fleck-y, spark-like, embers and entwined limbs. When all else recedes, there's a musk with golden syrup, tree sap, fenugreek, and sweat. L'Immonable may prove peculiar to the wrong audience, but to the right (and I know many of you are out there), this would be a no-brainer. Sweet without being gourmand and cloying; aromatic, yet edgy; raw musky yet not full-on beast, Sheldrake strikes a balance here and keeps it magnificently elliptical and mysterious.

Great name. I have no idea what this perfume is supposed to be, do, or say. I’ll freely admit that it took a while for me to come to appreciate it; it is willfully idiosyncratic and pushy. Plenty of dehydrated and candied fruits like figs, dates, and prunes are heavily dosed with sweaty body odor caraway driven by a warm, oily, and spicy vanillic benzoin. Eventually, strings of sticky, resinous, green and salty olibanum pull down the caraway note to keep the weird and the pushy and the difficult going all the way to the end to what is a really funky amber. Syrupy textures, difficult. Sweat, salt and body odor, difficult. Jammy and candied purple fruits, difficult. Sharply spicy and sticky benzoin, difficult. Raw and hard olibanum resin, difficult. You get it now, I'm guessing. Yet, somehow it works. Every silver lining has a touch of gray, but in L'Innommable all of these accords come together to show the silver linings more than the gray, just don't expect the gray to be hidden from you at all. It’s wonderfully done, showcasing Sheldrake’s brilliant blending hand, his incomparable understanding of how things “smell”, and how to force characters out of them, but don’t ask me when or where I’d want to wear this. That is also unnamable.

This one's really special. It opens with a blast of something fruity but sour, which a review below compares to decomposing autumn leaves. To my city-girl SoCal nose, the closest analogue is actually lingonberry jam (aka, the best part of any trip to Ikea). As L'innommable progresses, it develops a darker caramel undertone. On top of the opening's sweet-tart contrast, there's now a gentle push and pull between sweet and savory. Like the lingonberry jam's been spread across a slightly burnt slab of rye toast, and maybe some butter and maple syrup have been drizzled over it. The effect is sweet, sour, luscious, a little salty, and very dense. Probably won't appeal to everyone, but for those who like this style of perfume, I think it's a must-try. I've worn it every single day since my sample arrived. One last thought: I have no idea why cumin's listed as the second note. I don't get ANY cumin here. Like others have said, this smells more like caraway.

Smells EXACTLY and I mean EXACTLY like Raisin French Toast with real maple syrup and butter. Even if this particular smell doesn’t light your fire, this is a marvel and a must try. Amazing! After a few hours it’s more of a smokey myrrh/vanilla skin scent. My husband hates this one but I enjoy it as a once in awhile unique gourmand oriental. Great for a decant, not a full bottle. Too evocative of breakfast for everyday wear. Edit: Like most Lutens, I came to love this one more over time. I do get that tuberose later on that Birnam-Wood mentions and I actually enjoy this as an update and refinement of the classics La Myrrhe and Santal de Mysore. Similar ideas, different materials. This is the perfect scent for a woman who’s personal style has a an abundance of dark and romantic macabre about it (Renaissance-style jewelry, antique silk prints and dark raisin nail polish and lipstick...the YSL Opium in its’ heyday type).