10/14/12

Terre d'Hermès Eau de Toilette (Hermès)




Perhaps the greatest problem with minimalist perfumery is that aroma chemicals are not easily integrated into bare compositions, and tend to "stick out." Iso E Super, a light, clean, somewhat-woody, somewhat-peppery, and always dryly-sweet synthetic, is probably every lazy perfumer's first answer to masculine constructs, as it lends an easy warmth, woodiness, and depth to the cheapest formulas. While it smells very good, there's wisdom in using it as an inner cog, rather than a showpiece. It's hard to say which older masculines contain it, as most are complex and loaded with notes, but Jean-Claude Ellena's famous Terre d'Hermès is about Iso E, front and center.

I have a theory as to why this fragrance is so popular with young men. Twenty years ago, masculine scents rotated around the Cool Water/Fahrenheit axis, with fresh, woody, dihyromyrcenol-fueled designs dominating the scene. Dihydromyrcenol is an interesting aroma chemical because it smells "almost" like a lot of things: citrus, violet leaf, acidic pomaceous fruits like apples, and even wood, yet it maintains an elusive circumference around all, yielding no definitive character on its own. This is why it was used to such great effect in Green Irish Tweed and Cool Water. The twenty-first century equivalent of dihydromyrcenol is undoubtedly Iso E Super, as synthetically air-conditioned greens have given way to clean woods. Terre d'Hermès capitalizes on the fresh-woods scent profile better than anything else in recent memory, and therefore titillates its target audience, which has grown tired of the Calone molecule.

How does Terre d'Hermès stack up with me? Just okay. Its translucent orange-grapefruit opening is synthetic, but delicately rendered, and deftly avoids the sharp-chemical screechiness of lesser citrus accords. It slowly gives way to an ashen heart and base of patchouli, benzoin, and you guesed it - Iso E Super. The triad smells very dry and cool, a little sweet, and a touch earthy, thanks to the patchouli. It's inoffensive, a little above average in execution, but nothing to write home about. Further compounding my ennui is the fact that Ellena is given to self-parody; nearly a decade after crafting the infamous Declaration for Cartier, and four years after Malle's orange-fueled Bigarade Concentree, the same nose gives us the ultimate olfactory compromise of those superior structures, using cheaper materials. The average consumer isn't complaining, though. This stuff still sells, although I kind of wish it didn't.