Arte Profumi Fumoir: Campfire Smoke & Promises

The promise of Russian leather, birch tar, smoke, ambergris, and velvet-covered, opulent smoking rooms in gentlemen’s clubs lies at the heart of Fumoir, a new and expensive eau de parfum from the Italian perfume house, Arte Profumi. From the company’s elegant description right down to Fumoir’s notes (which also include pepper, cumin, and rose), the perfume sounds glorious on paper. 

Fumoir, via First in Fragrance.

Fumoir, via First in Fragrance.

Arte Profumi, whose name translates to The Art of Perfume, is based in Rome and seems to have been founded around 2013, the year when it launched all its fragrances. Fumoir is classified as a leather scent, but its name refers to smoking rooms at a gentleman’s club, as well as to a smoke house. Arte Profumi‘s website has little by way of description for the scent, and absolutely no notes: 

FUMOIR
Birch
… conversations among men,
in reserved rooms,
covered by wood, leather and velvet
surrounded by smoke.

Source: Wingtip.com

Source: Wingtip.com

First in Fragrance has much more information, and describes Fumoir as follows:

“Fumoir” by Arte Profumi is dedicated to a very special world – the world of gentlemen’s clubs and the pleasures of tobacco.

The quite, intense and distinctive fragrance takes no prisoners. Pepper and cumin are the strong vanguard. The fragrance bites wonderfully with smoky and leather notes, the rose in the heart is known only by hearsay and ambergris stays firmly in the background. The rest is pure and driven to extreme masculinity.

“Fumoir” doesn’t rely on hints. Whoever enjoys assertive smoky notes and old, creaking leather, or prefers a statement to diplomacy, will love “Fumoir”. The name in French not only means gentlemen’s room or smoking room but also smoke house. 

The notes, as compiled from First in Fragrance and Fragrantica, are:

 pepper, cumin, birch tar, tobacco, russian leather, rose and ambergris.

Talisker, an Islay single malt. Photo: Savuista at the Savuista blog.http://savuista.blogspot.com/2013_10_01_archive.html

Talisker, an Islay single malt. Photo: Savuista at the Savuista blog.http://savuista.blogspot.com/2013_10_01_archive.html

Fumoir opens on my skin with beautiful birch, manifesting itself as campfire smokiness infused with a peaty, somewhat salty, single malt, Islay Scotch. I’m quite serious when I say that I actually murmured out loud, “Laphroaig on steroids!” which is a huge compliment, as I love Laphroaig the most out of the all the Islay malts. Here, the Scotch is amplified with that gloriously burnt wood, campfire smokiness that is such a core component of birch.

Birch Tar pitch via Wikicommons.

Birch Tar pitch via Wikicommons.

Birch tar is more than just smoky, though. It is often a key element in creating the impression of leather, especially Russian leather. Back in the old days, Russian tanners cured hides with the tar, and something in the popular imagination (or perhaps just in my imagination) tends to associate the leather aroma with dashing, fierce, or untamed Cossacks. (As a side note, Chanel‘s Cuir de Russie probably helped in creating this association.)

Here, in Fumoir, the campfire aroma of scorched birch wood is soon followed by a definite note of blackened, tar-encrusted leather. At this point in the perfume’s evolution, the leather very much feels like its own distinct, individual element. Unfortunately, it later ends up being subsumed into the birch tar, which drives Fumoir from its very first moment until its end.

Source: lamag.com

Source: lamag.com

The leather is really lovely at this point. It is so black and sultry in its smoky, rugged heft. Yet, there is an odd meatiness about it that continuously reminds me of a mesquite-smoked barbecue. Fiery black pepper thoroughly covers it and the overall effect is… well, you may call me crazy, but I keep thinking of Steak au Poivre. Perhaps it’s the result of the cumin with the pepper and birch, creating a combination which my mind is translating into a big, fat, meaty steak, covered with walloping amounts of pepper, and thoroughly infused with smoke from a campfire that is burning mesquite wood. The cumin really isn’t visible in its usual way, apart from that odd impression, and I detect no rose at all at this point.

Four members of the Tsar's Imperial Russian Cossack bodyguard. Source: Pinterest.

Four members of the Tsar’s Imperial Russian Cossack bodyguard. Source: Pinterest.

Instead, Fumoir is a bonfire of darkness, singed woodiness, tar, peaty whiskey, and leather. The latter slowly takes on a slightly animalic touch, a raw, butch quality. For the first time in a long time when smelling a birch leather fragrance, I’m really transported to the steppes of Imperial Russia with its Cossacks. It never really happened with Cuir de Russie, but then, Fumoir is not as refined as that scent and it lacks the avalanche of soapy aldehydes that dominated the Chanel scent on my skin. In short, the Italian perfume has a very untamed, fierce element that the Chanel never did. At the same time, both the campfire smoke and the leather are stripped of the forest or chilly pine aroma that other fragrances with birch often carry.

My favorite part of the scent, though, is definitely the Laphroaig single malt aspect that I noted earlier. As the opening minutes pass, the note grows stronger, and its peaty smokiness works incredibly well with the meatiness of the leather, the pepper, and the birch. Scotch and a campfire steak, how perfect is that?!

Photo: Savuista at the Savuista blog. http://savuista.blogspot.com/2013_10_01_archive.html

Photo: Savuista at the Savuista blog. http://savuista.blogspot.com/2013_10_01_archive.html

Alas, my overall enthusiasm is suddenly tempered exactly 15 minutes into Fumoir’s development when a synthetic note stirs in the base. It smells of very dry tobacco but, also, of an ISO E-like aromachemical. It is wrapped up in an extremely arid woodiness, as well as with a touch of very, amorphous golden… something. I can’t pinpoint what it may be. My first thought was Givaudan’s tobacco synthetic, Kephalis, that is often used for its leathered undertones. Later, though, I wonder if it’s Givaudan’s Ambermax with its peppered, ISO E Super-like notes? The dry, ambergris substitute, Ambroxan? A combination of Kephalis and one of the ambers seems most likely. Whatever the real cause(s) may be, there is definitely something that is not right and very fake in Fumoir’s base.

As a whole, the perfume’s overall bouquet in the opening stage is of tarry birch wood charred in a campfire and infused with mesquite, pepper, Laphroaig whiskey, and meaty Cossack leather, all lightly flecked by a dry tobacco whisper and a good dose of aromachemicals.

Source: speckyboy.com

Source: speckyboy.com

Then, Fumoir slowly, very slowly, starts to shift. 40 minutes in, the perfume starts to gradually turn warmer and fractionally sweeter. The peaty whiskey fades away, while a kernel of “amber” in the base begins to bloom, seeping over the tarred leather and birch smoke. It creates a small dot of goldenness in the pitch black, but it is an abstract amber, an impression more than a clearly delineated, crisp note.

And it most certainly is not actual, very expensive ambergris, no matter what is listed in the notes. This is nothing like the scent that dominates a fragrance like Profumum‘s Amber Aurea. This is a wholly abstract construct that is nebulous, dry, and, increasingly, subject to a chemical taint, just like the equally nebulous tobacco note. The “amber” is actually why I mentioned those particular aromachemicals up above. Neither its ISO E-like jangly sharpness nor its excessive dryness is a joy.

The problem is that far too much of both synthetics have been used for them to blend well into Fumoir, though they certainly seem to help with the perfume’s projection. The perfume is very potent in the opening hour, and with good sillage that wafts out about 3-4 inches above the skin before eventually dropping at the end of the first hour. Despite the forcefulness of the birch smoke, Fumoir is quite airy in feel, and it grows thinner with time. Actually, it feels rather like an eau de toilette in nature, one which has a powerful start, but little actual body or depth.

"Gold smoke" by etafaz on deviantART.

“Gold smoke” by etafaz on deviantART.

At the end of the first hour, Fumoir is largely a two-note symphony centered on the main aspects of birch: burnt campfire smoke and leather. The pepper, whiskey, and vaguely abstract cumin element have faded away. However, the “tobacco” is finally starting to emerge in its own right, along with the “amber” in base. I don’t mind synthetics in fragrances if they are well-blended, in balanced proportions, and don’t render the scent into something that is heavily chemical in nature, but I have enormous issues when the quantity is high, especially at Arte Profumi’s prices. (More on that later.) Plus, Fumoir gives me a faint headache whenever I smell it too deeply for too long up close. That is a telltale sign that the aromachemicals are in a large quantity, as I don’t have such a reaction otherwise. Needless to say, I’m feeling rather grumpy at this point, and it only gets worse.

At the end of the 3rd hour, Fumoir smells of aromachemical amber, burnt wood in a campfire, and birch tar that is vaguely leathered, all in a warm blend infused with abstract, peppered, tobacco tonalities. It feels richer than it actually is, and it also reminds me of a very synthetic version of Naomi Goodsir‘s Bois d’Ascese, though not as interesting. Fumoir’s sillage has dropped to about an inch above the skin, but the notes aren’t hard to detect up close.

Source: Theatlantic.com

Source: Theatlantic.com

Fumoir is largely linear in nature, which is fine if you like the notes in question. Obviously, I don’t, but it doesn’t help that the simplicity of Fumoir’s bouquet is becoming increasingly boring. From afar, it really is nothing more than the birch tar’s burnt woods and some extremely arid relative of ISO E Supercrappy. For a brief period about 6.25 hours in, the rose appeared, turning Fumoir into a dry, woody rose and birch tar scent on an abstract amber base. It feels like a very distant cousin to Le Labo‘s Rose 31, only the nebulous rose is massively dominated by campfire smoke and an amber synthetic, instead of cedar woods and actual ISO E Super.

Campfire ashes. Source: dansdepot.com

Campfire ashes. Source: dansdepot.com

The resemblance doesn’t last long, and Fumoir returns to its core scent of birch tar smoked woods with aromachemical amber and aromachemical tobacco. By the middle of the 8th hour, the notes veer between acrid, smoked, and ashtray-like in their nuances. There is a subtle vein of dirtiness that lurks underneath, like really old, stale cumin, mixed with mesquite. The whole thing makes me feel incredibly dirty — in an unclean way, and not in the good, sexy, skanky way.

I’d suppressed the urge for a very soapy shower for hours, but, finally, towards the end of the 10th hour, I gave in and washed off Fumoir. It was exactly 9.75 hours into the perfume’s development, and Fumoir would probably have endured even longer as my skin holds onto synthetics like mad. In all honesty, I think it was the monotony which got to me even more than the acrid, burnt, stale, fetidness of the final hours. Fumoir is all about the birch tar first and foremost, then the two other aromachemicals. The remainder of the notes are hardly key players, and the lovely Cossack Russian leather subsumes itself into the overall scorched woods aroma in a way that renders it a mere undertone in the perfume’s overall scent.

I tested Fumoir twice, increasing the amount of fragrance that I applied, and the overall result was largely the same in both instance. The only difference is that I didn’t detect any rose note with larger quantity of Fumoir. It was just more linear, aromachemical laden, and boring. And I washed it off even sooner.

I couldn’t find any blog reviews for Fumoir, and the fragrance has no comments listed on its Fragrantica page. There isn’t even a Basenotes entry for it. However, Parfumo (which is like a European Fragrantica) has some votes for the quality, sillage and longevity of the scent. So, even if there are no actual comments posted, perhaps you may find 3 people’s numerical assessment of the fragrance useful:

  • 3 votes each for Longevity and Sillage, each coming in at an 83% ranking;
  • 3 votes for the scent as a whole, which puts it at 2.5 stars or a 50% ranking.

I think the 2.5 out of 5 rating for the fragrance is generally fair, though perhaps a bit high for me personal. Still, it’s telling that 3 people who may not be as annoyed as I am by massive amounts of aromachemicals don’t think highly of the scent either.

It doesn’t help that Fumoir is neither cheap nor easily accessible. It is exclusive to Europe at this point, though you can easily find samples at Surrender to Chance. Even if you were to order it from First in Fragrance in Europe (or Jovoy for EU-based customers), Fumoir costs €225 for the 100 ml bottle. At today’s exchange rate, that comes to roughly $308. This is not a scent worth $308 or €225! It simply is not, even if you don’t share my disdain for aromachemicals. There is none of the rich body, nuanced complexity, or interesting development that would warrant such a price. I generally liked Arte Profumi’s Ecclesiae incense fragrance, though I thought the price for that one was too high as well, but Fumoir lacks its sibling’s quality.

Photo: Narinder Nanu via washingtonpost.com

Photo: Narinder Nanu via washingtonpost.com

More to the point, if you’re an ardent fan of campfire birch scents, there are much better alternatives out there at a much better price. There is the richer, deeper, piney Arso from Profumum Roma; there is the drier, more austere, interesting Bois d’Ascese from Naomi Goodsir (which is hardcore birch, campfire smoke!); and there is also Jovoy‘s Private Label with its heavy vetiver focus amidst the peaty birch campfire smoke and Mad Max leather. They’re all significantly better fragrances.

In short, Fumoir fails to live up to its promises, and I would skip it.

DETAILS:
Cost & Availability: Fumoir is an eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml/3.4 oz size and costs €225. There are no American distributors for the Arte Profumi line that I could find. Arte Profumi has a website, but not an e-shop or a Stockist/Retailers list, so your best bet in obtaining the scent is from two big European perfume sites. Paris’ Jovoy and Germany’s First in Fragrance both carry the scent. The latter also sells samples and ships internationally. I couldn’t find any retailers in the UK, the Netherlands, or outside of Europe. If you’re in Italy, however, the company has two boutiques in Rome. Samples: Surrender to Chance now sells Fumoir starting at $4.50 for a 1/2 ml vial. There is also an Arte Profumi Sample Set starting at $12.99 for 3 of its fragrance (including Fumoir and Ecclesiae which I previously reviewed) in a 1/2 ml size.
Advertisements

Arte Profumi Ecclesiae

Greek Orthodox CenserThere is a small church nestled in a pine forest clearing, a church whose wooden pews are covered by the dust of ages and whose stony floors echo the footsteps of monks swinging a thurible censer. White smoke from myrrh fills the air like a thin wall of purification, but that is not unexpected in such a traditional place. What is different is the bridge outside, a bridge made of creamy, honeyed beeswax and sweet myrrh. It links the stony, dusty Catholic church to its polar opposite on the far side of the world, an oriental temple filled with black smoke, not white olibanum. It is a temple where spicy patchouli sweetness and dry woods are offered to the gods alongside the frankincense, swirling together in a haze of great warmth. Two sides of the same coin, two very different worlds, and two very different perfumed aromas. But they’ve been bottled into one fragrance, Ecclesiae.

The Arte Profumi line. Source: Profumo.net

The Arte Profumi line. Source: Profumo.net

Ecclesiae is an eau de parfum from the Italian perfume house, Arte Profumi. The company, whose name translates to The Art of Perfume, is based in Rome and seems to have been founded around 2013, the year when it launched all its fragrances. I first encountered the line at Jovoy in Paris, though I never gave them a proper testing. The name stuck in my mind, however, so when Surrender to Chance suddenly started to carry a few of the scents, I seized the opportunity. Arte Profumi’s website isn’t very detailed or helpful, but the one thing that it makes clear is that its founders are passionate about art:

The passion for modern art and, at the same time the world of essences, as well as the need for combining them has led to the organization of multi-sensorial events.

By extraction, you get the concept of perfume as works of art, capable of replacing visual impressions through the perception of olfactory consent.

A source of inspiration for this implementation was the distant recollection of an old dressmaker’s shop where the choice of cloths, original patterns and precious trimmings stood for a lifestyle.

Source: Profumo.net

Source: Profumo.net

Arte Profumi’s website doesn’t provide the official description or notes for Ecclesiae, but I found the details on First in Fragrance:

A touch of eternity in the hallowed stone halls of a medieval cathedral where prayer and hymns along with incense soar heavenwards – in fragrant clouds of smoke, circling choirs of angels in reverence and devotion.

Arte Profumi pays homage to frankincense with their sacred scent aptly named “Ecclesiae”. Spicy elemi paves the way for the protagonist frankincense and a heart of sandalwood. Smoky, earthy patchouly and vetiver lend the composition depth and volume, a choir with many voices that intone the same harmony.

Friends of church fragrances and frankincense, but also lovers of oriental fragrances will welcome this creation from Arte Profumi as a blessing. 

Top Note: Elemi
Heart Note: Frankincense, Sandalwood
Base Note: Patchouly, Vetiver

Source: Wikipedia

Source: Wikipedia

Judging by what appeared on my skin, I think those notes are a bit incomplete or lacking in detail, because Ecclesiae opens with a heavy amount of olibanum or myrrh. The white smoke is infused with elemi that reflects both its piney and its lemony characteristics. The patchouli arrives quietly on the sidelines, casting a tiny millimeter of spice to the cool, dusty, chilly notes. An equally muted hint of woodiness lurks in the base, evoking the pews in an old church. Much more significant, however, is another element not mentioned on the list — sweet myrrh or opoponax — which adds a honeyed touch to the bouquet. The overall effect evokes a cool, austere church in the middle of a forest and one whose wooden pews haven’t been dusted in months (or years).

Yet, even from the start, Ecclesiae may be the warmest, churchy, olibanum fragrance that I’ve ever tested. This is no brittle, High Mass fragrance with soapy, dusty, cold notes like Heeley‘s Cardinal, a fragrance that I personally found to be well-nigh unbearable with its piercing white musk and cotton. I haven’t tried the seminal Commes des Garcons‘ Avignon to compare, primarily because I generally find the “High Church” coldness, dustiness and soapiness of olibanum to be extremely difficult to handle. It doesn’t help that my skin often turns myrrh into soap by the end of a fragrance’s development as well.

The large incense thurible at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. Source: catholicpilgrim.org

The large incense thurible at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. Source: catholicpilgrim.org

So you can imagine my surprise at the difference here with Ecclesiae. This is a dusty, cool, white incense, yes, but there is something really lovely about how the notes are handled. It’s never too cool or barren, never too ancient and aloof in feel. There is the merest touch of warmth that ensures I never feel as though I were about to join some monks in a vow of silence in a very isolated, ancient church. At the same time, there is something honeyed about Ecclesiae that goes far beyond the usual waxy touches provided by sweet myrrh.

On the other hand, I don’t detect any sandalwood, and the patchouli isn’t at all distinct in its usual way at first. However, a few minutes in, there is a muted earthiness wafting around, along with the faintest flicker of something nuttied and vaguely chocolate-y. It wasn’t apparent in my first test when I only applied a small quantity of Ecclesiae, but 3 big dabs definitely bring out the perfume’s sweeter, richer undertones. As the warmer elements rise to the surface, the elemi’s lemon facets fade away, and its smell of chilled, fresh, pine needles soften.

FrankincenseTen minutes in, Ecclesiae is primarily an olibanum and sweet myrrh fragrance, lightly infused with muted patchouli and abstract woodiness. It hovers in a moderate, extremely lightweight, airy bouquet that wafts about 3 inches above the skin. I really like the scent, and find it to be very refined. There is a polished feel to Ecclesiae but, more importantly, it’s been perfectly calibrated so that the incense never feels ponderous, overly somber, or gloomy. My favorite part is the honeyed beeswax of the sweet myrrh which cuts through the dusty aspects of the myrrh, and thereby ensures that the perfume is never stony or icy.

"Javascapes" by Photographer Daniel G. Walczyk. Source: http://devidsketchbook.com

“Javascapes” by Photographer Daniel G. Walczyk. Source: http://devidsketchbook.com

Ecclesiae starts to slowly, very slowly, transform. The perfume grows warmer with every passing minute; the patchouli’s sweetness becomes more noticeable; and Ecclesiae takes on a creamy, beeswax softness as the sweet myrrh starts to build the bridge to the perfume’s second stage. Ecclesiae is also turning more indistinct and hazy in feel, as the notes start to overlap, and its sillage drops. At the end of 25 minutes, the fragrance is only about 1-2 inches above the skin.

Sometimes, I think I can detect patchouli proper, as there is an extremely subtle vein of earthiness that darts about. Most of the time, though, I wonder if it is my imagination, as the secondary, non-incense notes really lack clear delineation. There is something in the base that gives me a little bit of a temporary head twinge if I take really deep, prolonged sniffs, though it’s very minor and brief. It may be the slightly clean, soapy undertones to the myrrh, but perhaps it stems from the supposed “sandalwood.” I doubt it is the real stuff; I certainly smell nothing remotely like the Mysore wood in Ecclesiae. At best, the perfume has a generic creaminess in the base, though I think it results more from the truly lovely sweet myrrh.

Source: Robert.Maro.net

Source: Robert.Maro.net

The bridge that I mentioned at the start takes full shape at the end of the first hour, when the sweet myrrh starts to transform Ecclesiae. The perfume becomes creamier, smoother, and warmer, while the olibanum incense loses much of its remaining dustiness. Ecclesiae now feels like a very cozy church filled with candlelight from tapers dripping sweetened, creamy wax on soft floors, instead of a stony, barren, dusty place set in a forest. The sweet myrrh feels like a gateway into another world with a very different church dominated by entirely more oriental smells.

Beijing incense burning on Buddha's birthday. Photo: Jason Lee/Reuters via the WSJ

Beijing incense burning on Buddha’s birthday. Photo: Jason Lee/Reuters via the Wall Street Journal.

90 minutes in, Ecclesiae has suddenly turned into a spicy fragrance dominated by oriental frankincense smoke. It is thoroughly infused with an abstract woodiness, a peppered spiciness, and earthy touches. There is also something that most definitely smells like either bitter nutmeg or cloves, though I can’t explain why. The patchouli adds a reddish hue to the colour palette, while greenness arrives with the first hint of a dry, woody vetiver. The olibanum remains, but, as a whole, though, Ecclesiae is now dominated by black frankincense and warmth. It is a startling volte-face from the initial notes centered on white, dusty myrrh, to the point that you feel as though you’re in a very different place of worship. The notes are still blurry around the edges, but there is no mistaking that spicy, woody quality.

Incense stick. Source: Stock footage and Shutterstock.com.

Incense stick. Source: Stock footage and Shutterstock.com.

In fact, Fragrantica labels Ecclesiae as an “Oriental Woody” fragrance, something that initially perplexed me when I smelled the perfume’s opening notes on my skin. “Oriental” carries a very different connotation in my mind than that created by the “High Mass” churchy olibanum note with its cold facade. But Fragrantica is absolutely right in its assessment. Ecclesiae has a warm oriental heart, dominated by woody notes as much as it is by frankincense. In truth, Ecclesiae is really like two perfumes (and churches) in one, with the honeyed beeswax acting as a bridge between the two.

Ecclesiae remains largely the same for the next few hours. It is a warm, oriental, spicy, woody fragrance dominated by frankincense, with patchouli spices and earthiness, followed then by lingering strains of olibanum smoke and sweet myrrh. The vetiver is never really more than a muted flicker on my skin, while the sandalwood never shows up at all. What does appear, however, is a powdery quality that creeps in at the end of the third hour. The sillage drops even further, and Ecclesiae becomes a complete skin scent about 2.75 hours into its development.

Source: Wikicommons.

Source: Wikicommons.

Ecclesiae eventually turns into a blur of lightly powdered myrrh and frankincense after 4.25 hours, and it stays that way until its very end. There are growing touches of soapiness flitting about, but that may be simply the result of what my skin always does to olibanum. Either way, Ecclesiae is pretty linear, and very soft — both in feel and sillage. It is one of those fragrances that is so intimate in its projection that you’re constantly surprised when you see that it is still hanging on. All in all, it lasted just short of 9.5 hours, though I had to put my nose right on my skin in order to detect it by the middle of the 6th hour.

I couldn’t find any blog reviews for Ecclesiae, and the fragrance has no comments listed on its Fragrantica page. There isn’t even a Basenotes entry for it. In fact, Ecclesiae is not a fragrance that is carried in the U.S. at all. Generally, I try to avoid reviewing scents that are so limited in distribution or unknown, but I liked Ecclesiae quite a bit. Given my usual leeriness about olibanum, how painfully soapy it can become on my skin, and my dislike of dusty, cold “High Church” fragrances, I think that says something.

Alas, even if one were to order Ecclesiae from First in Fragrance in Europe (or Jovoy for EU customers), it is very expensive. The 100 ml bottle costs €225 which, at today’s exchange rate, comes to roughly $304 — and this is not a perfume worth $304, in my personal opinion. The perfume is too lightweight and sheer, the sillage is too weak, and the longevity iffy unless you apply a lot. That’s not merely my perception, either. On the Parfumo website (which is a bit like a European Fragrantica), Ecclesiae has no reviews but I was interested to see some votes for sillage or longevity:

  • 2 votes give the Longevity a 63% ranking;
  • 2 votes give the Sillage a 38% ranking.

It’s obviously not outstanding as a whole, but it’s a lot more troubling for $304 or €225.

Source: Fragrantica.

Source: Fragrantica.

I cannot tell you how much I wish Ecclesiae had more heft, weight, projection and richness. It is a thoroughly enjoyable take on incense fragrances, and feels extremely polished. Something about it reflects Italy’s inimitable, elegant, refined style, though I’m less enthused about the quiet discreetness that goes along with it. I would definitely wear Ecclesiae on occasion if a bottle ever fell into my lap, but I would never consider buying it. Then again, I’m not one who loves white incense passionately, so perhaps things might be different if I were a hardcore olibanum fan. Price is a subjective matter, after all.

So, if you truly love Churchy fragrances, then I encourage you to order a sample of Ecclesiae from Surrender to Chance or First in Fragrance. It’s very lovely, and nicely done.

DETAILS:
Cost & Availability: Ecclesiae is an eau de parfum that comes in a 100 ml/3.4 oz size and costs €225. There are no American distributors for the Arte Profumi line that I could find. Arte Profumi has a website, but not an e-shop or a Stockist/Retailers list, so your best bet in obtaining the scent is from two big European perfume sites. Paris’ Jovoy and Germany’s First in Fragrance both carry the scent. The latter also sells samples and ships internationally. I couldn’t find any retailers in the UK, the Netherlands, or outside of Europe. If you’re in Italy, however, the company has two boutiques in Rome. Samples: Surrender to Chance now sells Ecclesiae starting at $4.50 for a 1/2 ml vial. There is also an Arte Profumi Sample Set starting at $12.99 for 3 of its fragrance (including Ecclesiae) in a 1/2 ml size.