Opium (1977) by Yves Saint Laurent

They’re pure vintage. Back in the day, perfumery had more soul, more care. Finding vintage Opium is a lottery (some ended up on eBay and cost a fortune, though luckily I snagged this at a great price). It smells of respect, mystique, and night. It’s dark, dense, velvety, with a boozy touch and an oily texture. It opens citrusy and masculine but settles into a magical unisex: sandalwood, spices, roses, carnations, myrrh, and cinnamon. It feels like it’s made of a thousand natural essences. It works all year round; even in summer, it feels creamy. Beastly performance. It’s a treasure that transports you to another world, closer to the sublime.

It’s the scent of women in their 30s and 40s when I was a kid in the 80s. Back then, I didn’t care, but now I adore it and have locked that aroma in my memory. I found a vintage bottle and value every drop like gold. I detect clove, citrus, dried fruits, jasmine, carnation, lily, patchouli, incense, myrrh, sweet resin, musk, vetiver, and animalic notes. From the opening to the dry-down, it’s a masterful evolution where everything fits perfectly. It brings happiness, courage, and exclusivity. It’s a long-lasting, addictive, elegant oriental symphony that never goes out of style; the reformulations are different fragrances. 10/10.🔥

Thanks, alex1984, for taking the time to explain with such passion what Opium means. No waste.

I still have a bottle with a finger left of this fragrance; it was perfect. I wish they’d make it again. The best perfume I’ve ever owned.

I remember it as if it were yesterday: my first bottle of Opium. I coveted it: exotic, mysterious, elegant, and expensive for my 16-year-old self. I bought it on a winter Friday in 1984 at El Corte Inglés, splitting the cost with my best friend, pooling all our savings. That afternoon, we dressed up in gowns: black dresses, fishnet stockings, stiletto heels, teased hair, painted eyes, coats draped over our shoulders, handbags, pearl necklaces, and two sprays of Opium. We felt like divas: modern, elegant, beautiful, coquettish, interesting, feminine, and sexy. Opium has the power to make you feel like a woman all at once; its scent fuses with your essence, almost erotic, caressing your skin warm like a lover’s breath, soft, velvety, sweet, and spiced. Its trail is a halo of security; you stand with your back straight, head held high, steps firm, unapologetic and proud. How can a perfume exert so much power? Opium dominates the women who wear it and the men, who fall head over heels, needing to get close, feel your heat, and breathe in your scent. It’s captivating, conquering, addictive, narcotic, powerful as the sun. That afternoon in ’84, Opium came to stay. Later came Fendi, Samsara, Poison, Chanel No. 5, and Cabochard 1959, my essentials that know my triumphs and defeats, comfort me, bring back memories, bring peace to sleep, lift my mood, dress me in a thousand ways, and produce happiness. Who gives more? In 2010, I was finishing my last bottle and went to buy another; the format had changed, and when I opened it, I was surprised: it smelled very different, very citrusy, lighter, less spicy, with less intensity and performance. It lacked strength and substance. That wasn’t my perfume; it had lost its richness, depth, spices, the balsamic base, the exotic oriental mystery, its oily texture, its power, and magic. I went to the perfumerie and realized Opium had died; the powerful beast was gone forever, what a tragedy! It’s not that the EDT and EDP from 2009 are bad—I like them—but they’re different perfumes; they lack soul. I’ve bought vintage versions on eBay at exorbitant prices, and the fear is they’ll run out or prices will skyrocket so I can’t afford them, so I only use Opium for special occasions.

What else is there to say about Opium? I remember it on a history teacher who, though older than me, wore a flowery, airy skirt and black stiletto boots. The ‘click-clack’ of her heels and her perfume trailed behind her through the classroom. It was intense with its notes, but we loved it. Years later, a stylish, easygoing work friend also wears it at just the right moment. Men are jealous. I’d kill to be her age and have her style, though I’ll never wear that scent; I like it, but it suits women of authority, and I can’t see myself with her. Who knows…

Whether people say it smells like incense or a church, it’s exquisite, fantastic, full of personality, and has a longevity you rarely see in today’s fragrances. I absolutely love it, but don’t buy it blindly—always test first.

Talking about Opium is talking about one of the greatest perfumes ever created. It’s insolent; it can ignore you if it’s not in the mood. It was born that way, with a titan resume: sales, success, provocation, and arrogance. It’s the allegory of the hedonistic Parisian—the one who smokes, sleeps with whoever she wants, jumps off a balcony, or drinks cognac. Opium is an opera, it’s Paris. It captures all human edges and contradictions, and in the end, it’s an abstraction of passion. I’ve never worn it because I’m not into resins or cinnamon; I prefer cold spices. Opium is warm and spicy, a blast of notes fighting for attention, smoky, narcotic, like an unexpected mini-orgasm or an endless drag. It’s intoxicating, wicked, and divine. It improved upon the androgynous classic of Tabu and shares DNA with Youth Dew and Cinnabar, but its fame is entirely its own. It was a game-changer in the eighties; even Chanel and Dior released inspired versions. What L’Oreal is doing today with their Dirty Water is a disgrace, almost a crime. You can’t sell a Mercedes with a Lada engine. At El Corte Inglés, they sell a one-dimensional, crude cologne without nuances. The good news is that pre-reformulation bottles from the nineties are still available at a good price.

YSL’s couturier, creative and groundbreaking, had the taste to create this fragrance that, by its name alone, you know is: narcotic, addictive, and sensual. The scandal of its name and its note harmony made it perfect. The vintage was warm, persistent, very spicy, and above all ‘oily,’ like a dense oil on the skin. It was unmistakable on the street or at work. Today, thanks to L’Oreal, it’s ethereal and intense at first, but nothing like the original. Customers complain, and rightly so. Some ingredients are banned or incredibly expensive, but they should price it according to quality or stop calling consumers fools. A glorious perfume today at a price that makes you think twice about not buying it.

I found a 50ml vintage bottle. It’s strong, with notes of coriander, clove, and frankincense. Unisex aroma, elegant, addictive, dark, but a masterpiece. My favorite is Fendi, but I like Opium. For those feeling nostalgia for the old formula, buy ‘Café’; the resemblance is incredible and you save a lot of money (the reformulation is mediocre at best).

I’d be tempted, but with so much spice, I’m afraid it makes me look like I walked into a witch’s shop testing pure liquor. Still, I’m obsessed with a fragrance that would break the neck of anyone wearing it close by.

The original Opium was addictive, dark, complex, rebellious, and sexual; my nose doesn’t remember another so spiced. The first time I stayed away, but when I came back, I fell head over heels. It smelled of clove, incense, carnation, benzoin, cinnamon, sandalwood, cilantro, amber, and vanilla; it was a delicious madness. Nothing compares; it had an overwhelming personality and limitless audacity, a shout of emotion. Today, it’s just a whimper. Wearing it was a pleasure that set you apart; it lasted hours and had a powerful trail.

Opium was conceived as a narcotic, abstract, mysterious, and hallucinogenic fragrance. If you think Opium 2009 is aggressive, stay away, because the vintage is completely malignant in potency, comparable to a stab in the nose. If you’re looking for something similar, Tabu by Dana and Cinnabar by Estée Lauder have more dignity than the current formula. Why so much emphasis? Opium surpassed commercial success to become a social phenomenon and a catalyst for the great oriental fragrances of the 80s, like Chanel No. 5 or Coco Chanel. Just as Shalimar was considered ‘for commoners,’ Opium attracted similar opinions. It’s proof that perfumery is alchemy; don’t expect to read the notes; its description is as poor as that of No. 5. Fundamentally, it’s incense, cinnamon, and clove. The opening is clove with acidic fruity notes, cilantro, and bergamot. Then it decays into sweet cinnamon, powdery carnation, rough sandalwood, and floral. The base is complex, resembling sweet water with ash due to the incense and myrrh. Labdanum appears, leaving sweet water for opoponax. Finally, a woody, balsamic, and warm conclusion with vanilla from castoreum and balsam of Peru. It’s a fundamental precursor, abusive, and mysterious. If the current one overwhelms you, the vintage would knock you out; a few drops are enough, and abusing it is a crime against others. It was YSL’s big star; they tried to revive it in 2009, but most renewals are irrelevant or unworthy. Black Opium is a bad-taste joke; darker only fits twisted minds. Delicacy is key; it’s sinister and haunted. If you can resist its intensity, don’t expect a whirlwind of compliments; it’s too aggressive. The wearer passes the tolerance test; several hours with an intrusive trail can defeat anyone. It’s not for everyone, but it’s worthy for those who appreciate it, from the innocent neighbor to Majora’s Mask’s moon.

A masterpiece of feminine oriental fragrance alongside Shalimar. It’s not for everyone, not even close. Like the men’s version, it requires a minimum to wear it properly. Envy-worthy trail and longevity; what a pity about the reformulation. It’s opulence, addiction, sensuality… Completely unisex, but it evokes different feelings in men and women. Opium is indescribable. I recommend anyone who can smell the old formula to try it; it’s worth it. For any woman starting in perfumery, it should be a reference in orientals, just like Shalimar.

As a man, I say with certainty that original Opium is better than Opium Pour Homme. Two days ago I succumbed to trying it and was impressed; it seemed sweet and powdery, but not cloying. It reminds me of the Elizabeth Arden deodorant cream my mothers used in the 80s, which I smelled from time to time. They say men can wear it, and I agree. It feels like sandalwood, citrus, jasmine, incense, and pepper; pleasant and not too sweet. It’s not exclusively feminine. Since I received both EDP and EDT sprayed on paper, the scents are less intense, the projection softer, and they smell different on the skin. Still, they pleasantly surprised me. In short, it’s a great classic fragrance not for everyone… or is it? Score: 8.5/10.