Patchouli Patch by L'Artisan Parfumeur

Bought it for Christmas because it’s a patchouli where the fruity notes shine without being cheesy. At first, it smells like plum or brandy, with a touch of iris that reminds you of the fruit’s skin. The alcoholic moisture and ethylene in the patchouli evoke fermentation—no sugary sweetness, but rather that soapy facet of an old-fashioned bath, though with a certain dryness. It’s vintage but not entirely; dark without being wild, heavy yet soft. The balance is excellent.

Hey, this Patchouli Patch is really good. At first, like with L’Artisan, it’s not the loud perfume they advertise, and I think the current version has been reformulated and diluted; if you’re interested, look for old bottles and prepare to dodge the Sierra Morena bandits. But I really liked it. I don’t want to wear it, but it has great quality and composition. Of the patchoulis I’ve tried, this is the closest to my beloved Gentleman: clay-like and earthy. Most, especially in less known lines, smell like burnt grass, with hints of acidic onion or oakmoss, and honestly, I can’t stand it. I like it for sniffing on others, but not for myself. The patchouli I’m looking for is the one from Gentleman, Aromatics Elixir, or Cabochard: cold, earthy, and with a clay aftertaste. The first time I smelled it, I cried; impossible not to remember Givenchy. Then it takes its own path without losing that Paul Leger memory. The anise note isn’t literal, but its spicy aura, and above all, it’s very woody with tender floral or fruity tones—not pulp or flesh, no sweetness, but the velvety skin of apricot or peach, nothing like scented olive. The mix of patchouli, cedar, sandalwood, and osmanthus is wonderful, along with fresh, spicy caraway. The olive blends with the woods and sometimes smells like soft suede or my grandfather’s silk handkerchief. Earthy and refined patchouli dominates, zero hippie, zero Woodstock, zero gothic; it evokes nature, open spaces, and a civilized garden, with the sparkle of osmanthus making it pleasant. My gripe is that the anise is excessive, even if not strong, it’s very noticeable. I’ve tried many patchoulis, and almost none surprise: either full-on hippie, the cold of the classics, or the sweet fruity clones of Coco Mademoiselle. This one amused me because, being somewhat known, it makes you think it’s pleasant and easy to use. Very familiar, it makes me think of a cultured, nice person reading on the sofa. A very European patchouli. P.S.: The note quality is spot-on, natural and well-orchestrated, no plastic chords. I tasted an old formula, since current ones say they’re as common as daily bread or dirty water. Update: after trying it, I think it’s of excellent quality, something rare in artificial fragrances. I looked up Luca Turin’s guide, and the review is four out of five. Turin may like or not, but he passionately reviews long-standing perfumes and hates the trash. He says: ‘This wonderful and deceptive fragrance opens with piercing-style patchouli, but when trying to say ‘idiot’, it turns ninety degrees toward a seductive helichrysum note, a rare flower with fennel nuances, as hard to interpret as a giraffe under the sheets. It already appeared in Sables by Annick Goutal and Eau Noire by Dior, but it’s nice to see it again. Then, in the dry-down, with reminiscences of Timbuktu, it has a woody accord that disperses toasted notes like a night breeze. A beautiful perfume of which some prefer the third movement by itself.’