If you don’t count New Orleans or Mexico, I haven’t spent much time in the Tropics, but my family did. My mother grew up there, in Panama Canal Zone. She’d tell me about the way it would rain, as a sort of watery silk that would drench you momentarily, but once it was over the tropical breeze would dry you so quickly you’d never know you’d been wet. (That’s my great-grandfather, looking like a Graham Greene character in his white linen suit, taken in 1916 on some veranda in Panama.)
I had never heard of the tropical vetiver root until I began to explore perfume. The idea that fascinated me most was that window blinds and floor mats could be woven out of this tangled rooty mass, and, when dampened, would release an earthy, cooling scent. I love the earthiness of vetiver root. It’s cheap and plentiful, so still appears in fragrance as a natural ingredient, which is heartening nowadays. I wonder if you can get vetiver floor mats now. Anybody know? In the meantime, I’ve gone through my ever-expanding samples collection, looking for vetivers to, er, vet. Here are a few, some new and some not.
Vetiver Extract: I have this as part of an aromachemicals kit I bought a couple of years ago. It doesn’t list the type of vetiver used, but my guess is Haitian. I found it to be useful in comparing the various vetiver-based scents I tried. This scent on its own opens sweetish and a little nutty, with an “umami” (meaty) mid -- a surprise -- and a slightly sour drydown. It’s earthy, rooty and green.
Guerlain Vetiver: How could I skip this one, and why would I want to? My decant is about two and a half years old, so may be an older formula than what’s available now. A couple of months ago, I saw several big bottles of this at TJ Maxx, which can signal a reformulation. I wish I’d bought one now!
This is the reference vetiver for men, proper anywhere. Lots of citrus notes on top make it smell clean, freshly bathed and shaved. It seems much more British than French, somehow. It’s beautifully cooling, rooty but never dirty, and approaches floral but never quite gets there. Guerlain makes a vetiver for women -- Vetiver Pour Elle -- which adds jasmine and other florals, but the original couldn’t be more perfect in a hot humid climate, which makes it perfectly unisex, too. Perfumer: Jean-Paul Guerlain.
Christian Dior La Couturier Vetiver: One of the newish “La Collection” Diors. A slight, transparent thing. Reticent, especially when compared to other vetiver scents, but that might be a plus for some. I’d call it Vetiver Lite, and it doesn’t last long on me. It’s pleasant, true to the root in its way, slightly sweeter on drydown -- supposedly due to a robusta coffee note -- but I can’t think of a really good reason for its existence other than having a vetiver in the “La Collection” line. Perfumer: Francois Demachy.
Tom Ford Grey Vetiver: Another one you can wear to your job at the bank. Easily the most “masculine” of these. Bracing, with lots of alcohol up front, and lots of grapefruit. It reminds me (a little) of Chanel’s “Sycomore” but without that one’s grapefruit-on-fire cojones. That being said, it’s a very pleasant, slightly smoky manly vetiver, and apparently was a big hit for Ford. Other “notes” include sage, nutmeg, pimiento, “amber woods” and oakmoss, which may be why it lasts well. A great Father’s Day present. Concocted by a group at Firmenich.
Bourbon French Kus-Kus: I included this one because khus-khus is one of the names for vetiver. This is a very old fragrance, from the Bourbon French perfumery in New Orleans. That city’s history of heavy trade with the Caribbean makes it likely that a Haitian vetiver was originally used. What I smell in my sample is heliotrope, with only a slight edge of vetiver, but lots -- and lots -- of powder, which eventually retreats somewhat. The company doesn’t name the perfumer, but it was likely to have been August Dussan, the founder.
Tauer Perfumes Vetiver Dance: This is beautifully blended, and the vetiver is just part of the mix. It came out with great perfume-community fanfare a couple of years ago. Tauer’s reputation for using the best ingredients is confirmed here, as I can actually smell the clary sage, cistus and ambergris that give this scent its body-but-better drydown. It has held up well. Perfumer: Andy Tauer.
Le Labo Vetiver 46: This one is smoky and meaty and, although I’ve read elsewhere that it doesn’t smell much like vetiver, it sure does to me! The opening is cool and a little bit minty to my nose, although the “notes” don’t mention mint. The do mention clove and cedar, bergamot and black pepper, frankincense, gaiac wood and amber. It’s a chewy, woody, take-no prisoners vetiver, and my favorite of the newer vetivers I’ve tried. Perfumer: Mark Buxton.
There are so many vetivers I haven’t tried. I’d love to explore some from the natural perfumers (note to self: place order) and, of course, Frederick Malle’s. I’ll get around to it. It’s warm and stormy out. The treetops are swirling, just a little. Time to batten down.
Do you wear vetiver fragrances? Do you have a favorite one and, if so, what is it?
Do you wear vetiver fragrances? Do you have a favorite one and, if so, what is it?
"Robusta" coffee is common but full-bodied, made from lower-grade beans. Supermarket coffee, like Maxwell House, is generally made from robusta beans.
The photo is of Elwyn Greene, my great-grandfather, who went to Panama in 1912 to work on the Canal.
Disclosure: the samples and decants are from my collection, bought or received as gifts or in swaps.
