Estēe Lauder
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The aldehydes detonate first, a sharp, almost soapy brilliance that frames the basil and artemisia like cut glass holding back light. Citrus zests through briefly before the gardenia attempts to bloom, only to be intercepted by geranium's tart insistence—you're immediately aware this fragrance has a backbone.
The leather emerges gradually, not as a punch but as a creeping realisation, whilst orris root adds a violet-tinged dryness that grounds the floral elements into something chalky and refined. Vetiver intertwines with the moss, creating a slightly earthy, almost mineral quality that prevents the fragrance from ever feeling soft or yielding.
The patchouli anchors everything into a woody, vaguely smoky embrace, the musk warm but not animalic, the amber providing just enough sweetness to prevent austerity from becoming impersonal. What remains is profoundly leather-focused, intimate, and quietly sophisticated—a second skin rather than an announcement.
Azurée arrives as a bracing contradiction—a fragrance that feels equally at home in a leather-appointed boardroom or draped across linen on a sunlit terrace. Bernard Chant's 1969 composition refuses to choose between its competing impulses: the aldehydes snap with crisp formality whilst basil and artemisia inject an almost medicinal greenness that prevents any descent into powdery florality. This is no demure soliflore; instead, the gardenia and jasmine are muscled into submission by geranium and orris root, which lend a dry, slightly bitter edge that transforms what could have been sweetly floral into something altogether more austere.
The leather accord (88%) sits at the fragrance's beating heart, and it's here that Azurée distinguishes itself from its softer contemporaries. This isn't the animalic funk of a full leather soliflore—rather, it's the scent of a well-worn saddle, of suede gloves slightly warmed by skin, rendered almost abstract by the presence of moss and vetiver. Mugwort adds a faintly herbal roughness, whilst the amber and musk provide ballast without sentimentality. There's something deliberately unfeminine about this composition, which was extraordinary for 1969; it's the fragrance of someone who wore trousers to the office before it became unremarkable.
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4.0/5 (88)