Every once in a while a perfume feels less like a mélange of scents than like a “thing”. Lorenzo Villoresi Alamut is an example. When Alamut has settled on my skin, I don’t think about flowers or fruit or wood — I think of a slice of warm brioche.
Alamut’s notes include osmanthus, aldehydes, rose, jasmine, powder, rosewood, narcissus, tuberose, ylang ylang, labdanum, amber, sandalwood, musk, patchouli, and leather, but they are so meltingly blended that teasing out any one note is difficult. I do smell a gentle powdery suede and maybe ylang ylang and rose, but this is not the sort of perfume that gives off occasional puffs of sandalwood or jasmine that separate from the total formula before blending in again. I want to call Alamut spicy, animalic, and oriental, but these descriptors give Alamut an edge that it doesn’t have. Alamut is spicy like snickerdoodles and animalic like the inside of an old Hermes bag. Despite its baroque collection of notes, to me Alamut reads as one smooth, deep presence, as soft and buttery as cashmere.
Alamut sparkles a little as you first put it on, but it quickly settles into slow-burning comfort. The Eau de Toilette lasts a long time and feels like it stays close to the skin, but a few times when I’ve worn it I’ve had other people comment on it, which makes me wonder if its sillage is deceptively potent. I find it gentle enough, though, to wear to bed.
Alamut didn’t win me over at first. I’ve had three samples of it over the past year, and the first few times I tried it I thought it was o.k. but nothing special. Supposedly, Lorenzo Villoresi spent six years working on Alamut before he released it last year. People were expecting a blockbuster — something as strange as Yerbamate, glamorous as Donna, calming as Teint de Neige, and edgy as Piper Nigrum. Instead they got buttered brioche. When the third sample of Alamut came in the mail it languished on my dresser for weeks. I had an unusual (for me) yearning for powder one day and tried it again, and this time I fell head over heels for it.
Alamut, a wood fire, and a dog on the couch next to me are my antidotes to cold and stress this year. (Serge Lutens Chêne and the occasional finger of Scotch will be helpful, too, I’m sure.) A 100 ml bottle of Alamut Eau de Toilette is $120 and a 50 ml bottle is $75. You can also buy a 50 ml bottle of Eau de Parfum for $85, but I’ve only seen it on Lafco’s website. Alamut comes in a ruby red bottle, and like all the Villoresi bottles has a better-than-usual quality atomizer.
For buying information, see the listing for Lorenzo Villoresi under Perfume Houses.
LOL at the 'buttered brioche', A! I wanted so badly to love Alamut, but it seems to get stronger and stronger the longer it's on (all the Villoresis do this on me), until it's a huge sandalwood monster thumping my head with a mallet.
“Sandalwood monster”–what a hilarious visual! On me, I don't get a whole lot of distinct sandalwood at all. Once again, skin chemistry strikes.
This is one of the scents I've been looking forward to wearing, now that the weather is finally cooling off a little. Your visual of Alamut, a warm fire and a dog (or a cuddly cat) is just perfect. For me it was love at first sight.
I'm so glad someone else likes Alamut! It seems like everywhere I turn someone is disappointed by it. I see it becoming a winter staple for me. (Oh, and besides my dog, I have two cats, and they like hanging out by the fire, too.)
How funny that on me it WAS animalic and oriental, very aggressive and heavy. I did not care for it, though I am an admirer of Lorenzo Villoresi's work in general.
It seems like you're not alone. On me, it's present but ultimately very easy to wear. I think my skin must just swallow certain ingredients which is why I do so well with perfumes that drown other women.
Which of the Villoresis do you like best?
This reminds me of my first poetry reading– I was a freshman in college and it was the second week of school. Vastly overestimating my sophistication, I went to a graduate student poetry reading where students brought in published poems they wanted to share. Some read their own poetry but most read items by hip, dark, cult poets. When it was my turn, I blithely contributed Annabel Lee. When I finished there was a very very long silence. You could hear the ashes falling from fifteen hand rolled cigarettes.
So, here’s my Edgar Allen Poe moment in the perfume world—I confess I love Escada Margaretha Ley, and the recently (well, recent for me) released Elie Saab Le Parfum. I just do.
Hey, Annabel Lee is an excellent yarn of a poem! And I second your love of Elie Saab. It’s so bright and thrilling, I think.