Stepping into a cloud of Fragonard Figuier Fleur always marked the end of my morning routine, right before grabbing my coat and cell phone on the way out the door. Little did I expect the bombshell that dropped when I casually asked my French friend to pick me up a fresh bottle on her trip back home. Turns out that some time since I stopped calling Europe home (for now!), my beloved perfumer abandoned my signature scent. That comforting soft yet fresh and slightly spicy blend has been lost in time.
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| Little did I know that this would be my very last bottle of Figuier Fleur |
The fig, a fruit deeply entwined in Western history going back to at least the biblical era, has a complex scent that's part bitter-green, part milky-sweet, and part fruity. That tantalizing fig scent appears in perfume profiles ranging from spicy/woody to bergamot/tea leaf to fresh/green to summery/coconut. Mediterranean scents commonly feature figs.
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| Beginning my fig education with the basics: Fig Perfume Chemistry 101 Image Source |
The two main molecules used to recreate the fig scent aren't the same as the volatile compounds found in the fig. Maybe this shouldn't come as such a surprise, but I guess I'd just assumed that behind any fig odor were compounds from the fig. Not so fast. The molecules used to produce fig in perfumes are Stemone® and gamma octalactone. The prior produces the green, leafy, fresh, young fig odors, whereas the latter creates the soft-sweet, coconut-creamy, ripened fruit profile. I have no idea what magical blend of these and other chemicals Fragonard used to create, in their words, "a fragrant harmony of fig tree, bergamot, neroli, magnolia and nutmeg," but I was prepared to do my best to find the closest commercially available blend.
I scoured the internet for the perfume that would fit the bill. I hadn't imagined the scope this project might take. I started exploring perfume review sites and learning the lingo: how a perfume can be described by its top notes, heart notes, and base notes, appearing in that order. I explored small batch organic and major producers. I explored low-cost and high-end. One by one, the perfume sample vials began filling our mailbox. After subjecting myself and my terribly patient husband to many test trials, I can finally present my review of the field of potential Fragonard Figuier Fleur alternatives.
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| A snapshot of the fig scent stash I built up in search of my new signature scent |
Beginning from the bottom, the definite no's: a collection of cloyingly sweet, offensively synthetic, or the sort of floral that brings visions of funeral arrangements to mind.
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| Thanks but no thanks: the fig perfumes that I (and perhaps we all?) could do without |
Listed from the most-no on up, here's the most oh-no's of my fig perfume quest:
- Figuier by Solinotes. Highly chemical top note followed by a synthetic sweet heart. I suppose I'm not surprised based on the particularly low price point and some reviews I'd seen online, but it still disappoints me that something originating in the City of Lights can hold itself to such low standards.
- Womanity by Thierry Mugler. This scent just screams perfume aisle, but maybe even the beauty counter in a lower end department store. Nothing distinctive enough to carry it through a 20+ scent fig perfume trial.
- Folie de Figue by Esteban. It's funny, but I just don't smell the fig in this one. My first thought is of lilies. It's a floral blend, but not even fig flower. This one just left me confused.
- Figue Sauvage by Laurence Dumont. (Not pictured above.) Cotton candy sweet from the first whiff. Let's just say it's a bit much.
- Fig Tea by Nicolaï. The first odors are ice cool pitchers of fruit punch on a hot summer day. It's a somewhat charming top note, but it gives way to a more hygienic floral reminiscent of freshly cleaned bathroom. I think it's fair to cross this one off the list.
- Fig Leaf and Sage by Kiehl's. The first thing I smelled was a high-end herbal cocktail. Mildly sweet with a strong hint of sage, it unfortunately opens up into a bitter sweet of something that's not quite safe for human consumption.
- Coco Figue by Comptoir Sud Pacifique. Very eau-de-sunscreen with background of Bath & Body Works coconut.
- Fleur de Figuier by Roger et Gallet. I began my search here, with a perfume boasting practically the same name, Fleur de Figuier, and coming from another major French perfumer, Roger et Gallet. In retrospect, my naïvete glares through in the purchase of a full-size bottle. One spritz was enough to overpower me with its cloying, jammy, synthetic sweetness. Next, please.
- Figue Blanche by Berdoues. (Also not pictured.) A delicate soft fig top note, followed by a lemony cleaner-style heart. It settles in to something of a generic, non-descript perfumy odor. Nothing offensive but nothing to write home about either, despite what I've just done. Next, please.
- Premier Figuier Extrême by L'Artisan Parfumeur. This sequel to Premier Figuier, the very first predominantly fig perfume to hit the market, is meant to highlight the fig fruit, but boy did they overdo it! I found this scent cloyingly sweet, very much on the candied fig side, completely missing the fresh green I look for in a fig scent.
- Fico d'Elba by Erbario Toscano. After the initial scent of alcohol, this scent opens up rather quickly into a greener sharper fig tree, not particularly complex and compelling. Over time it fades into a sandalwood base which isn't half bad, but does nothing for me. Probably the best of this lowest-tier of scents.
From here let's move on to the close calls: those scents that captivated at first only to leave something wanting, either opening up in complex and interesting but not so Figuier-Fleur ways, or hitting the fragrance profile nail on the head with zero staying power.
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| An assortment of fig scents that make a valiant effort, but won't be lining my bathroom cabinet. |
- Un Jardin en Méditerranée by Hermès. This scent, made to capture the freshness of the Mediterranean, hardly screams figgy. More than anything, it starts out with some citrus in the top note, but it quickly settles into a moderately sweet scent that I'd have to call "generic perfume." Nothing worth writing home over.
- Fico di Amalfi by Acqua di Parma. Like the Hermès, this is another very citrusy Mediterranean blend, but it comes off a bit softer yet somehow fresher than its counterpart. I'd also say the fig plays a bigger role in this scent. It manages to stay fresh and even somewhat citrusy well beyond the top notes. I'd even consider using this one, but probably only for warm summer days. I'm still on the hunt for my year-round go-to, so for now this one's a pass.
- Maroc by Curious Apothecary. A warm, spicy, vanilla fig, absolutely delicious, maybe my top choice for initial odor. Sadly, it doesn't offer a scent that unfolds with time, which is half the fun of the perfuming experience. And the smell disappears all too quickly.
- Eros Fig by Libertine. I can nearly taste the not-quite-ripe fig in the initial moments of taking in this woody-spice blend. With time it evolves into a nearly smoky spice. Over a couple of hours, it becomes more of a sweet vanilla, but only when you really press your nose right up against the wrist. Even 6 inches away, a flick of the wrist doesn't send any scent my way. One of my favorite features of Figuier Fleur was how a waft of the delicate scent could surprise me at any time of the day. It's a scent I'd received compliments on just before leaving work, a good 12 hours after its application. So this perfume just couldn't make the cut.
- Thé Noir 29 by Le Labo. This is a surprising fragrance. Described as woody-fruity with bergamot, fig, and musk, it overwhelmingly reminds me of the incense mix you'd find in a Catholic church. I actually find it compelling, and I keep sniffing my wrists as I write this, but I'm not sure it's what I'm looking for in a daily scent.
- White Fig & Bourbon by Clean Reserve. I was especially excited to test out something with a blend of both fig and bourbon- delicious! This perfume has a particularly smoky, earthen, masculine spice with something soft and sweet behind it. I'd describe it as a smoother take on Le Labo's Thé Noir: nice but not feminine enough for my tastes.
- Figuier Ardent by Atelier Cologne. We're starting to get a bit closer here. The scent has a delicate sweetness and some spice to it, and it certainly sticks around in some form or another for most of the day. However, there's something a bit artificial in the earlier scent, and it evolves into a spiciness that runs a bit too masculine for my tastes, without any of the fruity-green figginess.
- Caligna by L'Artisan Parfumeur. This alternative by L'Artisan Parfumeur is designed to capture the scents of the south of France, featuring woody spices and a more delicate fig. It certainly had more appeal to me than its purely fig Figuier Extrême, but it wasn't a scent I'd think about after it had disappeared.
And finally *drumroll* the top contenders! These all are fabulously figgy scents that I'd heartily recommend as balanced blend of green, woody, and delicately floral/fruity, everything that's best about figs.
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| The final contenders on the quest for my new figgy scent. |
- Figuier Eden by Giorgio Armani Privé. After the initial alcohol smell typical of many mainstream perfumes, a clean, fresh fig scent emerges. I have to admit my surprise in how nicely balanced and figgy this perfume was. Up until now, every major brand name that's slapped its name on a fig perfume has failed to capture a pure fig scent. In Figuier Eden, the green fig tree gives way to a fig fruit, but still very fresh, not at all candied and cloying, not overly spicy, just precisely fig. I spent the next fifteen minutes sniffing by arm as I updated this post, and generally came to the conclusion that the base isn't quite as smooth as Philosykos, but it's a close call.
- Io Capri by Carthusia. My first impression of this scent is that it must be made by a more sophisticated perfumer because there's no initial tinge of alcohol that laces the top notes of so many major labels. The top notes are a crisp clean minty citrus with eucalyptus. It's hard to imagine something so different emerging from this, but a few minutes later, the scent transforms into a soft and very pleasant fig. What a surprising olfactory journey! The biggest downside is the longevity, or lack thereof.
- Figue by Molinard. This perfume begins with a delicate powdery sweet fig, and opens up into a crisp, clean leafy fig with a bit of citrus. It wraps up with a warm cedar wood. A real pleasure- even Nicolas approved.
- Premier Figuier by L'Artisan Parfumeur. This is often cited as the first specifically fig-scented perfume. L'Artisan Parfumeur likes to claim as much. It opens up with a very green, unripe fig leaf. It warms up to a mild fig fruit. Delicate and sophisticated, perhaps slightly to green leafy for my tastes? Probably one of those scents that requires more than one test run.
- Philosykos by Diptyque. Philosykos, literally translated as "friend of figs," lives up to its name. Olivia Giacobetti, the French perfumer credited with popularizing the fig scent beginning in the 1990s, the brains behind L'Artisan Parfumeur's Premier Figuier and Premier Figuier Extrême, was also responsible for this scent. My perfume hunt was over the moment I sprayed this on the perfume counter cardstock. It has the perfectly tantalizing mix of green leafy fig tree and milky, powdery, delicate sweetness of the fig. Nicolas too conceded that this was the closest I'd found to my beloved Fragonard Figuier Fleur.
At this point I do want to acknowledge that a) I don't expect any sane person to have read this far (sorry if you've made it this far, my lovely reader!) and b) I know this project doesn't seem like it could have been undertaken by any entirely sane person either. And maybe that's true. So what the heck am I doing still writing?
In a fast-paced world where so much feels out of my control, a few constants along the way can help you keep your sense of self. For me, one of those constants has been something as simple yet profound as the intoxicating smell of Fragonard Figuier Fleur. I still remember purchasing what would be my last bottle in the Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport, right after checking my luggage (including our cats!) and hugging Nicolas goodbye to begin our grand green-card-immigration-slash-job-hunt trans-Atlantic journey. I was broke, unemployed, scared, and officially leaving my husband on the other side of an ocean, but at least I still had my Fragonard Figuier Fleur, my constant. It was a scent that had taken me through my PhD and some lonely years in Paris. It was the scent I'd worn on my first date with Nicolas, and it's what I've worn as I've braved my way through more than a year and a half in the thrilling world of an Elon Musk start-up. Its loss is therefore all the more disorienting by how much this scent has been entangled in the person I've become and the place I wish I'd never had to leave behind.
Here in Silicon Valley, I feel a million miles away from the Parisian lifestyle I adored. There are times between the grind of the 12-plus-hour work days and the every-day-is-Monday philosophy that I feel like I never left MIT. If it weren't for my French husband and two EU-passport-bearing cats, I'd almost wonder if that whole decade in Europe wasn't one fantastical daydream. I suppose this journey then has been the olfactory quest to restore my sense of self in a world that now seems both so foreign and alarmingly close to home.
Here in Silicon Valley, I feel a million miles away from the Parisian lifestyle I adored. There are times between the grind of the 12-plus-hour work days and the every-day-is-Monday philosophy that I feel like I never left MIT. If it weren't for my French husband and two EU-passport-bearing cats, I'd almost wonder if that whole decade in Europe wasn't one fantastical daydream. I suppose this journey then has been the olfactory quest to restore my sense of self in a world that now seems both so foreign and alarmingly close to home.
