Annick Goutal’s Tubéreuse is a sleeper in the line, her thunder stolen by the more ample-bosomed Passion (now thoroughly de-oakmossed, courtesy of our friends in Brussels), or the classic-with-an-oddball-streak Gardénia Passion, which is actually a tuberose served up with a green tomato leaf that comes off as a celery note.
Delving into tuberose absolute while analyzing the composition of the upcoming Nuit de Tubéreuse (which has just gone into production… soon now!) has given me fresh appreciation for a scent I’d been overlooking for years. Annick Goutal’s Tubéreuse isn’t as complex a composition as Tubéreuse Criminelle or Carnal Flower. In fact, it is astoundingly, almost arrogantly simple and that very simplicity is what makes it so unexpected. Whether you’re used to the peach-orange blossom-musk setting of the flower whose template is Fracas or to the venomous bite of Tubéreuse Criminelle, you’re in for a shock: this is tuberose unplugged, barefaced and raw – like those stars recently photographed without a lick of make-up by the French Elle in an anti-makeover. Tuberose with snapped green bean, mushroom, freshly overturned earth, rubber and cardboard on top of the more readily recognizable wintergreen facet. In fact, it feels like it’s practically nothing but tuberose absolute from Grasse. And that’s when you see it doesn’t need a supporting cast, sets and costumes to be a star: it’s got the charisma and the bone structure.
All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up.
Image: Charlotte Rampling photographed by Jurgen Teller