There are few better reasons for a spontaneous trip across the Channel than the whisper of a new Creed fragrance, especially one as portentously named as Oud Zarian. My recent visit to Paris happily coincided with a chance to have a sniff at their boutique, well ahead of its official release on the 18th of August. One tries to walk into these situations with a clear head, but the pristine white and gold of a Creed boutique, combined with the hushed reverence of the staff, creates an atmosphere of formidable expectation.
Let us be honest: launching a new oud in today's market is a bold move, akin to a winery releasing another Cabernet Sauvignon. The field is crowded, and to stand out, one must either be revolutionary or simply perfect. Creed, it seems, has aimed for the latter. Oud Zarian does not begin with the ferocious, barnyard assault that some purists crave. Instead, it announces itself with a civilised and utterly Creed-like flourish. A bracing, crystalline bergamot, a piquant glimmer of ginger, and a wonderfully aromatic haze of frankincense and spice. It is a bright, tailored opening that feels less like the entrance to a Middle Eastern souk and more like arriving at a grand European hotel where such spices are merely part of the exquisite air.
As the initial brightness softens, the heart of Rose Centifolia makes a polite appearance. It is not a jammy, dominant rose, but rather a silken thread weaving through the composition, lending a touch of plush texture without ever demanding the spotlight. But the true story, of course, is in the base. The house speaks of an 80-Year-Aged Oud, a note that sounds like a legend in itself. And it is beautiful: a smooth, deeply resonant woodiness devoid of any harsh medicinal edges. It is supported by the smoothest patchouli, creamy sandalwood, and a resinous touch of myrrh. What intrigued me most was the hint of liquorice root, which adds a subtle, dark sweetness that harmonises beautifully with the tonka bean. The entire composition is seamless, polished to a high gleam, and exudes a quiet, expensive-smelling authority.
And so, here I sit, back in Blighty, a single scented card on my desk, still mulling it over. I am on the fence, and it is a frustratingly beautiful fence to be sitting on. Oud Zarian is not revolutionary; it does not redraw the map of perfumery. And yet, for the king's ransom that will undoubtedly be asked for it, it delivers a masterclass in blending and refinement. It is a fragrance of impeccable quality and quiet confidence. I have no doubt it will be a stellar, sell-out release for the house, finding a devoted following amongst those who appreciate luxury that whispers rather than shouts. I find myself deeply admiring its construction, yet I wonder if my heart wanted just a little more untamed wilderness and a little less perfect behaviour.
The eternal question for the fragrance lover, I suppose: does impeccable craftsmanship trump the thrill of the truly new? I suspect my bank account will be hoping it does.
All the best,
Victoria