Cabochard by Grès

The concept of Cabochard changes radically from year to year. Lately, the patchouli and leather overwhelm me, so now I perceive it as a comforting, stable dryness with a fresh touch. It’s like a hot towel straight from the shower, with just the right amount of roughness. That is achieved by that smoky, almost incense-like note, where the tobacco balances out a bit of flower and coconut.

I like leather and moss separately, but combined they make me dizzy, especially with the tobacco. Perhaps it is some car air freshener I smelled in childhood; this combination takes me straight to the endless curves of the Yesa reservoir. Cabochard is a beautiful, powdery, and dry fragrance, very lovely in that sense. But be warned: for those who associate dryness with dizziness, one must proceed with care.

I understand you may not like it because it is not for everyone and can be extravagant, but I doubt it is the tobacco that you dislike. In perfumery, it does not smell of smoke or pure cigars; it is a figurative, refined, and precious note that results in a wet, earthy, sweet, and mysterious scent. The tobacco in Cabochard is the most beautiful I have ever smelled in a women’s fragrance. As you can see, two people interpret the same thing in different ways. If you did not like this, I would not recommend buying the 2019 versions blindly; they maintain a very intense DNA and are more of a reinterpretation than a modernisation, as they do not follow current trends. The old version is still available in 30ml and 50ml bottles without any risk of error.

Undoubtedly a scent with personality, but in my opinion, it’s very unpleasant. I detect a strong tobacco note and I don’t think it’s agreeable in this case. I suppose it might have worked in another era when bolder fragrances were in fashion, but now it just doesn’t sit right; it clashes. Even on a mature woman with character, it would be difficult to wear and she’d likely stop using it. The fact that it’s an eau de toilette makes no difference; to me, it’s like breathing smoke. I’m curious to try the new Grès releases named Cabochard to see how they’ve modernised them.

Of course it’s a scent with personality but for me it smells very bad. The tobacco smell is very noticeable and I don’t think it’s pleasant at least not formulated like this. I suppose in another era it would be different because then they wore stronger aromas but now it doesn’t fit at all it clashes. Even on an older lady with personality it will be difficult to use and she will end up not doing it. It’s an eau de toilette but for me it’s like breathing smoke. I’m curious to try the new Grès with the name Cabochard to see how they have modernised them.

My first layering! Mother of mercy, I love it!🥰 To summarise: I was going to sleep with my old Cabochard, a tester from the classic bottle just after launch, rubbing the back of my hands because I know how they get worn out. And there it was, as every time I’ve tried it, smelling delightful with a host of nuances that my clumsy and ignorant nose distinguishes (though I can’t name them), trying to overlook that tobacco which reminds me too much of an ashtray. And I felt like adding something to sweeten it. I opened the drawer and instead of new, sugary scents, there it was in the front row: Cassandra. It’s a totally ‘vintage’ and strong Ylang-ylang, yet sweet, so I thought ‘They’re contemporaries, it will suit it well’. A single swipe where I’d sprayed the previous one and… Marvel! It’s like a completely new perfume, beautiful, alive and happy! Note: A very curious sensation that the scent feels ‘stuck to the skin’. How to say it? Solid? I don’t know. But it’s curious that when I showed my invention to my husband, he observed exactly the same thing without me saying anything.

I won double. Today I wore Aramis and my partner, under pressure, vanished. When she returned, she asked to smell my wrist and said, ‘No, you’ve put Aramis on yourself’. She gifted me a freshly bought Cabochard. It is the other side of Aramis. At home, I compared both: Cabochard has a less intense but more nuanced aldehydic opening, with fruits that are not sweet. They evolve similarly, but Cabochard’s base is more complex, with worked tobacco and well-enveloped leather. Is it more feminine? Perhaps, but Aramis is more vigorous at the start. It is a cherished gift from someone who understood me. It is elegant, sensual, and daring for those who know how to see.

No perfume has ever left me so perplexed when I first smelled it. From confusion I moved to laughter thinking to myself: ‘what the hell is this?’. I even blamed myself for buying it blindly but then I realised I was missing it not repelled by it. From strangeness I moved to fascination. It’s like that ugly serious baby that nobody pays for but which as it grows becomes the playboy or the vampire of the family and quietly conquers everyone. The current EDT is ambiguous and difficult. The first whiff is a blow to the sinuses an almost painful greenness like sucking water through the nose. When the nose calms down out comes a deceptive lemon with strange herbs like ingredients of a witch’s potion. What dominates is the moss the tobacco and a leather with a touch of sandalwood. There’s only a brief sting of very masculine ylang-ylang; I detect no other flower. What left me speechless was a piece of wet herbaceous unsweetened coconut very shy at the bottom. A natural and wild coconut like a freshly opened nut with a stone. I pity that coconut is identified only with sweet sprays from Mercadona when it has so many nuances. This Cabochard is fascinating. It’s a beauty that isn’t bought on impulse. In my case there was a happy ending and it became my Scotch Brite: I can’t live without it. But it has so much roughness that I think the original 1959 or a later reformulation surpasses it much. Except with family who know the old-school cypresses I feel shy wearing it. Abstain if you are lovers of gourmands ultra-feminine florals and fresh fragrances. And gentlemen: unless you belong to one of those three groups Cabochard will suit you very very well (and you know it).

I got it by exchange. The opening is citrusy and spicy, but as it dries on my skin, the leather, oakmoss, and tobacco stand out. The tobacco is not intense and the fruits are almost unnoticeable. I was worried about the tobacco, but I have loved it. The asafoetida gives it a peculiar touch. Perhaps difficult for untrained noses, it is dry and bitter.

After reading reviews with a handkerchief in hand, I try to understand this stubborn creature. I do not like it, I would not dare to wear it, but I try to appreciate it. I do not feel the leather, I imagine it. I do feel the dry, astringent, and atalcated bottom of the moss. The darkness of the tobacco, a thick ylang, and a mature, almost withered jasmine. It smells like Madame Edweda on a fatal night in the brothels of Paris, dragging her lover until the grey dawn. It is the fragrance of erotic anguish, not of evanescent desire. It is pure flesh, sturdy, and a little bitter.

I couldn’t stand it. I tried it many times but I couldn’t. That leather on my skin turns bitter. Smelling my wrists was like putting my nose in a bag with dirty wet clothes soaked with tobacco. It’s not a bad perfume it has exceptional longevity for example. I would recommend not buying it blindly. I imagined it differently and it was a great disappointment; I don’t want to smell like that.

I got it last week at a good price and was amazed. I will not put much detail because there are already long reviews… For me it is the archetype of a leather perfume for women. A delight, a masterful balance. The opening is powerful leather, sweetened by flowers, an aggressive little bite. Then it settles soft, creamy, with tobaccoed leather and a halo of powdery floral. It is glory, what good it is that we found Cabochard.

I picked it up last week at a bargain price and was absolutely blown away. I won’t go round in circles as there are already many long reviews… For me it’s the archetype of feminine leather. A delight a perfect balance. At first it smells of potent leather with an aggressive floral touch but then it calms down and becomes a creamy leather tobacco-like with a dusty floral halo. It’s glory what a joy to stumble upon Cabochard.

Thanks to REBECAVPF I tried this ancestral brew, from the days when the witches of Macbeth spoke less than they whispered. A powerful, sober opening, so unisex it seems more masculine, but in reality it belongs to no human gender. It is the perfect brother to any drastically masculine Fougère or wild Chypre. There is no cloying sweetness or delicate flowers here, but an aromatic accord of ancient, archaic leather, from when only attraction to the dark and the animal existed. Prudent aldehydes that do not give synthetic shine, but the dark glass of a witch’s phial. Rusty herbs like St John’s wort, asafetida dosed to transmute its smell of garlic and cheese into something carnal and orgiastic. Sour juices of lemon and bitter sage that trap you in their poison, more suggestive than any pleasure. Evil and beloved flowers, enraged petals, Ylang-Ylang, rose and black geranium like the ladies of the night. All wrapped in tobacco-stained leather and deep forest moss where light never reaches. I cannot imagine any current celebrity wearing CABOCHARD; it is the perfume of Mary Shelley, Bram Stoker, Mata Hari, Theda Bara, John Dee, Aleister Crowley, Salieri and Lucrezia Borgia. It is all one thing. Ordo Ab Chao.

The bottle is simple and elegant it looks like a tuxedo. The fragrance didn’t like me at all. It’s dizzying and seems like I’m in the days of maricastaña. The comments when I wore it were negative and on top of that it lasts a long time. I wouldn’t buy it again.