Rien by Etat Libre d'Orange

Nothing is like mixing all the colours and ending up with a dark grey, something confirmed on the official website. It’s more than just a ‘baroque’ perfume. If it were music, it would be something like Black Midi, with sheet music that looks like black smudges. Its name is ironic: it has everything and ends up smelling like nothing, and there lies its artistic interest. The opening is dirty, with oxidised metallic notes and plastics, but soon a bitter green apple appears, like fermented cider. Incense and aldehydes dominate, giving an industrial soapy effect, spicy and virile, ideal for lovers of vintage masculine perfumery. Visually, it’s a green soap with ash specks. It has modest projection, intentionally designed for intimate wear. It’s not a tribute to the past, but a modern vision where everything is invented. I enjoy it much: perfect for days of male nihilism, with an ambiguous dirty cleanliness that leaves no answer to enemies. It’s not a ‘troll perfume’ like Secretions Magnifiques, but a strange mix of incense and aldehydes worth knowing.

Nothing is like mixing all the colours and coming out with a dark grey, as the website confirms. It’s more than baroque. If it were music, it would be Black Midi with sheet music that looks like black smudges. Its name is ironic: it has everything and smells like nothing; that’s its art. The opening is dirty, oxidised metal and plastic, but soon a bitter green apple emerges, like fermented cider. Incense and aldehydes dominate, giving a spicy, virile, vintage industrial soap. Visually, it’s a green soap with ash specks. It compensates for its roughness with low projection, seeking intimacy. It’s not a tribute to the past, but a modern vision where everything is invented. I enjoy it for those days of male nihilism, with a dirty cleanliness that leaves no answer. It’s not a troll like Secretions Magnifiques; it’s incense and aldehydes, a rare mix worth it.

Bestial incense power and scent. I liked it so much I sleep with a spray bottle on the back of my hand. Difficult and overwhelming, but exquisite.

Definitely not for me. Upon atomising it, it delivers a nasal slap due to the potency. Animalic incense, I suppose from the cumin, which gives it a faecal tinge. One must be very brave to wear it and not expect compliments. As I am a coward, I won’t wear it and leave it to those who like taking risks.

Upon trying it, I felt a floral touch with feminine nuances, and after several tests, I decided to buy it. Although incense should define it, I struggle to identify it. It transports me to Atlas cedar with its balsamic nuance and to a narcotic, animalic flower. It’s polarising: you either love it or hate it. I find it excellent, different, mysterious and magical. Although I don’t believe perfumes have a gender, it tends to be unisex with a feminine inclination. Its intensity, diffusion and longevity are notable, surpassing any other in my collection. It’s extremely distinctive and of undeniable quality.

One of the few that has caused me rejection; I can’t wear it. Upon spraying a little, I feel surrounded by an aggressive cloud threatening to get out of control. I don’t know what I’d do if someone entered its orbit, but it worries me. However, I try it again, surprised by its savagery, bravery and cruelty. As with extremes, I can’t stand it for long. If you want to smell of dirty aldehydes or an abandoned mechanic’s workshop with oil and tar, burnt notes, synthetic and gummy yet dry and sugar-free, this is for you. Soon it develops a smell of a subway gap, boiler room, machine oil, freshness, dryness and rough leather, cousin of the unpleasant Bogart One Man Show Oud Edition. In the end, a touch of burnt rubber and smoking tyres becomes dominant. To wear it, you need zero sensitivity and a weakness for the extravagant. It’s bold and unique, perfect for wandering alone without causing unease. PS: I’ve worn 4 sprays and the longevity is notable; a relative asked if something was burning through a cable. Fortunately, I bought a decant before jumping in blindly.

A scent that takes me back to the past; I like leather… but there’s something I can’t handle. I feel that wearing a current scent with old-school nuances is dangerous; perhaps it’s the aldehydes with that mineral touch, the iris with the incense… this fragrance is a dilemma I don’t want to decipher.

What a bomb. There are perfumes that are dizzying and thunderous to give and receive, but whether they seem better or worse made is another matter. This Rien is a punch to the table, and the best part is that it is very well made. The house Etat Libre d’Orange usually falls foul of criticism, whether it is plastic finish or school experiments… I will not be the one to defend them at all costs; I have tried terrible perfumes from the brand, others sloppy and boring, some unbearable, but this one delivers, I found it fascinating. Rien is an eminently vintage fragrance. If you like sweet or chocolatey tonka notes, you will find nothing here, because it positions itself from the start as a dirty and rough perfume. The dirt of Rien is the same as that expelled by a fresh horse dung pile. Anyone who has had donkeys or equines knows what I am talking about; animal excrement is usually disgusting and without nuance, but that of horses, which feed on hay and grass, has something dry, herbaceous, and dusty. I was raised with animals and remember picking it up with my hands when a neighbour came to ask for manure, because unlike the soupy faeces of other mammals, equine excrement practically does not stain. Furthermore, it dries quickly and you can see the strands of forage. The ultra-animal tone of Rien goes by the stables and stalls, relating to the leather of great mid-century French classics, a leather with memories of the stable and kilos of isobutyl quinoline. With this it is clear that Rien is not for everyone; it is severe, animal, and of a primitive Catholic mysticism, without sweetness. When it hits, it delivers a bomb to the senses that knocks you back. When I tested it blind, I felt a gummy accord, of a dizzying oily rawness that made me think it contained Laotian oud or aldehydes. As it evolves, it remains bombastic but settles like a perfume, not like an insult; there I caught a waxy and smoky scale, thinking of birch. No, it is leather, which is not surprising as it shares nuances with birch wood. At the same time, a sub-current of sharp, dirty freshness gave me insolent goosebumps, caraway or cumin. I am pleased to confirm that I recognised the aldehydes, cumin, and leather, which I had confused with birch. At first, Rien develops along that inhospitable path: an abandoned leather sofa in a loft, a saddle with more years than Methuselah, or the dilapidated bed of some horses. All wrapped in dry and smoky accords, an earthy symphony. If we were to speak of God, this is not the one who rocks you to sleep, but an avenging one who sends you to Hell. But beware, Heaven is not better; there you would only pray. The grace comes when the body with airs of the Inquisition loses steam and starts singing the incense: a sacramental incense, ecstatic, with Marian apparitions, herbaceous, smoky, and grave. How beautiful when it joins with the leather roll and isobutyl quinoline to the Greta Garbo, turning something impossible to wear into a spiritual, evocative, and difficult beauty, but ultimately a perfume. If Rien has any slight resinous aftertaste, it is two tips of broom or storax so you do not feel like you are wearing a hairshirt; the key is the mix of leather and incense, smoky, waxy, and imposing like a cathedral. In the dry down, the rose battles with the leather, creating a wax for colouring of a sour, pasty, divine sweetness. I recommend it with eyes closed. If you like this family, it will be to your liking, and if it does not make you laugh but you know how to appreciate a well-made perfume, you will spend an entertaining time watching Archangel Michael give sword blows to the devil. I loved it and find it difficult but with possibilities. PS: Longevity and sillage are excellent. PS II: Ideal wearers: Philip II, Hernán Cortés, Teresa of Ávila, any historical character from that dark and severe Spain, or Joan of Arc. PS III: Mix the old Cuir by Lancome with Bandit by Piguet, add Cabochard and lots of Casbah by Piguet. Rien would be a more fearsome relative than all of these; the incense is more incense, the leather is more leather. PS IV: Mode ‘peacekeeper’ on: I would love for them to stop comparing any leather perfume with Knize Ten. The leather of Knize is talcated and spiced with cloves, geraniums, and vanilla; it has nothing to do with isobutyl quinoline leathers that smell like a stable.

Habitually, I assumed that Etat Libre d’Orange fragrances were mostly subtle and delicate, never stopping to consider that there might be something different in their range. This was the one recommended by the very attentive owner of the niche perfume shop in Barcelona where I went last week for a treat. I told him what I wanted: something powerful, masculine, and retro. He let me try several and saved Rien for last. An ironic name, by the way, since Rien (‘Nothing’ in French) is actually many things. Essentially, it’s a leather chypre that could have been born in the early eighties. I’m surprised, in fact, to have read so few references to it on specialised pages dedicated to powerhouses and fragrances of this style. It plays in the same league as legends like Kouros, Van Cleef & Arpels pour Homme, or Channel’s Antaeus. So, I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone not immersed in this scene, as they won’t understand or appreciate it. The opening is quite brutal, the punch that all these creations usually propose: an aromatic orgy of leather, patchouli, and animalic nuances, but after five minutes the beast calms down. Around the leather, the patchouli shines, extremely earthy, in the style of the original YSL Gentleman, with a sweet and balsamic decay. Above all, the aldehydes, which although dirty at first, gradually evolve into a soapy and spicy tone, as happens with another masterpiece like Versace pour Homme. The skin is then enveloped by that bar soap cream, precious woods, and herbal notes, among which labdanum stands out, which always reminds me of the smell of a stalk. This part lasts almost forever; Rien doesn’t leave the skin all day, and even the next morning you can smell it close to the skin. It’s not a clunky or invasive perfume, but rather wraps like an aura, with an acceptable trail. And what strikes me, for example, is that it’s not unusual for two different people to pass by me on the same day and tell me I smell like a man. Yes, Rien is refined but also extremely masculine and eighties. Rien has everything I love, just like Kouros and Antaeus. It makes me feel great because I love smelling like this all day, from the very morning, without needing to reapply. I recommend it openly – almost urgently – because since the disappearance of Van Cleef & Arpels Pour Homme, I don’t see many other possibilities today to approach a modern perfume with these characteristics without diving into the vintage market.

Rien is the first sample from the Etat Libre d’Orange set that truly surprised me. It’s nothing new; it strongly reminds me of the balsamic and sweetest part of YSL’s Kouros, minus most of the animalic notes, and it bears a striking resemblance to Roja Dove’s Diaghilev. Still, it remains an unusual and daring scent, especially these days. The notes with the most presence are the leather, with its intense and slightly animalic character; the aldehydes, which give it a soapy, spicy edge; and the incense, which provides strength and that balsamic tone. I also detect the resinous woody base and the spice blend, while the rose helps to dust the fragrance slightly. It is certainly a difficult, different scent, not for everyone; but at least the wearer escapes smelling like the 80% of people around them. If I’m not mistaken, it’s the 6th perfume I’ve tried from the set of 20, and I must say it’s the first with good performance. Excellent longevity, lasting up to 10 hours on skin, although the dry-down becomes quite incense-heavy, with good projection in the first few hours. I see it as perhaps a more nocturnal scent due to its intensity and unisex nature, though I believe it will generally appeal more to men due to the intensity of the aroma. Scent: 9 Longevity: 8 Projection: 8 Value for money: 7 Versatility: 6 Originality: 9 Overall: 9

I already knew from the notes that it wasn’t for me, and indeed, although I expected greater displeasure. Since I didn’t notice it excessively, it didn’t bother me much; besides, it had something sweet. I expected it to be denser and more potent, but it’s relaxing. Eight hours later, practically non-existent. I received a compliment shortly after applying it, so the distant sillage isn’t so bad; they said it smelled powdery. To me, it seemed patchouli, leather, incense, and aldehydes all at once, phew, but for what I expected, it’s not too bad.

From the start, leather, incense, and aldehydes stand out. The opening is strong, bitter, and unpleasant. I don’t notice much evolution; it’s quite linear; perhaps it becomes slightly softer and more wearable, but it remains a very strong scent. I don’t see it on women due to its crudeness and bitterness, nor on men because the smell simply doesn’t please me. I struggle to imagine anyone smelling like this while trying to smell good. It has good longevity and acceptable projection. I recommend it only to those who like strong and strange scents to experiment, but if someone wants to simply smell good, my answer is no.

What a beast; it smells of leather, musk, myrrh, and incense. It is a blend of floral leather and incensed notes with nuclear potency. Be careful not to over-spray.

Another abomination from the most cheesy house in perfumery. It filled me with hatred the moment I brought my nose to the sample; it smells like a furniture cleaner made with liniment for bruises and bleach. Unfortunately, I dropped a few drops on the floor and had to endure that stench for several days (no joke). It is nothing pleasant, elegant, or entertaining. The Nébula 1 by Oliver & CO is peculiar and half the people will not like it, but it does not offend and is olfactorily fun; this one is simply bad. Longevity: unfortunately, very high. Sillage: enough to annoy your loved ones. PS: Please forgive the lovers of this house, I could not take it anymore >:(