My List of Favourite Hyacinth-Focused Fragrances: Part I

Writing lists should ideally be about organisation and structure, but I find the process to be rather messy. Lists are more about exclusion than inclusion—they reflect what is left out, overlooked, or forgotten, making them as much about what’s not on the list as what is. However, listing can become enjoyable when the logic behind it is suddenly undermined or disrupted, when thematic unity breaks down, and subjectivity overtakes objectivity. Lists, after all, are a reflection of the way we think and perceive the world.

Take, for instance, the examples Michel Foucault gives in The Order of Things. He cites a list from a Chinese encyclopaedia, attributed to Borges, which categorises animals in seemingly bizarre ways, such as:

• belonging to the emperor,

• embalmed,

• tame,

• fabulous,

• stray dogs,

• those that frolic like madmen,

• and others.

To many, especially those unfamiliar with the world of fragrance, a list of hyacinth-based perfumes might appear similarly subjective and arbitrary. It would make sense only if you could smell ten hyacinth fragrances in succession, just to glimpse what I mean when I attribute a scent to hyacinth. To pinpoint that unique green-purple-yellow radiance that hyacinth kinetically exudes requires a certain level of obsession—and such a list may seem nonsensical to the uninitiated.

Before I proceed, I’ll make a couple of observations. First, hyacinth-based fragrances appear to be a dying breed. Of the ten fragrances I’ll write about, five have either been reformulated beyond recognition or discontinued altogether. But we can't be too picky—what kind of perfume history could we discuss if we only focused on what’s currently available? The ghosts of past perfumes deserve a place on any list, taking their rightful place among the living. Second, my list includes only those fragrances where I can clearly detect a hyacinth core. While hyacinth may appear in other green or floral fragrances, if it doesn’t shine through in full volume, I’ve left it off the list. Lastly, I’ve excluded fragrances that focus primarily on lilacs, even if they list hyacinth. In my experience, the hyacinth note in such fragrances does not lead, and these fragrances stand apart thematically.

Number One: Bas De Soie by Serge Lutens

Perhaps my favorite hyacinth fragrance, and one I would call a "textbook hyacinth" if such a thing existed, is Bas De Soie by Serge Lutens. Unfortunately, it has seen better days, and I wouldn’t recommend purchasing the current version. Bas De Soie is cold and austere, which suits the character of both iris and hyacinth. The hyacinth in this fragrance feels incredibly realistic—it truly captures the essence of the flower. It’s minimalist in its composition, like a tight green dress, yet bright and transparent. Many reviewers comment on the transition between galbanum and hyacinth in this fragrance, but I believe the hyacinth accord is built around the galbanum, creating a seamless, realistic image—a perfect snapshot of hyacinth in perfumery.

Number Two: Personne by Iconfly

The two main reasons Personne makes the list are that it contains hyacinth absolute and that it’s available for purchase—something that cannot be said about many green fragrances. Where Bas De Soie is thematically unified, Personne plays as many tunes as possible, almost like an orchestra, with its abundance of dense natural extracts. I believe there’s a moment of pure hyacinthian joy within the composition, but you have to wait for it. My experience with this fragrance varies depending on the air temperature and whether I apply it to skin or paper.

Personne almost always opens too strongly with immortelle for my taste, but after about 20 minutes, it reveals a green, fleshy sweetness—honeyed and almost too strange to put into words. I find complexity addictive, mainly because my mind forgets it quickly, and I want to replay the whole experience to pinpoint its nuances. But if I understand a fragrance too quickly, it rarely turns into love. The beauty—and danger—of is that it’s not your typical transparent green fragrance. There’s a lot going on, maybe even too much. A lingering, green, almost balsamic sweetness runs throughout the composition. Perhaps this peculiar sweetness comes from liatrix, poplar buds, or even the distinct “jam and burned bread” smell of immortelle. The balsamic green note of davana may also play a role, but the point is that while you will capture the hyacinth, it invariably feels distorted, mingling with other notes in an unpredictable way.

Numbers Three and Four: Eau de Private Collection, Estee Lauder & Synthetic Jungle by Frederic Malle

It’s important to note that Eau de Private Collection is still available (not as part of the Estee Lauder Legacy Collection, but on its own), and it still holds its ground. I would even recommend buying it on eBay for around £30-40, as the joy of its beauty will surely captivate you. When I wrote my review on it, I found myself focusing on its top notes, which reminded me of something subtle yet distinct from citruses. It hit me later— it was linden blossoms amidst the greenness and citruses, fleeting but delightful.

I wore it alongside Synthetic Jungle by Frederic Malle, and the connection between the two was unmistakable. However, Private Collection is fluffier, more yellow, and leans on rose and ylang-ylang for floral warmth and sweetness. In other words, it bridges the green and yellow floral compositions containing hyacinths very well. On the other hand, Synthetic Jungle plays it cooler, with a cold, glossy finish—neon green and pearl white, with an emphasis on the lily of the valley. My nose is saturated with its greenness, but it’s the sweetness of hyacinth that gives it a three-dimensional effect. Without hyacinth, it would be too sharp, too brutal. At some point, the two fragrances settle and smell very similar, which is surprising.

Number Five: Chamade by Guerlain

Chamade has become one of my favourite Guerlain fragrances over the years, though it’s one you should not buy in stores. The current formulation is nothing but a shame. Where Private Collection emphasises greenness, Chamade tones it down. It has a touch of bitterness from oak moss and fleshy richness, but it doesn’t age well, so if you have an opened bottle, use it as much as possible. But even if the top notes are a bit damaged, wearing vintage is pure bliss.

The level of complexity that Chamade achieves while maintaining thematic unity is unprecedented. I think this is due to its refined floral accord that cuts through all that flesh —hyacinth mixed with lily of the valley—and the richness of the base that comes forth as warm and gloriously nuanced. The difference between something like Synthetic Jungle and Chamade is perceptual: Synthetic Jungle stays tied to a singular tune—it’s executed well but remains simple, like a whistle. Chamade, on the other hand, is all about volume and depth. Vintage Chamade, that is. If budget isn’t an issue, I highly recommend it.

It’s late as I write this, and my five blotters accompanied me downstairs— so as not to disturb the sleeping house with their green vibrancy. Going back up I can retrace my steps since their greenness lingers. I’ll cover the remaining five tomorrow, but let me know your favourite ones that I’ve missed. After all, "belonging to the emperor" is my favourite category in any list, for it indicates that anything goes.