Là-Bas, from Régime des Fleurs was released in 2021. The perfumer behind this creation is Dominique Ropion. The notes are Castoreum, Leather, Oakmoss, Patchouli, Rose.
Là-Bas by Régime des Fleurs — Notes, Reviews & Ratings (2021)
Inspired by the Huysmans novel, and meant to transport the wearer to “Saint Sulpice church in Paris's 6th Arrondissement uprooted and transported to NYC's upper east side, ” I think I can...eventually... smell all of these inspirations in Là-Bas. However, this scent opens on a bit of an iffy note for me and it’s initially not what I expected: it’s a fruity rose that thinks pretty highly of itself and makes me think of Rita Skeeter’s platinum curls, bejeweled spectacles, and crimson nails. I don't love it at this stage. But in the blink of an eye, it becomes this profane, unholy fog of oakmoss, birch tar, musky leather, and smoky vanilla black mass of a thing, and it truly does conjure visions of disillusioned writers, gothic horror, and mystical murders. Imagine if Rita Skeeter unzipped her human suit and out stepped a glamorous, chain-smoking demon tabloid reporter who writes decadent, scandalous musings about all the astrologists, alchemists, fortune-tellers, mediums, faith healers, exorcisers, necromancers, wizards, and satanists of the time. Gossip is the devil’s telephone and all that, and if this fiendish, fascinating fragrance is ringing, I am gonna take that call every time.
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2 years ago
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Inspired by the Huysmans novel, and meant to transport the wearer to “Saint Sulpice church in Paris's 6th Arrondissement uprooted and transported to NYC's upper east side, ” I think I can...eventually... smell all of these inspirations in Là-Bas. However, this scent opens on a bit of an iffy note for me and it’s initially not what I expected: it’s a fruity rose that thinks pretty highly of itself and makes me think of Rita Skeeter’s platinum curls, bejeweled spectacles, and crimson nails. I don't love it at this stage. But in the blink of an eye, it becomes this profane, unholy fog of oakmoss, birch tar, musky leather, and smoky vanilla black mass of a thing, and it truly does conjure visions of disillusioned writers, gothic horror, and mystical murders. Imagine if Rita Skeeter unzipped her human suit and out stepped a glamorous, chain-smoking demon tabloid reporter who writes decadent, scandalous musings about all the astrologists, alchemists, fortune-tellers, mediums, faith healers, exorcisers, necromancers, wizards, and satanists of the time. Gossip is the devil’s telephone and all that, and if this fiendish, fascinating fragrance is ringing, I am gonna take that call every time.