Papillon Perfumes Anubis (2014)
The space is cozy, attracting a diverse clientele. The flow of regular customers into the café is sporadic, but each seems to encounter something slightly askew on this visit. The consistent stream of flavored tea drinks from counter to consumer gives the room a familiar aroma, though some other essence has usurped the atmosphere on this day.
A sophisticated and spirited young woman sits at the corner of the bar. Her talents are many, her roles varied. World traveler. Linguist. Practitioner of Archaeology. High priestess of wine. She isn’t remotely brash, but confident in her choices and conduct. Today, though, the side-eyed glances and hushed conversations suggest she may have been too daring in her choice of perfume. A reference book keeps her company but she now feels slightly uncomfortable in an otherwise familiar setting.
Imagination is a strange thing. It can open a mind to alternate points of view and give rise to unique thoughts and visions. On the other hand, it can also lead to misconceptions and misconstructions. What lies in the imaginations of the customers who now observe the guest in the corner? She’s an enigma, albeit one that has captured the attention of many.
Perfumes are often passionately described as having drug-like properties. Such is the case with Anubis. It disorients and disarms. Aspects of the fragrance have almost universal appeal, whereas other features seem alien and awry. English perfumer Liz Moores, who has previously conveyed an interest in Egyptian mythology, purportedly developed the perfume for her own use. It ultimately became the first release for her Papillion Artisan Perfumes, and truly seems a glimpse into the personal headspace of a fragrance enthusiast. It feels a million miles removed from the fragrance counter at a department store. It’s also fitting that Anubis was the Egyptian god of the underworld, and a guide for lost souls. Anubis feels something like a trip to that underworld – at turns strange, frightening, and yet tempting.
Upon release from the atomizer, Anubis gives the suggestion that sweet jasmine has been obliterated under the weight of a European roadster. One gets the impression of racing tires on a warm summer afternoon. I suspect this modern illusion results from the intersection of the floral top note with frankincense and myrrh, both of which are prominent here. There is a dusting of saffron as well, and the perfume has a dense concentration akin to something like molasses or maple syrup. Tire rubber aside, it feels ancient and eternal. One can certainly conjure the image of Egyptian embalmers preparing the remains of a young pharaoh for his final voyage. They are reverent, recognizing that they may yet again cross paths with their fallen king in another realm.
Recall that Anubis was depicted as having a human body, but the head of a jackal. Appropriately, Anubis has an animalic thread throughout its evolution. The initial waft of heady jasmine slowly melts into notes which are far darker and more mysterious. There is the strong suggestion of aged leather, and perhaps even some castoreum in the mix. It is undeniably smoky, and yet the perfume retains the therapeutic sweetness of a homeopathic potion. It likewise resembles the cowhide jacket of an adventurer, broken and scarred by years of wear. A hint of sweat and perhaps even blood. A catalogue of conquests and the nostalgia of past pursuits.
It should be noted that Anubis is an intense perfume. It has substantial longevity on skin and is by turns dusty, sultry, and venomous. It could be a potent weapon, or a cloak of sanctuary depending on the proclivities of the wearer. And since it is both challenging and creative, it is a striking example of niche perfumery. As the guest in the corner can attest, Anubis has the power to permeate body and soul.
“And her eyes...Richard realised that he could not tell what colour her eyes were. They were not blue, or green, or brown, or grey; they reminded him of fire opals: there were burning greens and blues, and even reds and yellows that vanished and glinted as she moved.”
– Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere
