Parfums de Marly Althaïr review: addictive spice or hyped horse manure? Plus best dupes!

Althaïr review: what does it smell like?

A Althaïr was introduced as a vanilla fragrance from the get-go. And yes, no big surprises – it really features this ingredient. But don’t be fooled—this is not your run-of-the-mill vanilla scent. So, what makes it stand out?

Althaïr is a rich blend that incorporates a variety of spices and synthetic elements. The result? A unique balance of warmth and freshness. Imagine a cozy, enveloping sensation offset by a burst of luminosity. Intriguingly, it’s a gourmand scent that doesn’t make you think of food. It also exudes a subtle masculinity that’s inviting enough for all genders to wear.

Perfumers Hamid Merati-Kashani and Ilias Ermenidis, under the guidance of Marly’s creative director Julien Sprecher, aimed to craft a universally appealing fragrance. They’ve gathered many contrasting elements into what can only be described as olfactory harmony.

In a video clip on Marly’s website, Mr. Merati-Kashani often uses the term “addiction.” It’s perfumers’ speak for a gourmand hook that instantly grabs your attention. With Althair, this addictive quality isn’t just a hook—it’s the main body of the perfume. Or, to put it differently, the addictive hook makes up 90% of the composition. If you are not paying attention, you might not even notice the other 10%.

PDM’s Althair opens with the inviting aroma of cinnamon, a scent many positively associate with Christmas cookie delights. This is complemented by fresh citrus notes of neroli (orange blossom) and bergamot. Vanilla is present but takes a backseat, allowing cinnamon to shine.

The vanilla used here is described by the brand as “surprisingly fresh and subtle,” and it’s easy to agree. Synthetic musks add an airy, luminous, slightly metallic touch, setting this vanilla apart from more straightforward gourmand fragrances.

This perfume revolves around a gourmand accord of cinnamon and vanilla, but is actually about luminosity and freshness. I even detect a subdued soapy barbershop-vibe that can be found in most of Parfums de Marly bestsellers from the male line.

As Althair settles on skin, it becomes warmer, but never fully crosses the line into “by the fireplace” type of autumn coziness. The woody and resinous notes listed in the pyramid don’t play any significant role and act purely as supporting characters. They don’t get any stronger in the drydown either.

Althaïr is a linear fragrance. It doesn’t change much after the first minutes. Instead, it simply fades over time. What you are left with after several hours (4-5) is a soft fresh powdery vanilla veil on your skin.

About longevity and projection. The projection is incredible for the first 4–5 hours, gradually settling into a more subdued skin scent until you wash it off with a shower. But be warned: its linear nature means the scent doesn’t evolve much over time, which could become monotonous.

To sum up the scent review: Althair is a beautiful linear perfume combining the cozy gourmand mood of cinnamon and vanilla, luminous freshness of neroli and musks and slightly powdery and soapy barbershop vibes, making it versatile enough for anyone to wear.

Now that we’ve covered the scent itself, let’s move to everything else surrounding Parfums de Marly Althair – the context.

Althair context: the brand Parfums de Marly

Imagine you’ve been living on the Moon for the past decade, and you stumble upon Parfums de Marly’s store or online presence for the first time. You’d likely think you’re encountering a venerable, luxurious brand with roots dating back to 1743, possibly founded by Louis XV or at least his stable masters. Impressive, right?

However, appearances can be deceiving. Despite its polished and confident exterior, Parfums de Marly is a contemporary creation with no historical lineage. The prominently displayed year “1743” and what seems to be an ancient coat of arms are merely hints at the year when the French king commissioned two horse statues for his palace, Marly.

Creating a brand inspired by historical events, no matter how minor, is not inherently problematic. The issue arises when a brand not only alludes to history, but deliberately misleads consumers into thinking it has a storied past. Sorry, Parfums de Marly, but the faux coat of arms and the year etched into the bottle are nothing but attempts to appear more grandiose than the brand actually is. This feels unnecessary, especially when the quality of the perfumes can stand on its own merit.

Let’s give credit where it’s due. The founder(s) of Parfums de Marly have been successfully selling other brands’ perfumes in the Middle East long before launching their own line. They knew precisely what elements—scent profiles, visuals, and narratives—would resonate with their target demographic. And they went for it.

Parfums de Marly was designed with sales in mind. I don’t believe for a second artistic expression was the driving force behind the enterprise. The brand employs various tactics to appear luxurious and valuable, from heavy bottle caps and the pretentious logo to the heavy use of French words like “Maison” and “Savoir-Faire” on their English website. These strategies are an old marketing trick to make something appear elevated and expensive.

The strategy is targeted at a somewhat less discerning or young and inexperienced clientele that is susceptible to the lure of aspirational consumption, but not (yet) able to tell the difference between the real deal and a good copy. A lot of perfume brands are trying to do the same. Not many are as successful as Parfums de Marly.

The brand has skillfully leveraged social media and influencer partnerships to captivate a specific group of perfume enthusiasts. For the lack of a better name, let’s call them The Perfume Bros.

Online forums are rife with people self-identifying as male and in their 20s discussing the merits of various Parfums de Marly fragrances like Layton, Pegasus Exclusif, and Herod. A reader quickly gets a sense that owning a bottle (better several) with the horses logo is not so much about the scent it contains, but about the sense of belonging and the social capital it bestows. Deriving confidence from possession of something deemed worthy and desirable by your peer group. A way to show off a pricey item when asking others to rate your collection. In such places, comments about the actual smell rarely go beyond superficial. What matters is power – projection, longevity, ability to attract compliments and attention. As ugly and misogynistic as it is, the term “pantydropper” is also frequently used.

While Parfums de Marly may not openly admit it, its primary target seems to be this “Bro” demographic. Of course, they also attract other groups, including the high-income, well-read connoisseurs they officially address. But the aspiring young males seeking to raise their street cred probably account for most of the sales. And that’s great – the more people smell good (and you do smell good when you wear PDM), the better for everyone.

The fragrances are undeniably good, some even exceptional. However, when you purchase a bottle, you’re not just buying the scent; you’re also buying into the brand’s identity and values. And for some, like myself, the disconnect between Parfums de Marly’s public image and its actual business practices makes the brand less appealing, regardless of the quality of their perfumes.

Althair context: the perfume name

Parfums de Marly was originally established to honor the horse statues at Château de Marly, and for a considerable time, its masculine fragrances bore the names of Louis XV’s stallions. While some might question the appeal of a scent inspired by equine figures, there’s no denying that the names had a ring to them. However, even a king’s stable has its limits. As the roster of stallions ran out, Parfums de Marly looked up into the night sky for naming inspiration.

Altair is a star in the constellation of Aquila (Eagle) and the twelfth-brightest star in the night sky, according to Wikipedia. It’s bigger than our sun and 11 times brighter. It’s been called Altair since the Middle Ages, but the name has roots in the Arabic phrase “Al Nesr Al Tair” that translates as “the flying eagle”. The Arabic name goes back even further to the ancient Babylonians and Sumerians, who called Altair “the eagle star”.

A beautiful name for a perfume, I think. The reason PDM has chosen to add an extra “H” and turn Altair into Althaïr is likely a strategic move to avoid potential trademark conflicts, as the name “Altair” is already widely used across various industries, including airlines, engineering firms, films, music albums, computer games, as well as for book and television characters. By adding an extra letter, the brand smartly sidesteps any legal complications.

The celestial theme of Althaïr’s name also conjures up associations with the world of “Dune,” the iconic science fiction novel by Frank Herbert. In “Dune,” the coveted drug-spice melange is described as having a scent reminiscent of cinnamon and aldehydes. The promotional images of Althaïr, featuring the perfume bottle resting on a bed of cinnamon-colored powder, coupled with its star-inspired name, immediately bring to mind this fictional universe.

Althaïr’s scent profile—a blend of cinnamon and vanilla with a clean, slightly metallic luminosity—could very well be what the fictional melange would smell like. Further supporting this comparison is the perfume’s linear character and strong projection. While it may not possess the mind-altering properties of Dune’s melange, one can’t help but imagine that its potent aroma could have a similar, if less dramatic, impact as the nauseating scent of melange on the surface of the planet Arrakis.

Althaïr context: the bottle

While Althaïr’s bottle may look appealing in color-corrected and polished brand photos, the reality is less flattering. The actual hue of the bottle resembles, unfortunately, the color of baby poo.

The choice of this particular light brownish-orange shade is puzzling. If the intention was to evoke vanilla (though the color leans more towards cinnamon), a different Pantone shade or a shimmering finish could have done a better job. In its current matte form, the bottle’s resemblance to unappetizing substances is hard to ignore. The embossed coat of arms in particular looks rather unsightly. Once you’ve made the connection, you cannot unsee it.

Althaïr context: the dupes

Althaïr is a new release, so fresh that some stores haven’t even received their stock yet. Imagine the surprise when I discovered a dupe on the very first day of its launch. Typically, copies emerge after a popular fragrance hits the market, but in this case, a lesser-known local brand from Germany beat Parfums de Marly to it.

The copy in question is a perfume called “52” by the German brand Sûr De Soi, which translates to “Confident.” Founded by four friends—Avdo Spahic, Muhammed Kiprit, Daniel Hanslik, and Philipp Hercher—who share a love for perfume and football, the brand is an off-field collaboration among players of 1. FC Kaiserslautern, a renowned German football club.

52, named after the sum of their player numbers, was their debut scent and predates Althaïr. Remarkably, both fragrances share a similar cinnamon-vanilla profile, with only minor differences. While 52 starts off slightly more powdery, it eventually becomes nearly identical to Althaïr. And at €125 for a 50 ml bottle, it’s also more affordable.

Sure, the packaging of 52 is less elaborate and fancy, the glass of the bottle lighter and the cap is made from plastic, not metal. But if you are interested mainly in the scent (and possibly football), Sûr De Soi have created a viable alternative.

Another alternative to consider is Kilian’s Love Don’t Be Shy, which, although pricier at €245 for 50 ml, shares some olfactory similarities with Althaïr. It offers a more feminine, powdery, and floral take on the same scent profile and doesn’t possess the masculine barbershop undertone of PDM.

If you are in Berlin, you can try and buy all three at Delfi Perfumery.

Parfums de Marly Althair: conclusion

Althaïr by Parfums de Marly smells good. Its blend of cinnamon, vanilla, neroli, and modern musks could make it a hit, especially during colder months. It’s not too sweet and is not a real gourmand, although it leans heavily on the spice notes. It’s unisex with a nod to classic perfume masculinity. The name Althaïr is poetic, the poop-colored bottle less so. As for the brand’s positioning, that’s a topic open for debate for those willing to delve deeper.

After enjoying wearing Althaïr for several days, I’ve opted not to purchase a bottle. Its linearity, combined with its potent projection, makes it too overwhelming for extended wear. However, if you’re in search of a fragrance with exceptional performance, Althaïr could be just what you’re looking for.

So, have you tried Althaïr yet? Yay or nay?

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