To me, Voleur de Roses reads as neither traditionally feminine or masculine. It lasts from first thing in the morning to mid-afternoon, and quietly. Although I think of it as a big fragrance, soon after three liberal spritzes, Voleur de Roses shrinks to within six inches of my skin. Voleur de Roses is distinctive enough to smell bigger than its sillage.
I can imagine someone wearing Voleur de Roses in the boardroom to send a stealth message of “I am my own person, and I don’t mess around.” To me, Voleur de Roses isn’t overtly sexual, but it would be irresistible to someone tantalized by individuality and confidence. Voleur de Roses’s thin coolness would be a great substitute for an Eau de Cologne. If I were to choose Voleur de Roses not to reflect a day, but to complement it, I’d wear it on a summer afternoon at lunch on the patio of a nice restaurant. Chicken? (Even Bon Ami couldn’t get rid of the blood stains on the organ's keys, the ladies’ psychic society said.) It had to smell of Voleur de Roses. Or, for a less lofty comparison, remember the turret organ room in The Ghost and Mr. Wuthering Heights’ Heathcliff might have worn it. There is definitely something moody about the fragrance. I’ve heard it compared to graveyards, dirty roots, and haunted basements. More than any other perfume I know, Voleur de Roses seems to elicit gothic descriptions. Its rose would be more at home at a dive bar than a garden party. Rose-phobes who do all right with patchouli might like Voleur de Roses. The fragrance’s patchouli is one of its main features, so if you don’t like patchouli, steer clear. The wet has an almost metallic edge, like the ocean. Voleur de Roses smells like a Syrah-soaked rose washed over with wet patchouli, moldering wood, and cold plum. The L’Artisan Parfumeur website lists its notes simply as patchouli, rose, and plum. Michel Almairac created Voleur de Roses (French for “rose thief”) in 1993. But if I were going to choose a scent that feels like today in all its chilled autumn magnificence, it would be L’Artisan Parfumeur Voleur de Roses. On a rainy day like today with leaf rot in the streets, I might go for the complement and choose a warm, soft fragrance. I tend to do the same thing when I choose the day’s perfume. Or, I’ll choose a wine that blends with dinner - for example, a barely oaked Chardonnay with roast chicken. I’ll select a wine that complements dinner, but doesn’t match it - a spicy Gewürztraminer or honeyed Chenin Blanc for Thai food, for instance. When I choose a wine, I often take one of two approaches.
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