Ottoman Ambergris

While European history had arguably a lone frag-obsessed king in Louis XIV, go down the list of Ottoman sultans and you’ll discover each one’s personal passion for, as well as their propagation of a fine-fragrance culture at large.

From Sultan Suleiman’s love of sandalwood to Sultan Selim’s soft spot for amber and sweet aromas to Sultan Mehmet’s preference for violet, fine perfume was a ritual necessity among Ottoman royalty that also trickled through everyday life.

Did you know about the mother of the Empire, Hurrem’s Sultan’s passion for jasmine, roses, lime, and clove? (If only she could smell those aromatics lacquered over Tonkin musk-infused vetiver…) Or that, like Sultan Qaboos, Sultan Abdul Hamid donned a melange of oud and rose on Fridays? What about Sultan Abdul Hamid II’s fondness for mimosa?

Not only was it written down and preserved but visit Topkapi Palace and you can actually see the recipe for the Ottoman incense water (a.k.a. buhur suyu) that was as integral to Ottoman ceremonies as frankincense was in churches.

Abdul Hamid II personally backed Ahmet Faruki’s cosmetics shop, which became the bedrock of the fragrance industry throughout the empire. He then later encouraged Faruki to focus on creating colognes designed around Turkish culture.

Oud, musk, and amber, were adorned not just by sultans and viziers, but by folks at home where oud chips were burned and coffee was laced with amber. Before some new mosques opened, they were washed with rosewater.

Perfume was as much part of the fabric of Turkish culture as its coffee is today. Whenever you hear talk of ‘ghalias’ remember that many of these throughout history were ghalias that were made for Ottoman sultans…

The lasting perfume culture established by the Ottomans was inspired by the prophet Muhammad’s (peace and blessings be upon him) love for fine fragrance and the religion’s emphasis on cleanliness. Inheriting this tradition from the prophet and his companions, scents and perfumes were much more than a mere mundane aspect of life.

The reason this Ottoman legacy moves me so much is because my own roots trace back to it. My great-grandfather was sent by the Sultan on a diplomatic mission in service of the caliphate – I still have the original ferman (royal edict) issued by the Sultan. I’m a patron of Turkish art. I’ve lived in Turkey, and speak the language. Part of me will always be Ottoman. 

As a perfumer, it’s one thing to admire and embrace a tradition, and quite another to try and build on it. 

Ottoman Ambergris is a tribute to this mighty legacy, but I hope also, in my own little way, a continuation of it. Picking up where the royal perfumers of old and their ghalias left off, Ottoman Ambergris is bipolar in that it at once takes you back to the heart of the empire: Abdul Hamid’s mimosa, rose and vanilla, oud and amber… with an EO makeover to give you a glimpse of yesteryear but also project yesteryear into the future – no Sultan, no matter how powerful and wealthy, ever had access to Sumatran and Marokean oud. No vizier ever heard of Borneo oud. And oh that they could have composed with the lily’s narcotic blue!

If you’ve walked through Istanbul, you’d know that Ottoman art and decoration is ornate, sometimes mind-bogglingly intricate, a labyrinth of interwoven tapestries, patterns, and metaphysical meaning. This perfume follows suit. It’s not a simple composition, not a smell-it-once-and-you-know-what-it’s-about kind of fragrance. 

I wanted that Ottoman opulence to ooze out of every spritz. The richness of classic royal melanges, dense with oud and exquisite flowers squeezing through the sprayer before a cloud of ambergris then lets it pop like fireworks. 

This approach entailed downtoning your typical top-note experience. Most mainstream perfumes are almost entirely about light, fleeting ‘friendly’ top notes. Not here… 

Dense jasmine, thick cassie and sticky hyacinth set the tone before a diffusive rosey patina wastes no time inviting the oud and oud and oud onto the stage. All awash in a pool of ambergris. 

I wanted to use oud that would most accurately represent the oud that would have gone into the Ottoman sultans’ ghalias. While, to my knowledge, it’s not specified anywhere, my guess would be that, given the period in history we’re talking about, it would have been Indian oud. 

But that doesn’t just mean any Indian oud. Aside from choosing a quality agallocha distillation, it also meant using the oldest Hindi in the EO archives, which in the case of Assam Sultan dates back decades! 

While Assam Sultan may lend familiarity to ancient ghalias, in this brew it serves as the canvas to an old-world-meets-new olfactory portrait. 

NOTES:
Assam Sultan (Vintage Oud)
Vintage Myitkyina Oud
Borneo Agarwood Resin
Sumatran Oud
Maroke Oud
Vanilla
Castoreum
Jasmine Juhi
Blue Lotus
Hyacinth
Mimosa
Cassie
Rose
Oakwood
Oakmoss
Black Tea
Peru Balsam
Ambergris SQ
Vetiver (Infused w. Tonkin Musk)

Ottoman Ambergris takes you back in time, but to a timeline that never was. One where Sultan Suleiman’s love for the smooth golden tone of sandalwood got infused with the vanillic creaminess of Borneo agarwood; where Sultan Selim’s favorite wafts of sweet amber were filtered through cassie and hyacinth; where Sultan Mehmet’s violets dance with juhi and oud-infused rose, and the last Sultan’s beloved mimosa’s soulful white gush over the wholesome narcotique of blue lotus. All drunk and drowning in fine, fine ambergris.

*There seems to have been, perhaps still is, some confusion about how Ottoman Ambergris relates to Jamaican Ambergris. Some think they are similar perfumes, or even the same one with slight variations. 

To be clear, they are entirely different perfumes. Different compositions using unique aromatics. Yes, there’s the ambergris facet, but the point of the two perfumes, Ottoman and Jamaican, is exactly to showcase how much you can do with that thread. They are as different to each other as Tibetan Musk is to Mongolian Musk.

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