Roos & Roos – Les Simples

Chantal Roos and her daughter Alexandra Roos founded Roos & Roos in 2014. Known initially as Dear Rose, they changed their name to Roos & Roos in 2018. I’ve always been interested in the brand, as Chantal Roos has a reputation that precedes her. An icon in the perfume world, her involvement with brands like Yves Saint Laurent led to the launch of classics like Kouros and Opium. 

Years ago, it must have been around 2017; I sampled many of the fragrances from Roos & Roos. They had 10 or so fragrances by this point. Their striking 2016 release, Mentha Religiosa, from these early releases, bowled me over. It was like nothing I had smelled before. As the name might imply, it’s a minty incense. It was quirky and weird, very icy and cold, with a powdery/anisic facet of heliotrope, licorice, and iris for contrast. Indeed odd, like you’d walked into a church after taking a tumble in a herb garden. It wasn’t something I would wear, but it kept me coming back to the brand over the years. But nothing since that point has quite lived up to the promise of some of their earlier releases.  

However, in all my sampling, I’ve somehow missed a line that may hold some hope for a return to the old form. Roos & Roos introduced this new line in 2022, calling it “Les Simples.” A cursory glance at the marketing materials and notes suggested that it might be something I’d enjoy, so I ordered some samples. Four entries make up the collection, each perfume honouring medieval monastic gardens, focusing on a specific medicinal herb/s. These gardens were also known as Gardens of the Simples, hence the line’s name. The perfumes for synopsis are Globulus (eucalyptus), Angelica Florae (angelica), Bel Absinthe (absinthe), and Malamata (nettle). On the surface, these four fragrances seemed similar to Mentha Religiosa.

Globulus and Angelica Florae don’t particularly smell like their inspirations. Firstly, there isn’t much eucalyptus apparent in Globulus (Nicolas Bonneville); therefore, it doesn’t have a medicinal or camphoraceous smell. That may be a good thing for some, but not for me. Instead, it revealed minty green marine notes on my skin. Sadly, the accord smelled like something straight from the mid-90s. The brand used Cascalone, a more subdued version of Calone, to achieve the aquatic effect in Globulus, but it’s not to my taste—an unexpected and most unwelcome flashback.

Angelica Florae (Nicolas Bonneville), baffled me. I’d put it as my least favourite, and that’s saying something, with Globulus for comparison. Again, like Globulus, nothing about Angelica Florae placed me in a herb garden. Unfortunately, it transported me to the women’s perfume section of the department store, where aromas of cheap shampoo musks and sugared floral notes waft heinously in the air. Maybe not quite La Vie Est Belle meets Scandal levels of dreadfulness, but not too far off. Iris and jasmine make up the floral component, but neither smells faceted, and both come dripping in syrup. If it were a colour, Angelica Florae would be pink.

Bel Absinthe (Fabrice Pellegrin) rights the ship to some degree! Something about the opening (wormwood and chamomile) reminds me of the aniseed smell I notice from the Thai basil in my backyard. This distinct licorice aroma lasts an hour and remains my preferred part of the fragrance. After the hour mark, things unravel a little. Creamy sandalwood acts as the bridge to the base, where the synthetic musky notes linger long into the day. Perhaps too long for some, and certainly for me. Bel Absinthe starts to feel artificial, becoming a bit too stereotypical of men’s aftershaves. It gets a pass mark, but for something similar, the basil cologne from Hermès, from a couple of years ago, might be a better choice. And for absinthe and licorice enthusiasts, opt for Lolita Lempicka Au Masculin.

I saved the best for last. Ropion’s Malamata won an award. Generally, I don’t put a lot of credence in these fragrance awards, but this one is an exception. Malamata evolves compellingly, unveiling some interesting layers. It’s the most complex of the Les Simples. It opens green and herbal with notes of galbanum, hay, wormwood, and mint (in that order of influence), evoking the scent of freshly cut grass. I sense tobacco from this opening combination of notes – dry and unsweetened, presumably from the hay. But gradually, Malamata becomes watery, in a good way, shaped by muguet and violet leaves, suggesting crisp spring mornings, with the grass now wet with morning dew. A pale, watery rose adds to its diaphanous nature. 

Patchouli’s introduction in the base gives the earthy impression of upturned soil. Its contrasting presence here keeps Malamata from becoming too clean and sterile. So, we end up with an oscillating scent experience that shifts from light to dark, from clean to dirty, before musks and pine notes bring us back into the light towards the end. It all revolves around a green core, which brings to mind Synthetic Jungle/Nature by Fredric Malle—high praise from me, as I adore that fragrance. L’Artisan’s Iris de Gris came to mind too. There’s something of the stalk and stem snap of the pea note from that fragrance in Malamata.

Oddly, Ropion can produce fragrances like Malamata and then give us something like La Vie Est Belle. I know he didn’t have carte blanche with Lancome, but still, it’s curious. Ropion giveth and Ropion taketh away. I’m just happy the Roos Roos/Ropion collaboration worked in Malamata. Nothing quite as memorable as Opium or Kouros presents itself in Les Simples, but that was never the point. So, in summary, enter the Angelica Florae and Globulus gardens at your own risk. Spend an hour or so in Bel Absinthe. But pull up a bench and enjoy as the day’s twists and turns transpire in Malamata.

Note: All images are my own except for the first one (https://roosandroos.fr/en).