Chloé Nomade

Chloé Nomade launched to much fanfare in 2018. Touted as a neo-chypre by all fashion magazines with an eye to fragrance and praised to no end by perfumistas, I had high hopes for this new pillar from Chloé, the chicest of French luxury prêt-à-porter maisons. How disappointed I was then when Nomade and I were finally acquainted.

Chloé has built itself a reputation for delivering gauzy, transparent it girl florals that seem to mimic the waifish style of their fashion. Though a departure from this transparent floral theme, Nomade carries the singular thread of all Chloé fragrances in that it is a rather simple composition. By that I mean that Nomade is fairly linear in its top, heart and base, each stage distinct of the others, and entirely tamed of any character that might warrant the mystique of its name – the musk here is musty white musk, not even remotely animalic, and the oakmoss so diluted it is hardly recognisable as oakmoss. This is not my issue with Nomade though. No, my issue is a Nomade’s handling of mirabelle plum.

Chloé lists only three notes for Nomade:

mirabelle plum, freesia, oakmoss

While these are certainly Nomade’s most pronounced notes, they are not all of them. I believe the actual notes list to be closer to this:

bergamot, orange, mirabelle plum, peach, freesia, rose, patchouli, ambroxan, white musk, oakmoss

Nomade opens with a short-lived flash of citrus, a brilliant bergamot and orange precursor to the mirabelle plum that soon follows. Mirabelle plum – a small, intensely sweet and perfumed plum rarely seen outside of France – soon overwhelms the opening, its syrupy-sweet fruitiness amplified by a lactonic peach fuzz hiding somewhere in the background. This is where Nomade proves problematic for me. The mirabelle is so loud, so concentrated, so sweet that it comes across vulgar, something in the style of Lush or Victoria’s Secret, certainly not Chloé, and not worthy either of the eternally elegant chypre style Nomade purports to be. Awhile in and the mirabelle does finally yield to the heart, but by this point I am entirely tired of Nomade.

The heart itself is a pretty enough, and very Chloé in feel.  Freesia reigns over this stage of Nomade’s evolution – bright, honeyed and rendered a little more interesting by the natural lemony character of pink heritage roses. Eventually, the oakmoss declares its presence in an attempt to make good on the promise that Nomade is indeed a chypre, and while the oakmoss does lend a mossy character to Nomade, I can’t help feeling it is so diluted that what I contemplate to be “mossy” is just a greenwash without any of oakmoss’s earthen, leathery bite. This is more the result of regulation around allergens (of which IFRA tells us oakmoss is a major culprit) than fault of the perfumer, Quentin Bisch, but still, Chanel managed a proper modern chyrpe in 31 Rue Cambon with no oakmoss whatsoever. With time, the white musk, musty and dusty with patchouli, comes to dominate the base, but by this point I have zero affinity with Nomade.

Unfortunately, Nomade’s best feature is its glorious bottle design. The scent itself is a sickly fruity floral not worthy of the chypre moniker it claims on account of that minutest quantity of oakmoss employed in the base. Yes, Nomade is a departure from Chloé’s typical style of perfumery, but it needn’t have bothered. Nomade is the olfactory equivalent of a #ChloéGirl stepping out in yesteryear’s dress on a bad hair day – it’s a change from her typically lithe style, but not one that should be regaled as a new stylistic direction.

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Year of Release: 2018

Perfumer: Quentin Bisch

Alternatives: Guerlain Mitsouko, Chanel 31 Rue Cambon

Available: MYER, David Jones and www.chloe.com from $99, 30ml.