Santal Blanc – Van Cleef + Arpels

Van Cleef + Arpels

Release Date – 2019

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I went sniffing after Santal Blanc the moment I read of its “creamy woodiness.”

Cream is my fatal flaw in perfume, you see. Lactones, milky notes, anything remotely dairy-adjacent can shimmy its way into my basket. I really am that easy.  

According to Van Cleef’s own website, Santal Blanc “exalts the creamiest facets of sandalwood by combining them with milky fig and smooth musk.” That copywriter knew exactly what they were doing, and I resent how effective it was.

I am, by my own admission, a marketer’s dream. 

Needless to say, the excitement was enormous, and the anticipation even more so. I bought it. Not the bottle, obviously; I’m reckless, not insane. Just 1 millilitre.

And so began my watch for the red Royal Mail wagon, my old friend, my confidant, my bringer of treats.

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First Impressions

As soon as Santal was in my desperate clutches, I lifted all 1ml of it to my nose before even releasing a spray.

Hm. Something a touch ripe was coming through. Perhaps, I thought, the spray would usher in the promised milk and musk.

My first impression was, bizarrely, minty leather, if such a horror can exist. The fig came crashing in green and overblown, lush to the point of shrillness, all sap and sharp edges.

Meanwhile, that strange minty leather accord began to twist into something more like latex, touched by something synthetic and sterile.

As though matters were not already busy enough, the fig nectar and mandarin appeared to be locked in a petty little contest over which could be the sharper, producing a heady, chypre-ish opening.

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The Opening Hostilities

First impressions: not good. And definitely not creamy. Thank goodness, then, for the sandalwood and violet, which soon arrived and respectfully broke up the fig and orange.

With order restored, things had begun to settle down nicely, and I was finally beginning to pick up on that promised creamy feel.

Musk and tonka bean soon joined in, softening everything further and really driving home the cream element.

At last, we were in creamy wood territory.

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White Bark and Broken Shells

What I got from this fragrance, however, was not so much “beachy” as slightly stranded.

The sandalwood lends a beachy ease, but in combination with the fruits, it made me think of washing up on a strange, sun-bleached shore and living off coconut milk prised from cracked, hairy shells and doughy figs gathered from the smooth white bark of some ghostly coastal tree.

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The Dillbreaker

While the creamy aspect was there, I found it largely overwhelmed by the balsamic quality of the sandalwood.

This sharp, almost sour note brought with it an unwelcome wave of pickle brine, the tart and zingy kind that makes you want to squint and pucker your cheeks.

Though if that’s your dill, you’ll love this (good one).

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Fresh, Green, and Not My Thing

Santal Blanc didn’t strike me as a musk-led fragrance. For something that’s meant to be the “impression of pure white”, it leans noticeably green and fresh, with the brighter, more verdant elements doing most of the talking. 

As always, I should stress that I do not think this is a bad fragrance. I can think of only one perfume that I find wholly intolerable, and I shall save that disclosure for another time.

This was lovely in its way, but a touch too mature for me. Very green, very fig-forward, whereas my tastes run more to the cuddly and soft.

5 out of 10 sniffs.

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