This interpretation of absinthe fails the test in the same way that most others do. There are plenty of scents out now which aim to be an ode to the idea of absinthe instead of a literal interpretation of the drink, but in nearly every case there is a glaring error, a giant, vacuous hole in the heart of the matter. So what first comes to mind when you, the reader, think about the taste or the smell of real absinthe? Is it the bitter green, wormwood? The ceremonial burnt sugar?
Ask anyone if you haven't tried the stuff for yourself, and you will find that the answer is always licorice, star anise, or fennel. You may be thinking that these are all rather similar ingredients, and there you would be correct. But the great majority of absinthes on the market contain at least two of the three, so their impression seems to bleed together in the mind.
I have now held my hopes up for 'absinthe' scents made by Boclet, Crabtree & Evelyn,l'Artisan,two by Avon-via-Christian Lacroix, and countless others that attempt to declare 'absinthe' as a single fragrance note or accord. With the exception of the underwhelming Crabtree offering, none of these contain any fennel, licorice, or star anise, but are instead comprised all of green and woody notes. The sentiment is there but the nature is false.
Franck Boclet's Absinthe is an odd fragrance with an odd opening - an utterly bitter blend of green mandarin, wormwood, and rhubarb. After about a half hour a lovely heliotrope emerges and the sting recedes into a tender softness. The ending is a very hazy green-tinted earthiness with just a modicum of ambery sweetness. It is a strange and shaky beginning which streamlines itself into an immensely likable fragrance. It just has little to do with absinthe.