Kajal

Nadir

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There is a whimsical mathematics argument that goes like this: “Suppose there were a set of all the uninteresting numbers. It must have a smallest member, which then becomes interesting.” Now imagine the set of all uninteresting perfumes. One must be the worst. But that makes it interesting. By this reckoning the five Kajal samples Bloom Perfumery gave me are fascinating, since they make up the worst range I have ever smelled.

There are many ways of being bad in perfumery. There’s skimpy bad, as in SS Annunziata, when you flog a cheap-ass thing for twenty times its natural price; overwrought bad, as with many Tom Fords, when you pile on powerful smells until the nose just gives up; polite bad, as in Dior Collection Privée, when you polish a tedious thing to high sheen; hippie bad, when you chuck in every resinoid found east of Brindisi and hope for the best; and influencer bad, when you pretend that your perfume was actually meant to smell like garbage.

And then there’s Kajal bad, when you muster actual talent in the service of total awfulness. Previous landmarks of the genre were Creed’s Love in White (Pierre Bourdon!) and Penhaligon’s Halfeti, perfumes so toxic you feared for your liver. The Kajal approach to perfumery seems to be as follows: Take two or three loud functional compositions originally intended for motion-sensing air fresheners in cheap-restaurant toilets. Mix, shake well and give the result an easily pronounced name. Fill naff gold-stoppered bottle. Sell for $230. Remember to describe the perfumer as a genius.

Samples from Bloom Perfumery

Kolada

Composed by Toni Cabal, “Master Perfumer,” though who hands out these magisterial titles? It is a violent, treacly floral in the manner inaugurated by Cacharel’s Loulou (1987), only without the fun. If this were house paint, it would be maroon-colored gloss, and the can would say “only needs one coat.” There is a violet-iris note somewhere in the cacophony that gives this sorry mess a twist of fish-skin.

Lamar

A big, sweaty rose unaccountably composed by the great Mark Buxton.

Ruby

Syrupy almond-cherry disaster. Smell this and you’ll never again ask for a morello in your Last Word.

Almaz

Almaz means diamond in Persian, Arabic and Russian. One of the worst fruity-florals in existence, but at least it’s so powerful that one bottle will last the rest of your life.

Masa

The least worst in this sad company, a herbaceous aquatic that would make a decent hotel shampoo if diluted a hundredfold.