The Cult of the Celebrity Scent: perfume history

We have been led to think that celebrity perfumes, that is perfumes issued under the name of a well-known fodder-for-the-tabloids real person, were a recent phenomenon, established by Coty with Jennifer Lopez's trend-setting Glow in 2002. Which led to the current avalanche of so many derivatives, versions and interpretations that every possible Z-list actress, sportsman, media-celebritoid-du-nanosecond (Jane Goody) or indeed writer (Danielle Steel) has one issued under their belts. However, today I am proposing that it is actually not so!

Yes, Perfume Shrine is proud to propose that the celebrity scent is not a phenomenon of the too recent past after all! Although famous people had been used to promote scent since the concept of perfume as the aspirational ticket to a more glamorous life, with most notable example the classic stint of Catherine Deneuve for Chanel No.5, there was a very distinct phase during the 80s in which famous people agreed to licence fragrances bearing their own name and into the early 90s. I came across a very interesting article from the New York Times, as far back as 1989, which talks about several of them in relation to male celebrities selling perfume to women and it has striken me as astonishing that they describe the process of celebrity-named perfume not as revolutionary, but as "evolutionary" (their words). That's back in 1989!!
I especially liked how they ended the piece:

''The name and the personality can sell the fragrance the first time,'' Mr. Shore said. ''But it's up to the scent to sell the next bottle.''

Tell me about it...

The most impressive aspect of them all is that several of those celebrities from all walks of fame did not only issue one fragrance under their own name, but as is the case with Delon, Pavarotti, Liz Taylor and others, they embarked on a whole series of them in the following years (which of course shows something about the initial reception).
Of course the main difference with today might be that all those people had a definitive body of work behind them to back up their fame...which is arguably not the case with today's celebrities ("Posh" Beckham, anyone?)

This post is far from being the definitive resource on the issue, nor does it intend to; yet some of those ads and bottles, characteristic of that era, have been chosen for your enjoyement.
Some of these fragrances, notably most of those issued under French actors' names, were quite good and they all became collector's items after discontinuation. Which is not as uniformal as one might think: some are still in production!

French actors have shown a special interest in perfumery, perhaps through osmosis, usually to very good results ~like in the line of perfumes under Alain Delon's name.




In some cases, the results have been fabulous and legendary indeed, as in the case of Deneuve, the eponymous long since discontinued scent by Catherine Deneuve circulating under an Avon licence in the 1980s.


Other French actors have also dabbed their hands with the magic of perfume. Jean Louis Trintignant for instance, who will be indelibly remembered by romantic souls for his role in Un Homme and Une Femme from 1966.



Italians couldn't have been left out...Sophia Loren was the first to strike a deal with Coty as a matter of fact.


As well as those of a more exotic lineage...may I present you the feminine oriental by Egyptian hearthrob Omar Shariff, whose deep, mysterious eyes have promised so much in Dr.Zhivago, Lawrence of Arabia and ~my personal favourite A-list actor fest from the 60s~ The Night of the Generals.



American cinema idols couldn't leave this promising field out of their business aspirations.
Liz Taylor had a go with what proved to be an enduring bestseller: White Diamonds.



The enterprise spawned numerous products...



Others created more inspirational fragrances, with a shorter shelf-life however. Uninhibited by Cher is discontinued, but available through online discounters.


Some of the actresses have had a long stint at another brand that produces perfume, yet decided to also launch their own upon completion of their contract. Isabella Rosellini couldn't have had a better initial launch of a fragrance after her name: Manifesto is an unusual feminine laced with basil and tonic herbs redolent of an open window to the view of the island of Stromboli, where her parents met.


Others yet were just incredibly famous models. Ines de la Fressange was quite a myth during her Lagerfeld collaboration for Chanel. She still is a most impressive human specimen and a very pleasing, kind personality to get to know. Her fragrance is also quite good.

Having a huge fortune came with many business ideas. One of them was perfume: Gloria Vanderbilt.



The art world of course has its own accolytes. From the sculptor Niki de Saint Phalle and her eponymous mighty chype with the mating serpents...




...to the much more commercialised Marilyn by Andy Warhol project. Clever concept exploiting two celebrities in one fragrance, or is it?


The music world is diverse.
The late opera superstar Lucianno Pavarotti has had at least 2 fragrances in his name, a masculine and a feminine one. Very good too, actually!



The mega-super-giga star who has fallen, Michael Jackson had one issued when he was a little...darker. The packaging however is resolutely white: was he trying to tell us something even then?


French pop stars also had to get involved in this: et voilà Johnny Halliday. From the looks of it, a whole line of fragrances in fact.


Who would have thought that even The King had one bearing his name? Yes, there is an Elvis cologne out.


Some people are famous by association: Elvi's wife is perennially pretty (minus a surgery or too) and had a series of fragrances out, the nicest advertisement of which is the one for Moments.


Classical ballet seemed like a very disciplined world to be associated with frivolous commodities like perfumel, especially as its most brilliant stars in the galaxy hail from the former Soviet Union, which let's face it, wasn't exactly the most inviting market for perfume or luxury goods....
Pavlova is named after the famous prima ballerina.



Baryshnikov defected and reaped the benefits of a full westernised existence, eponymous fragrance included. He also had one after his nickname, Misha. Kewl...


Last but not least, even tennis stars deserve their own: Gabriellas Sabatini is a household name in Latin American, not less so because of her perfumes still circulating, such as Magnetic.



Do you recall of more? Let us know in the comments.

Pics courtesy of okadi,parfumdepub, Ebay, edirectory.co.uk, toutsurdeneuve, aunt judy's attic: For entertainement purposes only.

Et Lux in Tenebris: Incense Rosé by Andy Tauer

How could all the autumnal joy of eating a bright citrus fruit marry to the somber ambience of incense? And how does this immerse itself in the heritage of centuries and centuries of aromatization and meditation through fragrant smoke?
Incense Rosé the new fragrance by Andy Tauer is a proposition towards this very end.


Incense Rosé was announced as

"A fragrance that breaths
in the tradition of perfumery,
capturing the floral beauty
hiding in smoking frankincense".

Andy Tauer spent months measuring CO2 extracted Frankinscence (Boswellia serrata)in large cylinders, the shining golden viscous liquid aromatizing the Swiss laboratory into an immense church. And out of the shadows, there came light: lux in tenebris.


(uploaded by Catholiques)


A big dollop of clementine, juicy, dribbling down in all its exhuberant glory is greeting me as I spray Incense rosé on. Sustained for the length of its life span much the same way carbon deteriorates little by little in all living matter to leave but a whiff of its quinta essentia . Floral elements of a rich, lush and dark rosiness (never too sweet and with no powderiness or makeup feel) emerge from the depths of the woody and resiny embrace of viscous labdanum and bitter myrrh. Labdanum resin, the dark brown material of an illustrious past and the reigning star of many quality orientals was a first for Tauer as he had never included it in one of his unique fragrances before per his words. Here it makes for a 4% diluted slowly in ethanol, which acts as a counterpoint to the brighter, hesperidic elements, anchoring them and giving them a soft darkness like the velvety glove of an approaching night.

Complex, with a spicy herbal touch like bay, consisting of 35 materials of an inherently multinuanced character as they are natural essences, Incense rosé takes one into the crepuscular trail of light that illuminates a sunny autumnal afternoon. Its warmth and radiance are especially simpatico to those cold, cold days we are having, lending them a bit of its mirth. The more the fragrance stays on the skin the more it melds into frankincense smokiness. Much more orientalised and opulent than Incense Extrême of a lone monk chanting under his horsehair shirt (but I personally love it so!), Incense Rosé is intended for those who are not quite willing to leave the earthy delights just yet.

In the Eau de Parfum concentration it has very good tenacity and is quite unisex, although at the same time rounder than Incense Extrême which might be perceived as more masculine.

Official Notes for Incense Rosé:
Clementine, bergamot, castor,
Bulgarian rose, orris, Texan cedar wood,
incense, labdanum, myrrh, patchouli, ambergris.

Front cover illustration of flyer: by Dezsö Bödi, hailing from Eastern Europe is a good friend of Pascal, the shop owner of the Medieval art & life shop in Zurich. "When he is bored he makes arabesque drawings", according to Andy, just like the one on this flyer for Incense Rosé.

I especially like and respect Andy's thinking:

"I start wondering where we are heading with all these luxury things going on around us and that maybe it would be time for a contra punto. Something subversive, like a fragrance that everyone wants, that is selling for almost nothing, but that you can not get if you are an oligarch or otherwise rich.
And I think about another contra punto: Make a really good, rich fragrance, with lots of really good rich ingredients, reduce the entire packaging to a glass bottle and nothing else. The simplest bottle you can get. And sell this as zero fancy line".

His fragrances are indeed quality potions in spartan packaging with zero fluffiness: to the point!


For Tauer's other incense fragrance, Incense Extrême click here

For an in depth examination on Incense fragrances, please check our Incense Series, clicking here.

Incense Extrême has juct launched.
Incense rosé will come out in March.
Available through Andy Tauer site, Luckyscent, Luilei and First in Fragrance.

Pic of clementine by citrusboy/flickr. Flyer from Andy Tauer's site.

A reminder and a short announcement

May I remind you that the lucky draw for a free sample of Nombre Noir is still running. If you want to have your name entered, please leave a comment saying so.
Closing day: 31st January and the winner will be drawn on 1st February, to be announced shortly thereafter.

Please visit back tomorrow for the first review on the new Andy Tauer fragrance Insence Rosé, due out in March.

Unveiling a myth: Iris Gris by Jacques Fath (fragrance review)

 A fragrance history snippet cum fragrance review on the "best perfume ever" according to the legend...

by guest writer Denyse Beaulieu

The day I finally smelled the peach in Mitsouko – a full-fleshed downy peach bulging through the seamless composition – was the day after I smelled the mythical Iris Gris, by Jacques Fath. As though the latter had opened up an unknown dimension in the former: the same peach note, known as undecalactone or aldehyde C-14 (though it technically isn’t an aldehyde), pushing itself through once I had grounds for comparison.

Thanks to Luca Turin’s The Secret of Scent, I knew both fragrances shared the note. His few lines on the tragically rare Iris Gris, the best iris ever in his opinion, had spurred my curiosity. But I didn’t hold much hope of smelling it outside the Versailles Osmothèque: each, rare flacon seemed to go for astronomical price… The French couturier Jacques Fath launched it in 1947: but he died at 43, in 1954, and though Fath perfumes continued to be produced, the expensive Iris Gris was soon discontinued: hence its extreme rarity.

No hope at all, that is, until I happened on an open-air flea market right next to my place, under the aerial metro that runs past the Eiffel tower. Somehow, that Saturday, I knew there was a perfume waiting there for me. Eyes peeled, I wandered from stall to stall, thought I spotted old flacons, was quickly disappointed when the seller told me they weren’t perfume… And nearly fainted when she did point me towards a table where she had a couple.

It was sitting there. Iris Gris. No more than 1/5 evaporated, sealed, with box. Impeccable colour. Reasonable price for what it fetches in auctions. I didn’t haggle, and stole away with my prize, mind reeling. I knew I’d gotten hold of a myth.


The great unsealing took place in a café right by the Palais-Royal, with perfumer and perfume historian Octavian Sever Coifan. He was the man I needed for the occasion: he’d smelled the Osmothèque reproduction and could vouch for its condition (authenticity was never in doubt, because of the intact seal).

It is impeccable. Fresh as the day it was composed, which Octavian explained to me was due to the fact that it certainly didn’t have any hesperidic top notes: those are the ones that spoil in vintage perfume.
But what jumped out immediately was the peach. As smooth and downy cheeked as a Renoir model’s, sweet without being tooth-aching syrupy.

Octavian held out blotters of orris absolute, irone (the molecule that makes iris smell of iris: the higher the concentration, the higher price the orris fetches) and ionones (the violet smell) for comparison.

And magically, iris came to the fore. Its slight metallic tinge softened by the peach, but definitely iris – and iris with a smile.

Now every time I picked up the blotter, I got either peach or iris. A bit like in those 3-D postcards we used to have as children: tilt it one way, and you get the peach. Tilt it the other way, and it morphs into the iris. If there are other notes (and there are in Octavian’s detailed breakdown), I just couldn’t pick them up. It’s that seamlessly blended: like a “gorge de pigeon” (pigeon-throat) taffetas – a comparison Luca Turin uses in The Secret of Scent ~the iris-peach combination is woven into the very fabric of the scent. Then as the fragrance evolves, the iris-peach weaves somehow tightens and melds into a single, smooth and utterly unique scent: a joyful iris, a fleshed-out iris as light-hearted as an aldehydic, but without the “old-fashioned” feel that some people get out of aldehydic scents because of their classic status, or that “hairspray” smell that comes from hairspray actually being scented to resemble the likes of Chanel N°5.

The overall effect is amazingly modern and spare: it could’ve been composed yesterday and it could be reissued with great success tomorrow, and walk rings around Kelly Calèche (which I admire, by the way). Unlike some vintage scents that feel very much of their time and need a special frame of mind to get into – much as a vintage dress does – this feels as young and joyful as the day it was composed.

Jacques Fath was indeed one of the first couturiers to think of very young women in his fresh and sophisticated designs: of course, young women of the time were quite a bit more sophisticated than they would be in the following decade. With his matinee-idol good looks, the designer to Hollywood stars (he designed Rita Hayworth’s wedding dress) was very much a star in his own right, as famous in his time as Christian Dior whose New Look he interpreted in a more supple, playful manner. A gifted colourist, he was said to favour amethyst and grey – which may have partly been the inspiration for Iris Gris…


The scent itself was composed by Vincent Roubert, who authored the classic leather fragrance Knize Ten in 1924, as well several Coty fragances, including the best-selling floral aldehydic L’Aimant in 1927 (which was thought to be Coty’s answer to Chanel N°5), but also the masculine Fath Green Water (1927), still produced but with a very different formula.

The house of Fath has recently revived its clothing line with designer Lizzie Disney at the helm. Here’s hoping they reissue the original Iris Gris, without tweaking the formula at all. In the meantime, I’ll be enjoying every drop with the tight throat that comes from releasing a long-imprisoned genie from its bottle, knowing it’ll never come back…

For another take on Iris Gris, visit Octavian's blog clicking here.



Pics: Images: Bettina in a white satin battle-dress jacket, fall/winter 1949-1950, from Fath archives, excerpted from Mode du Siècle (éditions Assouline); Jacques Fath in his studio, courtesy couturier.couturiers.ru; peach iris courtesy jupiterimages.com.

Nocturnal Demons ~Nombre Noire by Shiseido and Lutens: fragrance review

Have you ever lost sleep over the notion of an unattainable ideal? Have you longed and ached for that which you have not even experienced? Are you like the hero in Steppenwolf , a lone soul in search of the sublime revelation of self in the whirlwind of a crumbling civilization? Those questions might ring silly to someone who hasn't known the pang of desire that a beautiful perfume stirs in the soul. And Nombre Noir is one such beautiful but unattainable perfume.

In a revelation of Lachesis I happened upon a little stash of it out of the blue; the elusive Kooh-i-Noor that had been escaping me for long. Or so I thought. Years passed since the last batch of this black glove has been produced and I wonder how much of its initial beauty has been smeared like mascara after a hard night partying. I will probably never know. What I do know is that it was immediately and unknownigly admired by my discerning companion who proclaimed it “beautiful and haunting”. It is just my luck that he always loves the rare and expensive things, I guess. For what is worth I will cherish the little I do have and not break my neck in vain.

Nombre Noir was created in 1981 by nose Jean-Yves Leroy, one of the in-house perfumers for the Japanese brand Shiseido, under the artistic direction of Serge Lutens and Yusui Kumai, aiming to create their first "western" fragrance. Lutens chose an extremely expensive natural osmanthus and a synthetic aromachemical, a big-stock damascone molecule of rosy-woody with prune. In The Emperor of Scent, Turin called it "one of the five great perfumes of the world" and lamented its passing, creating a stampede on Ebay for the elusive golden juice of olfactory paradise.
The perfume became infamous for its breakthrough packaging designed in collaboration among Serge Lutens, Shuichi Ikeda and Masataka Matsubara. "The most unremittingly, sleekly, maniacally luxurious packaging you can imagine: a black octagonal glass Chinese bottle nestled in exquisitely folded black origami of the most sensuous standard."
Despite its high retail price, however, Nombre Noir was losing money because of the packaging according to rumours. And then it disappeared, to be lamentably discontinued shortly thereafter. The real reason seems to be because the high percentage of damascones contained contributed to the perfume being photo-sensitising.

Damascones are potent aromacemicals synthesized in the lab through a difficult procedure that is reflected in their price. Because of that and their diffusive odour profile they are usually used with restraint, except for cases when the perfumer wants to make a point, like in Poison with its exagerration of alpha and beta damascone or indeed in Nombre Noir. Alpha-damascone is rosy floral with a fruity aspect atop a camphorous note and winey nuances while beta-damascone has tobacco shades along with plummy sweetness.
Alas their deterioration upon sunlight is another reason they are usually kept in minute quantities in perfume compositions. Except for Nombre Noir. And that was the death toll on it.

The furore started with Turin's quote and perfume lovers the world over were losing precious sleep over not having experienced this ingenious marvel of nature and lab mechanics. Everyone who followed the perfume community had heard about it but they thought it exiled in distant Peoria. It made seldom appearences on Ebay, sometimes in a faux costume masquerading as the authentic thing, other times its true self in all its brilliance to elevated prices that could be brought back to their rightful culprit: Luca Turin.

But such pathos might have been excused in his case. As he revealed, it was no ordinary encounter:

“The fragrance itself was, and still is, a radical surprise. A perfume, like the timbre of a voice, can say something quite independent of the words actually spoken. What Nombre Noir said was ‘flower’. But the way it said it was an epiphany. The flower at the core of Nombre Noir was half-way between a rose and a violet, but without a trace of the sweetness of either, set instead against an austere, almost saintly back-ground of cigar-box cedar notes. At the same time, it wasn’t dry, and seemed to be glistening with a liquid freshness that made its deep colors glow like a stained-glass window.
The voice of Nombre Noir was that of a child older than its years, at once fresh, husky, modulated and faintly capricious. There was a knowing naivety about it which made me think of Colette’s writing style in her Claudine books. It brought to mind a purple ink to write love letters with, and that wonderful French word farouche, which can mean either shy or fierce or a bit of both”.

~Luca Turin, The Secret of Scent


Years later, the elusive was found again and the spark of this love was rekindled. But his feelings changed from infatuation to reverence upon meeting its true self:

“Nombre Noir was still beautiful, God knows, and I could see what I had loved, a sort of playful fierceness unequalled in fragrance before or since, but I was no longer in thrall. Egged on by the cruelty that makes us dismember what we cannot truly love, I sent it off for analysis. When I read the list of ingredients with their proportions, I felt as Röntgen must have done when he first saw the bones in his wife's hand: no longer the beautiful, but the sublime. At Nombre Noir's core, a quartet of resplendent woody-rosy damascones, synthetics first found in rose oil forty years ago. They break down in sunlight, hence the nastiness. But the secret was a huge slug of hedione, a quiet, unassuming chemical that no-one noticed until Edmond Roudnitska showed with Eau Sauvage (1966) that its magic kiss could put back the dew on dry flowers. Knowledge may be power, but power is not love.”

~Luca Turin, Perfume Notes





To me the fragrance of Nombre Noir is akin to a sonorous sonata that is echoed across a vast hall full of oxidised-metal (so as to look dark) chandeliers. There is the high ceiling of cedary notes, like those in Feminite du Bois but scaled a bit down, that keeps the atmosphere somber, yet the plush of the velvet cushions and the brocade curtains lend a baroque fruitiness to the proceedings, like dried raisins and prunes left out for all to savour, not unlike the hyperbole that is Poison by Dior. The sublime rose accord is laced with a boozy and tea-smokey note, restrained and not old fashioned at all, recalling to mind the unusual treatment that was destined to it in the exlusive Lutens scent Rose de Nuit. I can see how this could be worn like nocturnal ammunition against the crassness of a crumbling civilization.


In an unprecedented show of appreciation for perfume and generosity towards all those who do love scents dearly, I am offering you the chance to sample this elusive scent for free: the sample will be miniscule, alas, because I have little myself and because I predict that I will not be able to score some ever again. However it will allow one lucky fellow to not lose sleep over Nombre Noir anymore. And that my friends is priceless...

I will accept entries in the comments till the end of the month, so if you have friends you love, better be quick about telling them. The winner will be drawn on 1st February and announced shortly thereafter. Let the Moirae cast the dice!

Art photography by Chris Borgman courtesy of his site. Nombre Noir ad courtesy of autourdeserge.

Lucky Draw Announcement!

The winner of the Lucky Draw for Bandit is none other than Freegracer. Please mail me at perfumeshrine@yahoo.com with an address, so I can send a sample of the eau de parfum along to you!

Our next Lucky Draw will be a HUGE surprise, something unprecented on the whole blogosphere and proof positive that we do loooove perfume around here and value our readers ;-) Very soon, very soon; promise...
I hope I have tantalised you enough, because I would really love to make someone really happy.

So keep your eyes peeled and if you really care for some friend, direct them here, because it will be a-one-time-only chance!

Pic from Corpse Bride film courtesy of allposters.com

Optical Scentsibilities: the Hug

What better way to show affection, protectiveness and love than a hug? In that spirit, the pose of a woman hugging a perfume bottle has been used a lot in advertising and it is our study subject for today.

A hug can be maternal and protective of a precious entity, signifying tenderness. As in Fidji by Guy Laroche.


And the Mother and Child by G.Klimt.



A hug can also signify daydreaming, and in it the freedom to be what one trully is. As in Caron's tender and contemplative Fleur de Rocaille.



Or in this art print in 60s style.



A hug can also be slightly provocative, sensually tantalising and promising escapades of an amorous sort. As in this ad of Senso by Ungaro featuring Nastassja Kinski from the 1980s.

Or in this famous illustration by Mel Ramos Hunts for the Best (1981), where the model suggestivelly embraces the topmost of the ketchup bottle.

Additionaly there is the semi-hug, a way of displaying the fragrance bottle than actually bringing it close to one's bosom, which can mean that it is prized loot; like in this ad for Covet by Sarah Jessica Parker. If you had followed Perfume Shrine, you will remember the wonderfully witty commercial for the scent, directed by J.P Goude.

It can also signify contemplation of the value of what its true essence means to you, like once again in the exotic shores of Fidji. The perfume becomes you, as the tagline said: "Every woman is an isle. Fidji is her perfume".

It can be your true essence itself, the magical elixir that transforms the woman into a plummed bird such as the Coco ads with Vanessa Paradis as a paradise bird (ingenious). Thus hugging the bottle is embracing the last frontier of imagination...



And finally, when something is as iconic and a mythos of its own, like Chanel No.5 is, it simply demands to be carried on the bosom as the insignia of excellence and the true arbiter of taste. Gigantic in its message as well as its physical size, it becomes bigger than life, fit to be hugged by only another living myth: Catherine Deneuve.

Which one is your favourite hug?

Pics from okadi, parfumdepub, ebay, allposters.com and art.com

Romancing the Scent 2

Is jasmine and powder seductive? In continuation of our previous post concerning itself with how a perfumer defines a romantic scent fit for seduction, Perfume Shrine today focuses on how Chris Sheldrake envisions such a fragrance. His comment appeared in the February 08 edition of Allure magazine.

Christopher Sheldrake, the nose rensponsible for almost the entire Serge Lutens line (with the exception of Iris Silver Mist by Maurice Roucel) and currently head of Research and Development at parfums Chanel, mentions that:

"in our industry, "bedroom smell" means the sensuality of jasmine, a powdery, musky soft entity - something that makes the wearer comfortable - and with a comfortable smell that pleases. It means not too violet or too rose or too animalic or too mossy."

He then goes on to suggest a romantic fragrance, naming Beautiful by Estée Lauder

"It has a powdery note and a fruitiness: a slightly jammy strawberry scent that as a perfumer I can appreciate."

Contrary to the infamous Alan Hirsch MD (of Smell and Taste Treatment and Research center in Chicago) study which states that men are aroused by the combined aroma of lavender with pumkin pie which facilitates penile blood flow, Sheldrake proposes a different combo: jasmine with a powdered musk.
For the record, the other arousing smells in the Hirsch study were doughnuts and black liquorice; or doughnuts and cola. (see more on the Hirsch study here).This had me rolling with laughter picturing cops in American movies eating doughnuts by the trackload. But I digress...

So, jasmine. A favourite flower for me, personally, and inexitricably linked to my childhood and growing up memories. The fascinating, presque suprenant facet of natural jasmine lies in its potent aroma of indole, a compound that is inherent in white florals and which we discussed on our orange blossom sexy scents post. Obviously, the familiarity of a smell so integrated to human existence as the fecal one breeds some form of recognition, if only very distant and not clearly perceived as such. The humanity beneath a fleshy smelling flower is therefore one of the aspects that account for jasmine's reputation as an erotogenic scent.

However there are many people who have trouble with jasmine: they find it too clotted, too dense, too sweet, too feral. Would its magic work on them as well? I do wonder. Perfumers use a wide variety of molecules in perfumes, natural or synthesized: jasmine absolute, jasmone, dihydrojasmone (less expensive than the former), methyl jasmonate, hedione, 2-heptylcyclopentanone... Sometimes the deciding factor on which to choose in a composition is the correlation betweem price and tonnage. Subtle differences account for a different perception among individuals who might respond with more pleasure to one than to another.
Musk is too complicated a matter to tackle in this short post, but it will be discussed shortly. Suffice to say that it is the par excellence essence prized since ancient times for its almost aphoridisiac abilities. The myriads of nuances in synthesized musks in the fragrance industry only attest to that effect: if there weren't a big demand, there wouldn't be as much industriousness in producing them. And some of them do smell kind of powdery: white musks, egyptian and "clean" musks especially.
Notice the reccurence of the powder element that was -arguably- so controversial in Sophia Grojsman's quote? Interestingly, baby powder does feature in the Hirsch study as arousing women! (men, please don't take this too seriously)

It is perhaps even more intriguing to note what Sheldrake denounces as appealing: an abundance of violet (green or candied? he doesn't specify), of rose (too old fashioned or pot-pouri-ish?), of animalic notes (too much stable-and-farm associations instead of basic instinct?) and of moss (too dirty/earthy or too musty-smelling? Again a definition would come handy).

And then what does dear Christopher do? He goes on to nominate Beautiful as a suggested romantic fragrance. A fragrance that has a tale made up about its name (per Lauder friends proclaimed it was "beautiful" upon smelling the mods when she was "creating" it) as it has had no less than five(!) perfumers working on it at International Flavors and Fragrances, as Chandler Burr reveals in his latest book.
A fragrance that supposedly has been composed of more than 200 ingredients, which to me doesn't smell of jasmine and powdery musks. A scent that has been reformulated to ill effect and which according to Susan Irvine is

"Extravagant, creamy, romantic and sweet. Ideal on a country and wester singer".

Is this your ideal of romantically appealing? I am really looking forward to your comments.


Top pic from eu zeen mag. Pic courtesy of Société Française des Parfumeurs, C.Sheldrake on the far left

Romancing the Scent

Love is in the air and the perennial question on what constitutes a romantically attractive fragrance and just how scents are perceived by the opposite sex.
The February 08 issue of Allure comes to the rescue, centering on fragrance and romance, as is usual in publications when St.Valentine's is around the corner. An article by Judy Bachrach, titled "Romance in a bottle", draws interesting opinions on the subject from famous people; two of which happen to be perfumers themselves: Sophia Grojsman and Chris Sheldrake. Their replies were so...what is the word I am searching for...that they merited their own commentary. Today we focus on the former.

I have never put great faith in the method via which Sophia Grojsman approaches femininity in perfume. I admit it in all honesty. Her creations from the bombastically pervading Tresor and the equally potent Eternity, to the luminous Paris, on to the oriental jam of Jaipur are so intense and extroverted sides of femininity that they register as caricatures in my mind: accentuating the characteristic traits that differentiate male from female in our perceived consious: The lush rose, the velvety peach, the intense floral sweetness...

Therefore when she suggests using baby-powder-smelling fragrances before jumping into bed (assuming it is with someone other than just your humble self!)as a nod to our subconsious limbic memory of getting our bottoms puffed with the stuff as babies and presumably associating the feeling of being loved and cared for with the aroma of baby powder, I am going a little "huh?"
First of all, because although this exact association is indeed tender but potentially anti-climatic in an amorous occassion (unless...let's not go there!). And secondly, because it has me wondering about how powder, and specifically baby powder registers in the mind of people in general and whether Grojsman is aware of this.

One of the most common complaints in the perfume arena of online discussion and reviewing boards, such as the hugely popular one in MakeupAlley, is that something smells of baby powder ~or baby wipes and similar products in general; clean ones it is assumed, mind you. The perceived image is uniformely unsexy. Still, there is a sinister trail of thought that goes into work here.

There is concern among some women who do have babies that it connotates tasks that remind them of burdening responsibilities and a period in their life when they felt unattractive. Therefore they would not associate those moments with a sexy afterthought. Understandable.

There is also the more sinister syllogism that babies and infants are off limits sexually (not that I disagree, of course), therefore finding an aroma associated with babies sexy is reminiscent of perverted pedophiles. Now being seen as a perverted pedophile -even in the context of merely favourite smells- is a stigma. You want to avoid that by all means.
This train of thought however takes one thing as a foregone conclusion: that perfume is first and foremost supposed to be sexually attractive and thus seen only in a sexually mature context (which is why lots of people object to kids donning fragrance). Ergo, if perfume is to be taken seriously, it must not smell of babies, or it is "sick".

To that opinion one might radically disagree, especially if one has a keen interest in olfaction in general.
And this is also one of the great divides between American and European sensibilities, as European advertisements do not hesitate to present talcum-scented products in appealing ways that suggest some tinge of sensuous allure. Whether that has to do with widespread pedophile circuits and infantilism, well...let's not go there. A can of worms that can't be opened with impunity.
Suffice to say that for Americans the baby powder connotation is smelling of Johnson & Johnson's citrusy, lightly floral vanilla, while for Europeans it is the orage blossom-and-light-musk of Mustela and Nenuco, as evidenced by the experience of Jean Claude Ellena.

However in typical paranoia and irony some baby powdery scents have proven to be huge bestsellers, eclipsing other scents that launched tagged as sexy. Examples of talcum-laced scents are Flower by Kenzo or Cashmere Mist by Donna Karan. Others have proclaimed their baby pedigree unashamedly, like Petits et Mamans by Bvlgari. And still some have become cult classics with their vat-of-talc odour, like Teint de Neige and Keiko Mecheri's Loukhoum. The choice is yours...



What is your opinion on this subject? I would be interested in reading your comments on this.



To be continued.....


Pic via Flickr

Juicy commentary to follow...

Recently I had had the rare pleasure and honour of being invited to the presentation of Chandler Burr's book The Perfect Scent in New York on January 7, among other fellow bloggers, such as the esteemed girls of Perfume Posse. Incapacitated to physically attend, I was solaced by satiating my curiosity reading the book ~which incidentally is launching officially today~ and by interviewing mr. Chandler Burr himself; the fruits of which conversation I am sure you have followed here on the blog {click for part 1 and part 2}.

In the interests of objectivity and giving a personal opinion on several points on the published oeuvre of this fragrance-creation trailing, I am planning on commenting on certain juicy parts very shortly, while other surprises are also looming up. Stay tuned!



Pic sent to me by email unaccredited (isn't it fab?)