Tolu by Ormonde Jayne: fragrance review

"What is the deeper meaning of the simple but magical expression to "smell nice"? That intangible aura emanating from the skin embraces a hint of linen, a flashing image, a caress of silk and a musical rustle, in other words a direct and powerful link with the unsaid, the unperceived, the unimagined, the impossible and the intangible."
~Dominique Rolin, La Voyageuse

Dramatic oriental fragrances often demand dramatic presence. But should you fall short on the latter, Tolu by Ormonde Jayne is providing that intense feeling that great seductive orientals usually pounce on with a friendlier manner that magically "smells nice" (and so much more!) in a very tangible sense. The first time I put this on, with nothing more glamorous in mind than a dinner à deux at home, I recall it elicited a beloved's interest in finding out what is this golden elixir which suspended time and made that moment an instant of shared passion. It was Tolu of course and ever since it has haunted my dreams: a juicy incense of an oriental, full of the feminine powers of a heroine in a Procopius tale.

Tolu by Ormonde Jayne opens with a full blast of rich, lightly spicy and ambery orange blossom that is intense, envelopping the senses into an embrace of honeyed warmth and comforting powder. The calm powdery feeling imparts a velvety sheen that becomes almost tactile, inducing you to touch and be touched. There are no other floral nuances that emerge distinctly from the composition, unless you really strain to do so. Instead this ambery heat is largely accountable to labdanum, a rich resin with a story of its own. Frankincense, the ecclesiastic incense resin, imparts a cooler touch that tempers the pronounced sweetness of the other ingredients (both Tolu balsam* and labdanum-based ambers are sweet), accounting for a fragrance on a par with great florientals such as L'heure Bleue, Bal a Versailles, Boucheron Femme or 24 Faubourg. If any of these move your heartstrings in a nostalgic melody, you should definitely try Tolu!
The marmoreal quality of these somnobulent resins is queenly and feels like the most luxurious cashmere shawl imaginable in hues of rich burgundy or shady olive.
Beautifully crafted from what smells like expensive materials, it is one of the compositions in the woods-resins family in which Linda Pilkington's good taste truly shines. In a sense this is a hark back to what proper fragrances for feminine women were all about, before the advent of sparse sketches: enhancing the womanly allure, smelling expensive and opulent, but never vulgar, presenting a round, composite formula instead of a clashing juxtaposition of fighting polar opposites for the sake of celebral intrigue. Tolu instead is very much sensed and felt rather than analysed intellectually.

Although its warm nature might seem like it is only promised to the guiles and needs of a harsh winter, Tolu has a velvety sheen that evokes smooth bronzed skin luxuriating under the veil of an aromatized body oil, not unlike Patou's long lost Chaldée; the Oil is exactly the form of choice for the summer in my mind, while the Eau de Parfum and Parfum would be wonderfully warming in the colder months.
Tolu lasts excellently on the skin inducing you to catch whiffs of it rising up from a heated decolleté all day long, well into the night.

Eau de Parfum is £58.00 for 50ml, parfum is £112.00 for 50 ml. Also available in Hydrating Bath and Shower Creme, Essential Body Oil, Replenishing Body Lotion, Scented Candle and a luxurious Gift Box in various combinations of products.
Exclusively available at Ormonde Jayne UK boutique: 12 The Royal Arcade -28 Old Bond Street, London W1S 4SL or online at Ormonde Jayne.com


Notes:
Top: Juniper berry, orange blossom, clary sage
Heart: Orchid, Moroccan rose, muguet
Base: Tolu balsam*, tonka bean, golden frankincense, amber

*Tolu balsam is a resin from a Peruvian tree from the south of the country with a sweet vanillic touch

Painting Girl with Red Hair by Fabien Perez, courtesy of paintinghere.com. Pic of bottle courtesy of OrmondeJayne.com

Andy Warhol Lexington Avenue: new from Bond No.9

“See a shoe and Pick it up and all day long you’ll have Good Luck.” ~ Andy Warhol

This twist on a popular saying is in line with women's two most feminine accessories: fragrance and shoes. Because just in time for the 80th anniversary of Andy Warhol’s birthday (August 6, 1928), Laurice Rahmé introduces the 3rd fragrance in Bond No. 9’s Warhol series: Andy Warhol Lexington Avenue. Think pre-Pop, 1950s New York fashion, shoes of course and fragrance: “Another way to take up more space is with perfume. I really love wearing perfume,” Warhol had remarked.
Back in 1955, in collaboration with Ralph Pomeroy, who wrote the shoe poems, and his mother, Julia Warhola, who did the lettering, Warhol published a little book, A La Recherche du Shoe Perdu, filled with his phantasmagorical illustrations of … shoes, accompanied by riffs such as "Beauty is shoe, shoe beauty…" (see: Keats’s "Ode on a Grecian Urn"). Thus did he elevate the status of shoes to poetry.

But why this fascination with footwear?

As a young artist, camped out furniture-less at 242 Lexington Avenue, above a bar called Florence’s Pin-Up, Warhol needed to make a living. Along came I. Miller, the legendary shoe establishment holding court at Fifth Avenue and 57th Street, which chose Warhol to update its image with illustrations for ads that would appear on a regular basis in the New York Times and the Herald Tribune. He complied with what one of his ads called “the Daringest new way to sell shoes”: whimsical displays of the Mod new pointy-toe, spike-heel pumps; he even devised gold-leaf Crazy Golden Slippers for a range of celebrities that included Zsa Zsa Gabor and James Dean. So seriously did Warhol take his shoe illustrations that in 1956 he submitted one of them as a gift to the Museum of Modern Art. (It was rejected.)
The I. Miller illustrations hinted at Warhol’s future. A decade before Pop Art emerged, he was already advancing consumer goods as a worthy subject—perhaps the new subject—of art. What’s more, in these shoe ads he began using repetition to emphasize the product’s allure.

Now, fast-forward to 2008 as Bond No. 9 began developing its third Warhol fragrance(following Silver Factory and Union Square). The rich lode of phantasmagorical shoes Warhol created on paper fifty years ahead of their time was the theme.
The Lexington Avenue eau de parfum is a floral woody chypre (a modern chypre with fresh citrus topnotes and a lingering forest-like base) with highly coveted contemporary gourmand notes—a brew of peony, orris, patchouli, sandalwood, cardamom, fennel, almonds, cumin, and even crème brulee. A seductive and intoxicating autumn-winter fragrance, Andy Warhol Lexington Avenue is the perfume equivalent of that rarity, an outrageously luxurious pair of stiletto heels that fit as comfortably as a glove. Wearing the scent, like wearing the shoes, will turn a woman’s walk into a sinuous glide.
“Prophetically, Andy Warhol’s first job upon his arrival to New York City was to illustrate a magazine article entitled ‘Success is a Job in New York,’” said Michael Hermann, Director of Licensing at The Andy Warhol Foundation. “Andy Warhol Lexington Avenue celebrates the fashionable, sophisticated, and successful women of New York City through the whimsical lens of Andy Warhol and his artwork.”

The flacon
Depicted on the Bond No. 9 superstar bottle is a Warholian fantasy collage of shoes and boots, as commissioned by I. Miller, in rich, saturated colors. The overall effect is witty and sophisticated—as assured as the high-stepping optimism of the mid-century America of Warhol’s shoe-illustrating years.
The project is udertaken with the collaboration of the Andy Warhol Foundation Visit the Warhol Foundation here.


Andy Warhol Lexington Avenue will be available in two sizes: 100ml and 50ml, at Bond No. 9’s four New York City boutiques, http://www.bondno9.com/, 877.273.3369, and at Saks Fifth Avenue nationwide.

Launch date: September 2008
Suggested Retail Price: $195 for 100ml; $135 for 50ml
For the holiday season, Limited-edition flacons will feature Robert Lee Morris sterling silver shoe pendants of Warhol’s shoe designs—four of them—on a sterling silver chain hanging from the neck of the bottle.

When Magic is not Enough ~L'instant Magic by Guerlain: fragrance review

A caress of flowers and woods… That's how L'instant Magic , a flanker to the original L'instant by Maurice Roucel for Guerlain, was introduced to the public last September. The anticipation was mostly accountable to its being a new Guerlain for the mainstream distribution as opposed to their exclusive boutique scents; a challenging feat. Yet the resulting pastiche leaves something to be desired, highligting the all too painful division between both the glorious delicacy of yesteryear such as Chant d'Arômes but also the brave stance of modern additions such as Insolence.

"After a bergamot opening, the fragrance unveils a musky-floral heart with fresh notes of rose and freesia. The white-musk dry-down worked into a ‘muscinade’ (a wink and a nod to the famous Guerlinade) is warmed up with woods and a touch of almond."
Designed by Randa Hammami of Symrise, in collaboration with Sylvaine Delacourte, artistic director at Guerlain, L'instant Magic launched in September 2007. I had resisted reviewing it for months, because I was hoping that I was oblivious to some hidden charm that would reveal itself to me in a flash of apocalyptic glory when I was least expecting it.
However, with the apostasis of several months and numerous trials, I can safely say that it didn't live up to my expectations. Not to mention that the linguistically schizophrenic name irritates me (shouldn't it have been "Magique" since the rest of it is French?)

The fragrance itself fails to capture me aesthetically, but also on a cerebral level: if one wants an almond gourmand ~as surmised by the marzipan paste detectable after the initial burst of Earl Grey tonalities in L'instant Magic~ one needs to see no further than Hypnotic Poison with its dare and sexy attitude; if one seeks a feminine musky floral with a "clean" feel , then Hammami's Cruel Gardenia is so much better; if the pursuit is instead focused on a smooth woody fragrance for women, then Flower Oriental by Kenzo fits the bill with less pretence and more conviction. L'instant Magic tries to be too many things at once, failing to bring a coherence of vision.
The overall effect is startingly un-Guerlain-like with a sweet, rotten fruits vibe which seems so fashionable right now; but whereas the original L'instant by Roucel ~more or less also separated from the Guerlain tradition~ managed to be nuzzlingly pleasant and addictive to its fans, L'instant Magic is a departure to a destination best forgotten where magic has escaped like a djin who left the bottle long ago.

The bottle reinterprets the curves of the original L’Instant, but the base of the bottle and the surface of the cap are black.
The commercial was directed by Jean Bocheux, featuring rather indecently-clad model Michelle Buswell ascending what seems like a never-ending staircase to who knows where and who cares anyway.



L'instant Magic comes in Eau de Parfum 80ml/2.7oz, 50ml/1.7oz and 30ml/1 fl. oz.; Extrait de parfum bottle 7.5ml/¼ fl.oz, Magical Body Lotion 6.8 fl. oz, Magical Shower Gel 6.8 fl. oz.
Available from major department stores.

Ad pic courtesy of Fragrantica. Clip originally uploaded by MollyPepper1 on Youtube

Chant d'Aromes by Guerlain: fragrance review

As I lay my hands on the black and ivory keyboard of my Pleyel, fingering Le Lac de Côme, I can't but feel the optimism and bright sunshine of a summer's day that Chant d’Arômes by Guerlain evokes in me as well. One of the lesser known Guerlains, it is akin to an innocent young love that is blossoming into the happiness of womanhood. This summer I happily rediscovered this old flame of mine and have been enjoying its tender peachiness and delicate, caressing powderiness anew.

Chant d’Arômes was created in 1962 by young Jean Paul Guerlain for his future wife, who was so loyal to her favorite Ma Griffe by Carven that she didn't wear any of the fragrances of the house her fiancé was about to inherit! In a getting even roundabout way, Jean Paul created this peachy, lactonic, floral chypre to lure her into wearing a Guerlain and thus made his first foray into the illustrious line of creations of the historical house.
Erroneously translated as "Language of Flowers" sometimes, its French name in fact has the elegiac meaning of "Song of Aromas" which beautifully echoes its oneiric musical cadenzas.

The translucent opening of Chant d’Arômes ~with what seems like a dash of mandarin~ is not unlike the older version of Ma Griffe which was much brighter due to lots of bergamot and aldehydes or Chanel No.22 with its incense touch, lending a sparkling and intriguing character to the composition. It very soon melts into the embrace of the undecalactone of peach skin ~soft, fuzzy and completely mesmerising; tender like the hand of a mother, loving like the gaze of a lover in the first throes of romance. The flowers are all subdued and well blended into a medley of harmonious arpeggios, revealing little hints of this or that at the most unexpected turns, never heady, never loud. Through it all, there sings the brassy contralto of cinnamon, accountable to benzoin, but also reminiscent of the styrax ambience of vintage Ma Griffe's drydown. You would be hard pressed to distinguish any single ingredient as they all sing together with the smoothness of a choir performing Pachelbel's Canon in D; optimistic, lightly sweet, but with the slightest mossy autumnal background, a debt to the unsurpassable Vol de Nuit.
And yet Chant d’Arômes does not aim to be a link in the Guerlain chain, but making a fresh, ever young start it takes us into the realm of the eternally sunny. Although officially classified as a chypre floral by Guerlain, I find that its chypré qualities do not make it difficult, but on the contrary it serves as the perfect choice between floral and chypre for those who do not like the extremes of either category. Its innocence fondles the mystery of youth.



According to Luca Turin in Perfumes, the Guide, it got reformulated in the early 90s to an aldehydic floral of less distinguished nuances, but it has reverted to almost full its peachy glory in 2007 in the famous bee bottles.
Extrait de Parfum was discontinued at one point but is now available at the Paris flagship boutique in Les Parisiennes line; worth pursueing for those who find that the Eau de Toilette lacks the desired staying power.
I have found that the latter performs much better in the sunny and warm weather it naturally evokes, rather than the colder days of the year, and it never fails to put me in a bright and happy mood no matter what might have intervened.

Notes:
top: mirabelle, gardenia, aldehydes, fruits
heart: rose, jasmine, honeysuckle, ylang-ylang
base: benzoin, musk, vetiver, heliotrope, moss, olibanum

Clip "Le Lac de Come" by C.Galos, Op.24, originally uploaded by PSearPianist on Youtube. Pic originally uploaded by MizLiz211 on MUA.

Yes, but is it original?

"Newness is in the mind of the artist who creates and not in the object he portrays.[...]What moves men of genius, or rather, what inspires their work, is not new ideas, but their obsession with the idea that what has already been said is still not enough."

~Eugene Delacroix, May 14, 1824

With this aphorism in mind, this past weekend I was contemplating whether perfumery still possesses originality. Originality in art manifests itself in both subject choices (what to tackle) as well as style (technique). The fact that perfumery can be an art form if the people behind it are so inclined is undoubted in my mind, as I had elaborated a few years back wondering what constitutes art in perfumery and what does not. I had also mused on whether post-modernism influenced perfumers. This train of thought was re-kindled by a comment on Denyse's Grain de Musc: the new Serge Noire is great, per our combined opinions; “yes, but is it original”? asked BillyD.

In The Thought Gang, the British author Tibor Fisher wrote that all ideas were covered by the Greeks long ago and we're merely rehashing the collectively forgotten. This is the conundrum of the artist: "I won't look at what has come before, I won't go to galleries or museums, I won't read or talk to artists, and thus I can't help but be original." Is this even possible? Is it even desirable?

Originality in perfume seems somehow unattainable today, if only because Serge Lutens has been so instrumental in the emergence of original compositions and niche perfumery in general, raising the bar high for others as well as himself.
Nevertheless the first niche lines were probably L’artisan Parfumeur founded by Jean François Laporte and Diptyque by Yves Coueslant and Desmont Knox Leet. The former started by issuing lighter compositions than the mainstream brands, inspired by nature and focusing on forgotten or completely novel ingredients (Mûre et Musc, L’eau du Navigateur, Prémier Figuier, Vanilia, Bois Farine) ; the latter, striding over the more picturesque scenery of Greece, coming up with intensely unusual compositions such as the herbal L’eau trois, the strange beast of L’Autre or Eau Lente, inspired by historical descriptions of the time of Alexander when such concepts were the Ultima Thule .
But it was Lutens that shrouded his craft with prestidigitation, a touch of Japanese aesthetics and the opulent tradition of the Arab world. The boom of the Internet made this small, elitist line with the exquisitely unique fragrances a cult item, prompting others to step their toes in the pond of niche. Some of them, such as Les éditions des Parfums Frédéric Malle had original ideas: acting as a book editor to a lineup of authors-perfumers who compose what they want without commercial restrictions. Some other brands capitalized on the new boutiques such as Aedes, Luckyscent and First in Fragrance, to issue their own less original paradigms.

Who bought all those fragrances?

Some ask praise of their fellows,
But I being otherwise
Made compose curves
And yellows, angles or silences
To a less erring end.

Thus delineated E.E.Cummings his desire to go off the beaten path in 1926. This was very much the mindset of the audience which Lutens first accosted in his foray into Les Salons du Palais Royal de Shiseido in 1992. I recall an article by Susan Irvine for the British Vogue in mid-90s which quoted someone who didn’t want to go out to dinner and have the waitress lean over smelling of the same perfume; therefore she went for niche! It seemed that there was both an elitist and snobbish streak running through.
And although I have been a perfume lover as far back as I can recall, when I first immersed myself into the Internet world of perfume boards before the boom of perfume blogs in 2005 I remember it increasingly impressed me as if the more weird a composition was, the more devoted its fans were and the cooler they were perceived by others. It was as if an unwritten rule set the measure of sophistication as liking fragrances that would produce confounded whispers and raised eyebrows among the non-initiated. The hallmark of a cult, if there is one!
“Ohhh! Dust-on-an electric-lamp accord!” the collective frisson of excitement was palpable as we were reading the notes in Odeur 53. What had happened to Guy Robert's axiom that a fragrance must smell pleasant?
Other times it was the quest for the rare, the hunt for the pearl beyond measure, a fragrance forgotten by time, mere dregs at the bottom of a derelict bottle hiding in someone else’s attic and auctioned at exorbitant prices.
Soon brands cottoned up: they began to bring out fragrances both resurrected like Phoenixes from the ashes (i.e. Guerlain, Lancôme) and based on the most provocative or outré concepts (ie. état libre d’Orange, Le Labo, By Killian).

And someplace between this and that, myriads of brands issuing the 174th Ambre or the 48th Cuir and noses coming up with small cupcakes accord ~as if larger cakes smell differently~ we became jaded. The thrill of discovery was over. Have the niche brands stopped being creative and original or have we changed? I propose to you that it's a little bit of both. Releases in both mainstream and niche lines multiplied 50-fold in the last decade, meaning it was impossible in terms of time and brainpower to come up with something unforeseen; also, when one is sampling things more than actually wearing a constant rotation of favorites (which is what often happens to perfume writers and enthusiasts such as us), there is an amount of jadedness setting in. It is as if we know what we’re going to smell before we inhale, we know what we’re going to read before we lay eyes on the promotional text and as if we couldn’t really be bothered to hunt the new down anymore. There is ennui and boredom. Is it significant? Will perfumery suffer because of the waning interest? Probably not, judging by the fledging brands mushrooming up every day or the new Myrmidons banging fearlessly down on Aedes’s door, eager to sniff the newest this or that.

John Sloan wrote in Gist of Art in 1939:

"Sometimes it is best to say something new with an old technique, because ninety-nine people out of a hundred see only technique. Glackens had the courage to use Renoir's version of the Rubens-Titian technique and he found something new to say with it. Cezanne may have tried to paint like El Greco, but he couldn't help making Cézannes. He never had to worry about whether he was being original. Don't be afraid to borrow. The great men, the most original, borrowed from everybody. Witness Shakespeare and Rembrandt. They borrowed from the technique of tradition and created new images by the power of their imagination and human understanding. Little men just borrow from one person. Assimilate all you can from tradition and then say things in your own way. There are as many ways of drawing as there are ways of thinking and thoughts to think."

A thought well-worth keeping in mind for the perfumers and art directors of perfume brands. And for ourselves, as well!


Pics courtesy of mondino-update and manuelZx48K on flickr

The first "discontinued" Serge Lutens fragrance: a bad omen or not?

According to latest developments, arising from a discussion on Perfume of Life forum, initiated by my friend Denyse who lives in Paris, the unthinkable has happened: Serge Lutens has decided to discontinue Miel de Bois, one of the least liked and most derided fragrances of his in the export line. [edit to add: it has become a Paris exclusive]

It's not so much that it is a great loss in terms of users who will be lamenting its passing, because like mentioned above, it was extremely unpopular due to its overuse of phenylacetic acid*, which is used to give a honey-like odour (in accordance to the "miel" part of the name which means honey in French), but which can produce an olfactory profile of urinous nuances in high concentration. The news are not officially corroborated or explained as yet.

However this has sparked a fear that if indeed the reason of discontinuation is its abysmal reception by the market, then there is something rotten in the kingdom of Denmark and the Lutens brand is not impervious to the vagaries of marketing and sales. This could mean trouble for many of the less popular fragrances of the line, like the celery-smelling Chypre Rouge, the cozy yet dirty animalic Muscs Kublai Khan or the exquisite Douce Amère. And for a brand that has set the bar much too high, this would be foreboding and sad.

Nevertheless, Perfume Shrine in an attempt to exorcise the above demons, has researched a bit and found out that the key ingredient phenylacetic acid is used in the illicit production of phenylacetone, and therefore subject to controls in the United States. Perhaps the high concentration of said ingredient in the fragrance made it difficult to continue producing it without jumping through hoops of bureaucratic paperwork?

Additionally, phenylacetic acid has been found to be an active auxin (a type of phytohormone) molecule, predominantly found in fruits. Auxin comes from the Greek αυξανω which means "to grow", affecting cell division and cellular expansion, which means it has the potential to disrupt another organism's hormonal balance. Used in high doses, auxins stimulate the production of ethylene which can in turn inhibit elongation growth, cause femaleness of flowers in some species or leaf abscission and even kill the plant.

Whether this has tangible effects in humans is not to my knowledge, however seeing as the IFRA and EU terms of ingredients use call for severe restrictions on so many other substances used in perfumery, it might bear some relevance to the desire to discontinue the fragrance.

I don't know which of the reasons thus hypothesized is worse, but in any case, if you are among the few admirers of Miel de Bois or of daring compositions which will be shown to one's grandchildren when everything will be sanitized in the near future, this is your time to stock up.

*Stop the press latest info: I have been informed by a highly savvy source that Christopher Sheldrake, the nose behind it, never liked it and Serge Lutens himself might have stopped liking it too, which could account for his perfectionist streak showing through axing it. Remains to be seen.

*The ingredient is also known as α-toluic acid, benzeneacetic acid, alpha tolylic acid, and 2-phenylacetic acid.

When Someone Usurps your Signature Fragrance

When at school my best friend was using Anais Anais, the soft-focus lily scent in the retro opaline bottle that recalled Victoriana and the BBC series Jayne Eyre and The Barrets of Wimpole Street we were watching on television. Something about the aesthetics of its nostalgia coupled with the erroneous hint that it might have something to do with Anais Nin and her Delta of Venus lured me into getting my own bottle. Little did I know that this act would produce the fury of a Maenad! Never mind that Anais Anais was worn by almost anyone below voting age at the time. The cardinal sin had been commited: I had usurped the signature fragrance of someone else and my penance would be exile.

After half a bottle, I somewhat tired of Anais Anais, no matter how pretty and wistfully autumnal it was. The initial coup de foudre was no longer there. Instead, my heart was pounding with fascination for the decadent opulence of Opium which had marked me years before unexpectedly: finally able to procure a bottle of my own with my pocket money, I did just that. The fragrance became so much a part of my psyche, with sporadic flirts with my mother's Mitsouko and Cabochard, that I could never understand how anyone on God's green earth could claim it. Yet, claim it they did and several other people, usually older, used it as well, often in exceedingly large amounts that became noisesome. I remember I was both dismayed and disappointed at that. Since I loved it so much, one would assume that I would enjoy smelling it in the air, catching the wake of it from passing strangers and acquaintances. But it never seemed to smell properly on them. Yet deep down I was a little relieved as well: It was still mine and mine alone, I was hissing through clenched teeth ~my precious!

The final straw was at the university, when a particularly nosey classmate questioned me on what I was wearing and I was very eager to let her share: a small eau de toilette bottle was always in my Longchamp along with my notebook with lecture notes on the Aeniad, the syncretism in late Middle-Ages and the artifact types of Upper Mesolithic. Soon enough, what was that divine cloud I was smelling two pews below, wafting up to engulf me in the smell of betrayal?
It was at that moment that I had the perfumephile's equivalent of St.John's visions at Patmos: I finally realised why it's not good form to wear the same fragrance as your friend...

Copying someone's identity in its external manifestations and even their intellectual interests, emulating their fashion sense, their hairstyle, their makeup and colour choices and suddenly adopting the same music sense and book material can feel annoying and a little alarming for the one who is being copied: is it to be taken as a compliment or as an invasion of private space and the right to mark one's own territoty?
That last part seems to me to be at the bottom of this particular annoyance. Although we have progressed from the jungle, the jungle hasn't left us: we still need to mark our territoty with the invisible olfactory stain of our id. And we do that with our loved ones and the scents we choose for them as well.
The scent we choose ourselves to represent our id can be even more poignant when usurped: the betrayal is not only on the physical, territorial plane but on the cerebral as well. It's as if our decision to adopt a certain signature fragrance has been cheapened through blatant copying which required none of the visceral or alternatively the meticulous care with which we came to it ourselves. And in a world where there are myriads of fragrances around, finding that special one can be both hard and frustrating to go through again.
Additionally, when that signature fragrance is some obscure niche little thing we unearthed in one small boutique in Crete, hiding behind a local deli with dakos and stamnagathia, and only there, then it feels unique and we subliminally graft that aura on ourselves.

So what to do when asked? Faced with a question as to what is your signature fragrance, you're faced with a trilemma: if you reveal it, you are open for the other person to adopt it and leave you feeling somehow less special; if don't reveal, you risk to seem aloof and arrogant and lose a friend and get gossiped behind your back; if you don't reveal and it's a little known or unpopular choice you run the even greater risk of the fragrance never surviving the axe of discontinuation from the accountants in the manufacturing firm. It's a conundrum!

Personally, I have come to the conclusion that it's better to be gracious and sharing when it is someone who either has a genuine interest in perfume (so you get the chance to win a friend for life) or it is not someone you're bound to meet every single day (therefore even if they copy you, it won't be really significant). Seems to work so far...

I'd be interested to hear your thoughts and experiences.

Pics from the film Single White Female via movieshcreenshots blog

Twin Peaks: Perfect Veil, Nude Musk and Opal

Sometimes the perfume lover is jaded after being entrapped into the midst of deep and meaningful perfumes which sing the praises of king Solomon and his court. Sometimes I just want to put on something that is cuddly and soft and doesn't smell like perfume as much, more like the perfected emanation of a gorgeous body pulsating with vigour and sensuality. This is especially sympatico to the hot summer weather of a southern region, when rich harmonies might risk wilting and becoming suffocating.
For those instances, I turn to light, clean musks. I intend to devote more time to musk and musky fragrances in general soon, but today's selection highlights that imperceptible aura that I described above perfectly.

"The concept behind this scent was to recreate the smell of clean, naked skin ... only better" and this is as good a definition of a skin-scent as any. The words belong to the ad copy for the cult favourite of celebrities, Perfect Veil by Creative Scentualization, a company founded by Sarah Horowitz-Thran. {Perhaps the most interesting part is that she custom-makes fragrances for clients, with her perfumer Marlene Stang. Prices range from $350 to $1,000. Call (888) 799-2060} How fragrances become the stuff of cult celebrity fandom is a matter which is rather complicated: there has to be some effective infiltration to the celebrity's PR or some word of mouth from another celebrity (that seems to work a lot more than you'd think!) or gifts to said person which prove welcome and thus sanctioned to be publicized and so on and so forth.
For what is worth, Perfect Veil is perfectly all right, with or without the famous entourage of young desirables who favour it. Its citrus piquancy at the beginning keeps it from becoming suffocatingly powdery or too sweet and the effect is not too much like laundry, which is always a risk when working with synthetic musks in the family of Galaxolide and such. The pairing of citrus and vanilla, after all, has the illustrious ancenstry of Shalimar, an impression that is gloriously modernised in the delicately powedery muskiness of Shalimar Light. But where the Shalimar fragrances wink seductively under heavily shadowed eyes and eventually grab you by the collar, these cleaner ones merely slip the spaghetti strap of an ivory microfiber teddy letting you the initiative.

Notes of Perfect Veil according to Luckyscent: lemon, bergamot, musk, vanilla and sandalwood.

For something that is composed by ingredients that do not run too expensive I find that Perfect Veil is on a par with two excellent alternatives, in line with this feature's mission: Nude Musk by Ava Luxe and Opal by Sonoma Scent Studio.

Ava Serena Franco of Ava Luxe is another artisanal perfumer with a stellar reputation of excellent customer service who has devoted lots of her time in creating different twists on musks among a diverse portfolio that includes the wonderful leathery Madame X. Her Nude Musk manages to be just perfect, almost a deadringer for Perfect Veil and yet endearing in its own right. Nude Musk is described as: "A clean and sexy skin musk with notes of sandalwood, bergamot, light musk, and vanilla. Light and slightly powdery. Long lasting". The description is stop-on and the powderiness is especially pleasant, like the most sensual talcum powder you have applied on your skin before gliding into freshly pressed cotton sheets of high thread-count.

Another beautiful skinscent in the musks family is Opal by Sonoma Scent Studio , a company run by perfumer Laurie Erickson in California. Laurie, no stranger to these pages, has been working on lots of interesting musky twists with an edge, some of which will be soon featured on Perfume Shrine, so I am just whetting your appetite today!
Opal in Eau de Parfum has amazing lasting power that will surround you with delicate whiffs of the smell of being desired all day long. A little sweetness is induced through the vanilla touch, never too much and the whole does not become soapy-like. I find it a little less powdery than Nude Musk, very pleasant and quite sensual. I can definitely see why it is a best-seller for Sonoma Scent Studio and I can't blame anyone for liking it. Like its gem-like name, it's silky soft, illuminated as if from within, caressing and smelling like the warm skin of a loved one. Upon testing it I received the most delicious compliments on how wonderful I smelled, not how nice my perfume was. And that's the whole difference with those fragrances: they're supposed to enhance your own presence instead of standing alone as a piece of artwork. Opal never wears you, you wear it!
It also comes in a concentrated perfume oil made with a natural pure fractionated coconut oil base; no alcohol, silicones, water, emulsifiers, sunscreen additives or colorants added. The fractionated coconut oil is light and non sticky, has no odour of its own, but a long shelf life, dries quickly, and is a light moisturizer on its own.

Notes for Opal: delicate musk, vanilla, ambrette, bergamot and sandalwood.

These are all playful and uncomplicated scents for when you want to let your hair down and enjoy being who you are. Don't burden them with pretentious ambitions and you will be having a wonderful time in a cheek-to-cheek slow dance with them.

Pic of 1920s bathing suit courtesy of Wikipedia

The Different Company History and News

Following the work of perfumer Jean Claude Ellena, I came upon The Different Company, a small niche brand which was started by him with the sole objective revealed in its name: to be different!
In one of his aphorisms, Jean Claude had professed that classical perfumery although beautiful is too perfumey for today's sensibility, much like reading Stendhal. In his quest not to understand the market though -antithetically to what major brands do, running focus groups tests for their every product- he has always been about making the market instead.

Artistic freedom obviously meant everything and in order to discourage copycats and lowly competition Ellena along with his collaborator Thierry de Baschmkoff, a relative of his and engineer-turned-bottle-designer, opted for the most smart stratagem: make the juice too expensive, too top quality.
The Different Company opened its doors in 2000 with four stunning scents: Osmanthus, a fragrance based on the precious little Chinese flower with its divine apricoty smell, Rose Poivrée which Chandler Burr has famously -and complimentary- attributed to Satan's wife in Hell, Divine Bergamot, sunny brilliance and dirty hints under the sun of Calabria and Bois d'Iris, an extraordinarily expensive in the making woody orris fragrance fit for an exiled princess.

When Jean Claude got his in-house position at Hermès in 2004, the baton was passed to his daughter, Céline Ellena. She went on to compose both rich and decadent juices such as Jasmin de Nuit as well as diaphanous organza veils ~such as the fragrances in the ‘Explorations sensorielles’ (=sensory explorations) line that is essentially a garden trio: parfum d'Ailleurs & Fleurs (of flowers and beyond), parfum de Charmes & Feuilles (of leaves and charm), and parfum des Sens & Bois (of woods and the senses). And last but not least, the incredible Sel de Vétiver, inspired by Céline tasting water aromatized with vetiver roots at an eastern friend's appartment in Paris.
Their latest Sublime Balkiss, inspired by the queen of Sheba and a modern chypre composition no less, has been having the perfume circles talking and anticipating. (notes of violet, blackcurrant, Bulgarian Rose, blueberries, blackberries, clusters of lilac and a special fraction of the essential oil of patchouli, highlighting its cocoa powder aspect)

It seems we have been richly spoiled! And to top it all of, they have opened a new boutique in Paris.

Niche fragrance brand The Different Company has just opened a stunning new boutique in Paris, in the heart of the trendy Marais quarter. For the occasion, they have paired up with make-up brand Maison Calavas, who is sharing the space. Maison Calavas is specialized in top-of-the-line make-up, with a wide range of palettes presented in colorful shagreen, lizard and snake-skin boxes. 10 rue Ferdinand Duval, Paris 4è – (+ 33) (0)1 42 78 19 34

Their own website is still great to navigate through.

Info & pic via Osmoz and The Different Company

Serge Noire by Lutens: fragrance review

Upon smelling frankincense tears slowly being burnt on charcoals in an old bronzy censer, aromatizing the air with their otherworldy smell, I never fail to be transported in a mirage, similar to the one that Serge Noire by Lutens is evoking: Smoke is rising in the air of an old, byzantine, Orthodox church, the bright light coming fragmented in colourful snippets of reds and yellows through the panelled windows; old beeswax dripping heavily on the trays with sand on which pious old women have pinched their candles, each burdened with a prayer for the soul of a loved one; antique gold chandleriers are hanging heavily from what seems like a thread over wooden pews bearing the double-faced eagle of Byzantium carved in their backs, like an eidolon; visions of brides and grooms who have stood before the altar, erect and proud, crowned according to Orthodox canon with wreaths of silver, like royalty; the hushed lone whisper of someone who has seeked solace from the unrelenting heat of a bright summer's noon into the cool marbled-floored abode.

These are not manifestations of faith or religiousness on my part, rather the spirituality which seeks the opportunity to come out upon inhaling the fragrant remnants of smoke, stucco-ed along with the old egg-paint frescoes of the saint and the martyrs on the walls. And the pyrotechnics of myriads of Easter midnight celebrations, when the sky bursts forth with all the colours of the rainbow and the intense noise of fire-crackers that exorcises the evil spirits in a pagan atavistic nod which is so intrisically ingrained into the customs of this particular little corner of the world. Darkness and Light...

Exilde for ever: Let me morne
Where nights black bird hir sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorne.

Downe vaine lights shine you no more,
No nights are dark enough for those
That in dispaire their last fortunes deplore,
Light doth but shame disclose

~Lacrymae Pavanne/Flow my tears, John Dowland

Incense in general has this almost Pavlovian quality of invoking a feeling of serenity, sadness and almost perverse elation in me.
Frankincense came into the scene of niche cults with the "Incense series" by Comme des Garcons and Passage d'Enfer by L'artisan parfumeur years ago and although it seemed it languished for a while, it knew a resurgence last summer with Andy Warhol Silver Factory by Bond No.9, an arguably interesting take and with Andy Tauer's wonderful duo of the austere Incense Extrême and the sunny Incense Rosé this past autumn.
However Serge Noire has been one fragrance lately which has managed to include every aspect of my ignus fatus, replete with the power to obliterate every other thought during its slow and lasting denouement on my skin. I had posted some earlier thoughts based on confidances by friends who had whetted my appetite but my personal, intimate relationship with Serge Noire has been a revelation.

The name derives its lineage from history: In the 19th and early 20th century, the name (la serge, feminine hence the "e" in the adjective "noire") designated a type of textile, twill of diagonal lines or ridges on both sides, made with a two-up, two-down weave, that was quite popular: a delicate variety was used for finer garments, while a stronger yarn was chosen for military clothes. The etymology derives from Greek σηρικος (σηρος means silk worm, for clothes), which gave rise to the Latin serica and the old French serge.The interesting thing is that serge has been implicated through the British textile trade monopoly via Calais and the Netherlands in wars between European nations, especially religious ones: in 1567 Calvinist refugees from the Low Countries included many skilled serge weavers, while Huguenot refugees in the early eighteenth century included many silk and linen weavers.With that at the back of our minds we might start deciphering the enigma of Serge Noire.

Initially dry and spartan with the flinty, camphoreous aspect of gun powder comparable to Essence of John Galliano for Diptyque, ashes to ashes and snuffed out candles, Serge Noire by Lutens assaults the senses with the intense austerity of real frankincense and elemi. The impression is beautifully ascetic, hermetic, like an anchorite who has dwelled in a cave up in the rough mountains with only the stars as his companion in the darkest pitch of the night: the "noire" part is meditatively devoid of any ornamentation, eclipsing any pretence of frivolous prettification. The surprising transparency is evocative of the Japanese Kodo ritual rather than the denser cloud of Avignon. Those who are unitiated to the wonders of Lutens might coil away with trepidation and apprehension at this point, but much like the alarming mentholated overture of Tubéreuse Criminelle, this subsides eventually, although never quiting the scene completely.
And yet behind the caustic and mineral masculinity, a hopeful ascent of a feminine trail of lightly vanillic, ambery benzoin and sweet spice is slowly, imperceptibly rising after half an hour; like a subtly heaving bosom draped with Japanese garments or the curvaceous calligraphy of thick black ink on gaufre paper of ivory or creamy skin. It is then when cistus labdanum provides an erotic hint of sophisticated elegance in Serge Noire while the emergence of sweet spice, a touch of cinnamon, gives a burnished quality of black that is slowly bleeding into grey.
The ashen ballet in the flames, the swirls of oriental grey sing an ode to everlasting beauty, beauty under the cover of night's rich plumage.

Elements that have caught the imagination of Lutens and Sheldrake in the past (the camphor in Tubéreuse Criminelle, the ink in Sarrasins, the incense of Encens et Lavande) are merging here in what seems to be a personal declaration of faith. Rumoured to have been in the works for the past 10 years during the tenure of Chris Sheldrake at the Palais Royal, it has the seal of favouritism by Lutens himself, which makes it a personal token of identity.
I am hereby claiming it as mine as well: This is one of the best Lutens releases of recent years to be sure!


Serge Noire comes in 50ml/1.7oz Eau de Parfum Haute Concentration for 95 euros in the oblong bottles of the export line (with optional spray mechanism included) and has just launched exclusively for the Palais Royal premiere, to be then distributed by the licensed distributors from September 08.

You can read an interesting article on the Lutens genius in French in Le Point.

Pic of Monemvasia Castle steps in Greece by Kostas Katsiyannis, courtesy of ellopos.org.
Eva Green pic courtesy of au.feminin. Clip "Lacrymae Pavanne/Flow my Tears" by John Dowland, sung by
Andreas Scholl, originally uploaded by lasultanica on Youtube.

Is this the end of Ebay perfume sales?

"On Monday, June 30, eBay was ordered to pay a record fine. The on-line auction site will have to pay almost €40 million ($60 million) in damages to 6 brands in the LVMH luxury group – Louis Vuitton, Christian Dior Couture – and 4 fragrance brands: Christian Dior, Kenzo, Givenchy and Guerlain, for violating their excusive distribution network".

You can read the rest of the ominous Osmoz article as well as the concerned testimonies of perfumephiles using Ebay on Perfume of Life forum by clicking the links.
So not good!

New from Kenzo: Power for men

Kenzo is fond of flowers and thus in an unexpected twist he bases his latest fragrance for men on their image. Specifically he has envisioned the abstract tulipe sauvage: wild tulip, which Olivier Polge has materialised into Kenzo Power, a fragrance that encompasses the notes of bergamot, coriander, cardamom and cedarwood in a fresh woody composition which incarnates the new man according to Kenzo.
Power rhymes brilliantly with Flower, the bestseller for women by Kenzo, which also focuses on an imaginary vision of a flower: poppy, this time. Flowers for men have seen a resurgence lately, after the gignatic flop of Incense by Givenchy which attempted to break the mould and offer just that: a floral for men. The rise of metrosexuals however signals a new lease for life for this genre and already Farhenheit 32 and Fleur du Mâle with their abstract synthetic orange blossom, as well as Dior Homme with its rooty iris by the same nose as Power, have paved the path for a braver stance on the masculine-aimed shelves of the average department store.
Power doesn't sound too flowery, admitedly, but they promise a concept of assured power, masculinity and poetry as well, encased in a metal bottle that is inspired by the Japanese Saké bottles. First impressions talk about an overdose of spices for the fresh, biting effect, a powdery feel reminiscent of Dior Homme, aldehydic accents like Farhenheit32 and a salty aftertaste. It sounds like it should be an eminently fit to be shared between the sexes fragrance! Ladies take note!
We can but wait: the new fragrance comes out in 20 August in an Eau de Toilette spray 60 ml retailing for 53 €.
In the meantime I am leaving you with the artsy Japanese make-up and look of the Flower by Kenzo commercial from a few years ago.

Info and pic (photo Patrick Guedj for Kenzo) via aufeminin.com. Clip originally uploaded by SmokeyEye87 on Youtube

When a Perfectly Good Scent is Ruined by Association

I remember Amarige like I remember physical catastrophes I have lived through or heard through the retelling of elders, almost since the dawn of time. I remember Amarige with the abject horror we reserve in the farthest pockets of terror we keep in our innermost chthonian thoughts, ripe for sowning on a hot summer's day when the pending coming of the Antichrist doesn't seem too far away. I remember Amarige like the miasma of a horde of Attila the Hun sweeping through Asia and Europe till he is abruptly stopped by his own debauchery bedding a 16-year-old.
What prompted this tirade of evil reminiscences? Simply put, a timely comment by one of our readers, Sarah G, who asked if I had any recollection of having a scent completely "ruined" by associating with someone. Do I have one!

Amarige by Givenchy is a typhoon, no doubt about it, and it has earned its fair share of detractors through the years, as much as admirers. What however irrevocably sealed its fate for me was having to smell it spritzed five times under each armpit on the otherwise pristine shirts of someone close to me. The strange ritual was founded in the received knowledge that antiperspirants based on aluminum block sweat glands and therefore discouraged by doctors, who prompted to offer an alternative suggested a mist of cologne on clothes for a refreshing feeling. Little did they know they had opened the sacks of Aeolus! Amarige must have some redeeeming quality, yet refreshing cologne it isn't, by any stretch of the most perverse imagination. But to someone who is enjoying the suffocating chemical tuberose emanations, it must have smelled like the first day of summer. Alas it was my destiny to be around and it was its destiny to lose what advantage it might have had over my epithelium. Thus Amarige has been for ever associated with doom for me...Not that I consider it a good scent. But you get my point (it could happen to anything, even my beloved Lutens or vintage Guerlains!)

The matter of association is of the utmost importance when it comes to scents: we associate our mother's smell with comfort, our dad's with security, our loved ones' with feeling appealing and alive, our enemies' with displeasure; of warm bread out of the oven with satiety and of cold steel with fear entering a doctor's office for a much dreaded medical exam; of cut hay with the promise of summer vacations and of putrid water with disgust and anihillation. Scent poses its own universe of subconscious reality from each we often cannot escape. With every breath, with every quivering of the nostrils, we catch subtle or not so subtle wafts of essences which volatilize into holograms of all too real fantasy.
And it is most disappointing when those negative associations have to do with fine fragrance, fragrance which we might have chosen for ourselves or simply enjoyed smelling in the air, if only it weren't for that tangible web of memory which ruins it for us.

So, do you have similar cases of having a fragrance ruined for you through association? Let me hear those horror stories for twisted Little Red Riding Hoods now...

Photography by Jean Baptiste Mondino, courtesy of mondino-update

Globalisation-Indie Businesses: what's the score?

This tidbit of info and the very interesting video was brought to my attention by Anya from Anya's Garden.


I am not much of a Perfumaria (Passionaria of perfume, a term coined by yours truly) and in my life I have often being scolded of being a jaded aristocrat discussing the plight of the world from her couch ~which is not good karma if you think about it!~, but I thought this needed all the support it could get.
Perfume Shrine after all has always been for supporting small artisanal businesses and it would pain me if you were deprived of the choice to give them your business should you choose to.

I urge you to watch the video and read the post and, if you agree, to sign the petition. Just hurry, before the deadline for passing the signatures to the law-making body expires!

An Iris Problem: How to Build One

I got a most interesting mail the other day: Someone who is clearly very much a perfume lover and whom I knew before through the blog was asking me what I thought was a perfumer's perfect way to build a masterful iris. It surprised me because I am not a perfumer myself, but intrigued my nerdy tendencies enough to devote a post to it.
I have to put a disclaimer here that the post will feature some chemistry and might be perhaps a little boring for those of you who'd rather read ethereally poetic reviews about fragrances or some comedic spoof take on popular trends. But despite all that and knowing it won't be too popular, I thought it was worth addressing and I promise I will try to state it as simply as possible and even include a small index at the bottom for your ease.

Our reader has been reading what many of you have too: The Emperor of Scent by Chandler Burr, Luca Turin's Secret of Scent and Perfumes, the Guide, many online perfume blogs and boards...the works! Based on that and some knowledge of chemistry on the reader's part, those are the questions posed:

"I know α-n-methyl ionone (aka Givaudan's Raldeine A) was the chief component featured in Iris Gris. I also remember that one also needs irones; they are crucial, since it's this group of compounds that give orris its distinctive aroma.
Now, problem number one: which irone isomer(s) {1} should one use? I know orris emits at least three irones: cis-gamma, cis-alpha, trans-alpha irones. Octavian mentioned alpha irone in his Iris Gris entry (didn't mention which enantiomer {2} was used in Iris Gris). So what would be your pick? Is there a commercial blend, say, from IFF, that produces a good irone bouquet?
Then there are the interesting molecules....I remember Chandler Burr mentioning something about methyl ionones, which is a bit confusing since I assume ionones must have a methyl group stuck with them as well. Is this necessary? In addition, Dr. Luca Turin also talked about Maurice Roucel's ingenious use of Irival (produced by IFF), a nitrile{3} that gives Iris Silver Mist it's interesting quality. Now I'm lost..."

The question is interesting because it goes to the heart of the matter: in order to build a solid, good, true iris, where should the perfumer look?

To my understanding, irones are higher analogues of ionones, because they contain an additional methyl group in the cyclohexane group.
Although irones are indeed present in natural orris, it seems that production of a-irone has become standard, starting from a-pinene via the Caroll re-arrangement. [Basically the schema is going like this for anyone taking notes: A-pinene goes through decarbonylation, gives methyl trimethulcyclobutyl ketone, they add acetylene, there goes the Caroll re-arrangement, we get (trimethylcyclobutyl) heptadienone, pyrolysis is induced, giving methylated ψ-ionone and through cyclization this gives α-irone.]
Let me at this point clarify regarding the Greek letters (α: alpha, β: beta, γ: gamma) in the nomenclature of irones (as well as ionones and damascones) that they refer to the position of the double bond after the ring closure, while n- and iso- to the position of the alkyl group (assuming something other than acetone is used in condesation).

I suspect this ease of production is the reason why we have been flooded with iris fragrances the last couple of years: like Octavian pointed out, it has become easy to synthesize, not to mention it is a great marketability tool in a milieu which thrives on semi-info (the perfume lover usually knows that iris is the most expensive natural ingredient). Two birds in one shot!

But wait: what was that interesting molecule that Chandler Burr was referenced to mention? It must be a-iso-methylionone which had been erroneously mentioned as γ-irone in some old texts. At least, I suppose so... Therefore another irone, used to produce an iris effect.

Concerning Iris Silver Mist and Irival, let me set this straight. The info is not that Irival gives the fragrance its very specific iris scent (I just checked Luca's book before I typed this), but that it has been used in conjunction with other things to produce the ethereal, sad and grey rooty effect that we smell in Iris Silver Mist. Maurice Roucel, the perfumer behind it, used every ingredient he had acess to that had an iris descriptor attached to it, prompted by Lutens who urged him to produce an iris to the max.
There are possibly myriads of ingredients that have an iris descriptor attached to them (meaning they have some nuance of iris in their odour profile); if one reads lists of ingredients one sees that. To reference an example: Like we say that oudh has a musty woody but also nutty nuance when we smell it, the same applies for other ingredients, some complex like natural essences and some less so like single molecules. Roucel probably used all the ones available to him at the time and in the company he was working with.

Basically what I have concluded is that there is no single molecule that alone could account for a sublime effect on any perfume, be it an iris one, a certain jasmine effect or the surreal ones such as those based on dusty lamp and linen drying in the wind notes. Although we're often made to think that chemists discover magical aromachemicals/single molecules (and they do) which in bullet-form could almost fuel a rocket, to bring an analogy, I think that it has to do with context as well. The interaction of different ingredients with each other accounts for many pleasurable and not so pleasurable sensations and therein lies the artistry of perfumery. Rose and patchouly for instance do wonderful things to one another, which is probably why they are often combined. But with what different effects: smell Voleur de Roses side by side with Aromatics Elixir. The result is dissimilar. They are both based on this accord, but they go in different directions from there. Otherwise every chemist would be a perfumer! It takes however something more than that to become the latter.

The secret of producing a masterpiece iris -or anything else for that matter- lies in the artistry of the formula and the sleight of hand of its creator.

Index:
{1}.Isomers are compounds with the same molecular formula but different structural formulae.
{2}.Enantiomers, like their Greek etymology alludes to, are stereoisomers which have a mirror image of each other, much like one's own hands (the same, but somehow opposite).
{3}.A nitrile is any organic compound which has a -C≡N functional group (that is a carbon and a trible bonded nitrogen).

Pic of perfumer Alberto Morillas courtesy of Basenotes.net

Elixirs Charnels/Carnal Elixirs by Guerlain: new fragrances

We had announced a while ago news of the upcoming launches of Guerlain and one by one they are materialising: from Guerlain Homme to the new Carnal Elixirs/Elixirs Charnels by Guerlain which are to be released in autumn. Today I am pleased to offer the readers of Perfume Shrine a first glimpse into what the new trio entails.

La Maison Guerlain with the help of perfumer Christine Nagel and artistic director Sylvaine Delacourte came up with the idea of feminine phantoms, roles which women emulate in their everyday lives and catered to every mood with a different magical potion which is aimed at producing a certain mood, a certain fantasy: the femme fatale of cinematic tendencies, the truly erotic, sensual woman, the playful woman-child. So, which type of woman will you be tonigh?

The exclusive trio will be encased in tall, rectangular bottles with shades of both L'art et la Matière aesthetic but also somehow the Lutens exports, albeit bearing a silver-platted label with the name etched at the base embossed with a vintage-looking floral garland. The juice itself will be in three shades of lavender, beige-rose and rose.


Gourmand Coquin, aimed at producing the playful innocence of the woman-child, who might be not so innocent after all, is playing on two terrains, with notes of chocolate, piquant pepper, soft vanillic rose and lively rhum. First impressions are hinting at a profusion of chocolate which was only hinted at in Iris Ganache, last year's Guerlain gourmand, producing a very rich and sensual composition.
Notes: black pepper, rose, rum, chocolate.

Chypre Fatal is geared towards the Hitchockian heroine, a femme fatale with a disposition to match. Its intense sillage, full of confidence announces a fiery heart under an exterior of icy demeanor. To make this woman unforgetable the composition is lightly woody and spicy, softened with lappings of the infamous Guerlain vanilla and white peach.
Notes: white peach, rose, patchouli, vanilla

Oriental Brûlant is composed for those women who produce an instant reaction to men, that is them loosening up their ties. This soft oriental is evoking the colour red and is sensual and feline to the extreme in its ambience, with its warm tonka beans and the soft caress of soft almonds. The impression is one of a soft and appealing oriental a la maniere Guerlain.
Notes: clementine, almond, tonka beans, vanilla

The new trio of Carnal Elixirs/Elixirs Charnels will be released in October in limited distribution at Guerlain boutiques, however the bottles will be available at Bergdorg's Goodman starting in August. If you happen to be there the helpful Jason Beers might be the person to guide you through them.

250$ for a 75ml/2.5oz bottle of Eau de Parfum.

Notes and pic found via culture marketing . Translation by Helg.

Winner of the Hilde Soliani Teatro Olfattivo draw

We have two winners: Jarvis for the Bell'Antonio sample and Jenavira13 for the Siparrio.
Please mail me with your info so I can send along your prizes.
Thank you all for participating and prepare yourselves for the next one!

Next post will feature a long-awaited exclusive. Stay tuned!

Top 25 of current fragrances we can still enjoy!

So often we perfumephiles come together online and discuss how things were different back then and how older perfumes were somehow deeper, richer, better. I always thought this makes us an anachronism! Most of us have not even lived that far back! Of course there is solid argument that the way ingredients' restrictions, mercenary cheapening of the formula, old names pastered onto completely different things and all around derivative creations are cropping up, the future of perfumery isn't too bright. So many fragrances have been discontinued as well, not to mention the crazy fashion of limited editions which leave the loyal fan seriously crestfallen when they finish the bottle with no hope of easy replenishing.
But in this joint project ~inspired by Perfume Posse's call to readers and my friend Denyse~ which we undertook with the Non Blonde, the Smelly Blog and Savvy Thinker, we tried to focus on what is out there still available, still in good form, still gist for our mills. We tried to celebrate the little gems that are awaiting our litte paws to gingerly open and apply!

Compiling lists can be both exciting and frustrating, though. There are just so many things one wants to include, but obviously some form of elimination should take place. I had to eliminate beautiful creations which were limited editions, such as the sublime Fleur de Narcisse by L'artisan. Some older classics which are still around and I loved dearly have changed dramatically with questionable results: Cabochard and Ma Griffe, for starters. Then there are those which are on precarious soil: Alpona is perhaps destined to discontinuation due to the heavy restrictions on oakmoss? The jury is still out. And some like Pontevecchio W by Nobile 1942, although I loved them, just couldn't fit into the alloted limit no matter how hard I tried to cram them.

So without further ado, here is an aplhabetical list of 25 fragrances I really love! By no means comprehensive and not highlighting their historical importance in perfumery (you can take a peak at my take on what marked scented history here). Just what has me always sighing with pleasure, my psyche elated and my mind appreciating, every time I open the bottles. Some are mainstream, some are niche, some are feminine, some are masculine, some are shared.
{Those which are highlighted have been reviewed on Perfume Shrine, the rest will get their share soon!}


1. Angélique Encens, Creed (nose: Henry Creed)
2. Avignon, Comme des Garcons Incense Series (nose: Bernand Duchaufour)
3. Bandit, Robert Piguet, in edp (nose: Germaine Cellier)
4. Carnal Flower, Frédéric Malle (nose: Dominique Ropion)
5. Chant d’arômes, Guerlain (nose: Jean Paul Guerlain)
6. Cruel Gardénia, Guerlain (nose: Randa Hammami)
7. Cuir de Russie, Chanel in extrait (nose: Ernest Beaux)
8. Déclaration, Cartier (nose: Jean Claude Ellena)
9. Diorella, Christian Dior (nose: Edmond Roudnitska)
10.Diorling, Christian Dior (nose: Paul Vacher)
11.Fifi, Fifi Chachnil (nose: Jean Guichard)
12.Film Noir, Ayla Moriel (nose: Ayala Moriel)
13.Fleurs d’oranger, Serge Lutens (nose: Chris Sheldrake)
14.Grand Amour, Annick Goutal (nose: Isabelle Doyen)
15.Iris Poudre, Frédéric Malle (nose: Pierre Bourdon)
16.Jasmin de Nuit, The Different Company (nose: Céline Ellena)
17.L’air de Rien, Miller Harris (nose: Lynn Harris)
18.L’air du desert Marocain, Tauer Perfumes (nose: Andy Tauer)
19.La Myrrhe, Serge Lutens (nose: Chris Sheldrake)
20.Mitsouko, Guerlain in extrait and edt (nose: Jacques Guerlain)
21.Narciso Rodriguez For her, edt and extrait (nose: Francis Kurkdjian)
22.Onda, Vero Profumo (nose: Vero Kern)
23.Opium, Yves Saint Laurent, in edt (nose: Jean Louis Sieuzac)
24.Vetiver Tonka, Hermessences (nose: Jean Claude Ellena)
25.Vol de Nuit, Guerlain, in extrait (nose: Jacques Guerlain)

Which fragrances comprise your top 25 list?

Please don't forget to check out the lists on The Non Blonde, Smelly Blog and Savvy Thinker as well.

Pic courtesy of jilly1964/photobucket and manipulated by me

When it Comes to Scent: Are Men Animals?

In this recent discovery of Chanel commercials we spanned the spectrum from the surreal to the atmospherically descriptive and it's now time to come to the anthropologically evolutionary.

Without spoiling much of the fun of watching the Chanel Allure commercial unfold: Does the lost link still exert its powerful hold on hominids? This is a popular theory, if only because it makes for greater sales of fragrance. And subliminally we would all like to believe that subtle, invisible touches play a major part in human interaction. Wouldn't it be magnificently practical, unscrupulously cunning and efficiently manipulative to be able to rely on smells to produce the desired effect? Imagine the possibilities: attract those we desire, repel those we despise, batress our persona when talking to bosses and less-liked authority figures, invoke respect and then shed the cool facade before it becomes aloof, excite passions and then reliquinsh them when satiated or bored with the simple shoosh of an atomiser...Wouldn't it be something!
On the other hand is the sensitivity to smells and the desire to act upon them tied to neoevolutionary anthropology, attributing specific evolutionary features to specific cultures? Another issue that has its own little enigmas attached provoking heated debate along the nature or nurture dilemma.
And is this evolution strictly misandrous, since the evolution of women is sadly misrepresented, even in scientific circles?
Whichever of those issues applies, this is still a profoundly interesting commercial. Not to be missed!

*It appears to be a legitimate commercial. Interested to hear if anyone of you has seen it broadcast.

Clip originally uploaded by allaboutnemo on youtube