Yves Saint Laurent Belle d'Opium: fragrance review

When the perfume gods are chastising your Hubris (in this case taking the original Opium and changing the hell out of its familiar, groundbreaking spicy bouquet "thanks" to IFRA restrictions), Nemesis comes in the guise of bland innocuousness meant to flop, namely Belle d'Opium. Long forgotten are the droves of protest ~and inevitable adoration~ on the addictive powers of the original Opium by Yves Saint Laurent; the almost contraband repackaging in certain countries so that it wouldn't pose challenges at customs; and the Australian peanut growing governor who banned its sales in his county. Belle d'Opium merely raises an eyebrow at best with its almost masculine structure, which isn't wholly intentional and belies the fanfare and the Romain Gavras commercial (watch here) with which it was launched to the scene a little while ago.


It's no fault of the competent perfumers, Honorine Blanc and Alberto Morillas, but rather a capitulation to the sacrificial pyre that the "Intentional Fragrant Abyss" (our own patented IFRA acronym, which seems more like it) is pushing most modern perfumes into. Firmenich, who produces the juice for bean-counters L'Oréal, is obviously too afraid to bypass these new restrictions and given a cheapskate budget they are following the bland and confused brief to the letter: Make a programatic spicy floral-oriental for people who are afraid to venture outside Lahore for fear of coming to terms with real poverty and those who think visiting Paris means shopping for scarves signés, stuffing on croissants and doing Le Louvre in under 3 hours.
Oddly, the perfumers were obliged to pronounce such silliness as "the fragrance was inspired by France's cultural references such as the Belle de Jour film or Belle du Seigneur book [they wish!] but also international references, like Bella Swan in Twilight [there you go!] who is a fresh-faced young woman, a romantic figure later acquiring dark psychoses." [sic, I kid you not]. It's very bad timing that Armand de Villoutreys, president of Firmenich, was put on record in the September issue of Cosmétique Mag admiting there is no time for the company to work properly: "We receive an avalanche of briefs and the whole chain is overheated. It's mechanical, in the sense that we ought to be very quick and we don't have the necessary time to devote to each step". Uh huh...

Although the listed notes of Belle d'Opium include jasmine, gardenia, peach, sandalwood, lily and pepper, I'm scared to report that the whole smells of neither, but rather an abstract and shapeless spicy-woody composition, beggining with a muted fruity-cardamom note and ending in the familiar woody-ambery-patchouli drydown of myriads of modern fragrances, plus an incense hint. Spicy perfumes, like masterful ganster films, have the great advantage of having a core duet of players who battle for reign within the gang crossing each other and siding with other forces in order to prevail; you're at the edge of your seat to see who will overpower whom. Just observe the majestic (and statement-making) Poivre by Caron with its pepper & clove shot-down at dawn. If only Belle d'Opium had the guts to double-cross its partners, we might have something memorable in our hands. As it is, we're not only far from -even- PG13, but firmly into the Nickelodeon channel.

To add insult to injury, neither the sillage nor the lasting power are technically adequate for an Eau de Parfum, which ~with said perfumers involved~ suggests a quickly churned out "generic" please-the-masses deodorant for the price of a proper perfume.
What bugs me most? According to inside info I have the name Belle d'Opium was chosen to ride on the heels of Yves Saint Laurent's best-seller and will be eventually pulled in favour of simply "Belle". If Belle reminds you of... B'Elle (a fictionary flanker of Elle by the same brand maybe?), it's because that's the concept to begin with. Be Elle? Nah....Shame, really!

Available at major department stores in Eau de Parfum concentration (from 53 to 90 euros).

photo collage originally uploaded on stylista.gr

Cacharel Scarlett: fragrance review

It is with a sense of disillusionment that I encountered Scarlett by Cacharel while perusing the aisles of Sephora in search of a gift. The brand has something of νόστος, of L'Éternel Retour for me: Anais Anais with its funeral parlour lillies (no offence inferred) always attracted me with its subtle autumnal romanticism which so contrasted with our innocence of the times; Loulou has been a sweet memory of long-ago, a shadowed Lolitesque reprise of L'Heure Bleue behind the parapet of a circus (and it still has devoted fans); Cacharel pour Homme was rampant in school, even though it probably didn't merit quite such a popularity; Eden and Eau d'Eden had the merit of being completely individual in their own little way (a wet wools fruity-oriental and a watermelon ozonic that didn't hiss at you, respectively); Noa is a pretty white musk with a powdery little whiff that can be an office-friendly scent that's not completely trite thanks to a hint of coffee; and Gloria was ~before its unexplained discontinuation~ a pipe-tobacco dream on the lips of a modern young coquette posing at some night-club wearing a pailleté top and licking Amaretto off her lips.
Then they started producing über-sweet fruity stuff that was mediocre at best: Amor Amor, Promesse and Liberté seemed like efforts to tune in the craziness of everybody else issuing fruity florals with intense sweetness on a bed of cleaned-up patchouli, no doubt hot on the heels of Coco Mademoiselle's commercial success: efforts with results hard to deferentiate between and ultimately forgettable. Along with a pleiad of flankers that didn't shine any too brightly in the galaxy...

Scarlett goes even lower, reminding me of a deodorant mist or a shampoo more than a perfume and it really pains me to say so. Composed by such experienced and talented perfumers such as Honorine Blanc, Olivier Cresp and Alberto Morillas, it's probably a testament to the rush of companies to issue new things at a breakneck speed giving them about a week to come up with something. Or alludes to the desire to adress a pre-nubile audience raised on Japanese-style erasers and soapy non-perfumey "perfume" on their mothers: If you're brought up on Amazing Grace, anything more smelly than a bar of soap just might trip you into sensory overload. "Soapy" isn't necessarily bad, if done right: Great aldehydics of yore as well as modern musky florals prove it can be pleasant and even refined. The wrong kind however can tilt the scales into floor cleaner, deodorant cream and the laundry cupboard.

Scarlett starts on fresh pears that hint at the lightly gourmand and innocent opening of Petit Chérie by Annick Goutal and continues on girly transparent (and completely artificial, detergent-style) flowers, while vaguely being reminiscent of Juicy Couture overall only less polished. It completely belies both its wonderful flacon ~designed by Christophe Pillet~ and its fiesty name that would allude to passion and sensuality (this is neither O'Hara, nor Johansson). And just because someone had it phrased so very wittingly I am borrowing their words for once and quoting: "If Scarlett had worn this, she could have stopped the war all by herself. The yankees would have suffocated on their approach to Atlanta, and Rhett Butler would have donned a bonnet and crinoline and danced with Ashley Wilkes rather than endure our whiffy heroine".

But its invitation is so short-lived that a testing spree shouldn't leave you with too much to wash off, so do give it a try when you approach a department store and see if you think differently. I thought it wouldn't work too great on blood stains anyway...