Essentially Me: fragrance reviews (& draw)

Essentially-Me.co.uk is an artisanal perfume company founded by Alec Lawless, whose book Artisan Perfumery or Led by the Nose we had reviewed on Perfume Shrine a while ago. The beauty of the company and the site is that you can order your own supplies and play around with real, genuine, authentic essences to see what the heck they really do smell like! You never knew what's the difference between Virginian and Atlas (Moroccan) cedar? They have both. You read about Guaiacwood (Paraway lignum) and get confused? Now you won't be anymore. You have never in your life come across broom or boronia? You have your chance to revel in those unique and paradisial smells. You hear about orris (the rhizomes of iris) and how it's super costly (and apparently not used in your commercial perfume)? For 44.99 pounds you can get your very own with a very high 16% irones ratio (this is the percentage of the smelly molecules in it) and use it to enhance your scents with the wonderfully earthy, powdery, delicate aroma that was prized since antiquity. Same for link lotus absolute, osmanthus, labdanum, oppoponax, oakmoss and so many others....

Being a purveyor of fine essences through his and his ex-wife's company Aqua Oleum, Alec Lawless was in close proximity with good materials for quite a long time. At some point he decided to blend his own scents for sheer pleasure more than their aromatherapy value (and who can blame him, it's ever so inviting to mix those delectable materials!) and, what have you, he seems like he knows a bit or two about the art. Alec uses his own copyrighted "system" of describing and differentiating between notes, baptizing them Heart (the main idea, the "family" classification if you please), Nuance (the character of the composition, the central cord) and Intrigue (the accessory notes that pique your interest and provide the desire to explore further, top notes and nosegays, so to speak).

The line currently includes 10 fragrances made from naturals with only about 1% of synthetics*, of which I am reviewing 5 today (you will find a link for more reviews of the rest on Scenthive at the bottom)


White Blooms
Heart: delicate white floral
Nuance: soft green balsam
Intrigue: warm woody.

If you have never smelled real essences from flowers you're missing on a whole brave world: the essences vibrate with a Kirlian aura, emitting their life-force on paper, on skin, wherever. Those dregs in perfume bottles that pass as floral fragrances these days do not possess even one iota of that kind of vibracy. White Blooms is expectedly an orgy of lovely flowers, of which orange blossoms, jasmine and the sweet honeyed mantle of beeswax comprise the very core. It's awfully pretty ~without being all "demure" like so many office scents are~ and it is positively optimistic: sunny, feminine, ambrosial, wonderful. "White Champac and orange blossoms cover a faint hint of pink lotus and jasmine. Delicacy is maintained by using absolutes of hay and beeswax to impart soft warm green notes, which are, in turn supported by a base of sandalwood, frankincense and a light vanilla courtesy of benzoin resin".

Amber
Heart: masculine floral
Nuance: balsamic incense
Intrigue: herbs and spice.

Let it be said that I am not an "amber person". I mentally picture those people ooohing and aaahing over the densest of amber fragrances as big, "wooly" personalities with terrific social skills, engulfing hugs and always a virtual pattisserie of things to offer in the remisses of their cupboards. Although I don't stand small myself, I am certainly none of the above and my house-warming gestures usually involve on-the-spot preparing of little amuse-bouche (Better not shop for sweet things if no-one is scheduled to appear on my doorstep I tell you!). Having said that, most ambers usually strike me as pleasant on the one hand, but too embulient, too "expressive", too sweet somehow; and usually they scare the hell out of me with their gigantic sillage-d tentacles! To its credit this Amber follows the prime example of Lutensian vision and adds a fat dollop of herbal and spicy elements that manage to give a culinary aspect (the housewarming bit of something roasting in the background) while it simultaneously gives a lightly cool aspect through frankincense and melancholic myrrh (essences I am especially drawn to). It makes me feel comfortable without having that heavy, petting aunt with the auburn curly hair insisting I tell her "all about my classmates and my boyfriends" and I can finally relax... "Subtle hints of spice, mint, caraway and thyme evolve on the skin to reveal a floral heart of jasmine, lavender, rose and clary sage. The base is provided by labdanum, frankincense, sandalwood and myrrh with hints of vanilla and patchouli".

Trade Wind
Heart: cool sea
Nuance: warm earth
Intrigue: warm wind.

There's nothing more difficult than creating a "marine" or "ozonic" fragrance with natural materials. I believe it's nigh impossible because that family strongly depends on the popularised synthetics of the 90s. Trade Wind manages to just skim Charybdis, by opting to borrow the warmer elements of earth with its rooty aroma (very discernible vetiver and woods) and folding them into saltier things (seaweed compliments vetiver well, both sharing a salty nuance). The result is not exactly a marine and it's not screechily persistent and piercing like most marines are, which is a good thing. "Seaweed absolute with mint and violet leaf conjure up the ocean whilst galbanum resin, sandalwood, and vetivert hint at the soft warm earth. Carried in the breeze are faint impressions of orange flowers, linden blossoms, hay and nutmeg

Souk
Heart: Precious woods
Nuance: rose and spice
Intrigue: Incense.

No prizes for guessing this is a Middle-East and India-inspired fragrance: the very elements comprising it, from rose to incense to spice, suggest the East and its bazaarss. Perhaps because it's such a traditional concept or because Lutens has spoiled me rotten with his own mirage of Felix Arabia with dried fruits and dirty armpits I wasn't impressed as much. "The haunting smells of the spice markets, the Arab love affair with the rose, fragrant gardens, precious woods, resins and incense. Sandalwood, frankincense and Cedar of Lebanon are blended with balsams to provide a complex woody heart. Rose Maroc, jasmine, orris and neroli bring floral tributes from surrounding lands. Citrus fruits, herbs and oriental spices bring nuance from the market stalls and the ancient mysterious opoponax suggests incense with help from frankincense and sandalwood".

Tangos
Heart: violet leaf, tobacco
Nuance: Jasmine, rose
Intrigue: guaiacwood.

"Needs to be worn by a dark haired woman day or night if you have the confidence" is how Tangos is presented on the site. The thing practically beckoned me, calling my name. Dark hair, check. Confidence, check. Day or night wearing, check (I wear whatever whenever). Finding out it was originally made for a friend from Argentina based upon her choices of aromatics was titillating. The reality is it smells of many things that amalgamate into a musky, rose-tobacco mix with prominent florals in the framing. There is a bitter and also a sweet element antagonising each other and I feel like it should have been a little more feathered out so as to let the essences project more clearly ~this happens after a couple of hours on skin, I'd love it to be so from the start. "A deep green sultry forest (oak moss, violet leaf, vetivert Bourbon and tobacco) slowly releases complex floral bursts (jasmine, ylang, rose Otto, geranium Bourbon, vanilla and rose Maroc) with hints of herb and spice (hay, coriander, tonka bean)."

Please visit Scenthive for more reviews on the fragrances by Essentially Me.

I have a set of all the fragrances (minus the quantity I tried) for giving away to a lucky reader!

*Disclaimer on account of Essentially-Me.co.uk: "Synthetic fragrance compounds usually have petrochemical-derived ingredients. The ones we use are about 50% petrochemical-derived, with the rest made up of turpentine derivatives (that is, synthetic molecules created from chemically processing alpha-pinene which is extracted from pine trees)”

Body Painting Jack O'Kundalini taking "Jack in the Pulpit" by Geogia O'Keefe as the starting point via livingbrush.com. Tangoing couple via cam.net.uk


In the interests of full disclosure we have been sent samples of the line.

Natori Eau de Parfum by Josie Natori: fragrance review

There are few things more fundamental to a woman's confidence than the "just right" underwear and by that I mean proper fitting, excellent craftmanship and luxurious materials. It doesn't matter whether the clothes on top are fashion-conscious, whimsically bohemian or practical athletic-inspired gear, you only need to slip once into decent, quality underwear to never go back. In an exhibition of self-appreciation even in the most frugal of times, I prefer to invest in Aubade, Andres Sarda and Eres instead of other ~more evident~ outer garments, justifying the expense with the knowledge they put me in a good mood first thing in the morning.


The sensuality evoked by quality lingerie is not illogically compared to the feeling instigated by that category of fragrances which we call "snuggly" or "cashmere sweater" scents (like Bois des Iles, Barbara Bui Le Parfum and Rykiel Woman). Industriously ~and indeed fittingly~ lingerie designers have not been idle: From Barbara Bui to Fifi Chachnil all the way to the more bubble-gum sporting Victoria's Secret, major brands have expanded into smells to accompany their smalls.
So did Josie Natori (née Josefina Almeda Cruzhad in the Philippines), who has been creating lingerie, swimwear and women's fashions since 1977, creating a micrography of an empire that spans several upscale department stores in the US and at least 15 countries internationally.

The new release, Natori by Natori, is a floriental that although not innovative, or exceptional in any way, will win lots of people who will snuggle its ambery floral bouquet and purple-black bottle with a pleasure akin to putting on their favourite heavy-silk pajamas. Natori (the Japanese word for "highest artform" and a feminine name as well) has just launched, a fitting foil for the first evenings of autumn weaving their way through the raised blinds, creeping up on us unsuspecting with their crisp step.

The fragrance was created by perfumer Caroline Sabas of Givaudan. If Sabas's oeuvre (Fresh Cannabis Santal, JLo Miami Glow, Badgley Mischka Couture, Charles Jourdan Le Parfum) can be summed up it would transpire she goes for smooth compositions of modernised orientalia, like tapestries' motifs seen in densely-pixeled digital form.
In Natori this typical trait is immediately evident in a sparkling floriental that smells the way a devoré velvet would: smooth, with depth, yet surprising lightness of heft. Despite the advertorial on aldehydes, the impression is not the characteristic soapy-powdery effect of classic aldehydic fragrances, but instead what immediately fizzes off skin in a rather denser way is the plum. Its alliance with feminine flowers, out of focus, the silky musks (I hypothesize the new Cosmone being one) and the light amber notes (recalling the westernised impression of the latter middle-Eastern mix) makes it very wearable and exactly the kind of tactile scent which although you don't particularly notice all the time, you feel good wearing it.

As March from Perfume Posse wisely puts it: "Natori is the perfume equivalent of an expensive but very soft, flattering set of underthings that you’d wear as much for your own pleasure as anyone else’s." Personally I am a little disappointed at the lack of a certain "kick" at some step of the process: Natori develops lineary, with good lasting power and with a seamless progression in which one cannot discern any specific notes without tilting their head again and again and trying to catch them by force. Usually the latter is a trait of supreme technique, yet although technical merit is not lacking, I would have prefered it to exhibit the more shockingly feminine (and naughty) undercurrent of Une Fleur de Cassie by F.Malle incorporated into the standard dusky floriental bouquet. The way it is, Natori can be worn without blushing one iota, nor is it going to be especially chosen for grandes horizontales. Rather it's a go-to scent for women every day, like a boost of confidence they themselves are aware of. Nothing wrong with that, come to think of it.

The Natori flacon is a deep purplish black inspired by the lotus blossom, a flower imbued in symbolism in Eastern cultures, where poets have compared the blossom's furling leaves to female silhouettes coming out of their bath (There's something to be said about poets, flowers and women!). The cap is smooth like a river pebble. There is a small "window" on the body of the bottle, recalling the design of the inro-shaped Opium splash bottle, from which one can see the purplish shade emerge triumphant. Its purple colour recalls royal gowns but also the merging of opposites: like the primaries that conspire to create it, it possesses both cool and feisty vibrations.

Notes for Natori:
aldehydes, rose, plum, jasmine, ylang ylang, peony, musk, patchouli, amber.

Natori has just debuted as Eau de Parfum in the United States from Parlux Fragrances Inc. as a Saks exclusive (for the time being) with plans to incorporate it into a lifestyle line. Fifth Avenue Club members and Saks First participants will be invited to receive a deluxe ¼ ounce Eau de Parfum miniature in Limited Edition packaging.
The fragrance collection includes a 3.4 oz Eau de Parfum Spray ($110.00) and a 1.7 oz Eau de Parfum Spray ($80.00)

Please do not confuse the new Natori with the same-named discontinued fragrance by Avon from 1985.

Pic of Natori feather dress via amazonaws.com and of bottle via Sniffapalooza Magazine

Etro Messe de Minuit: fragrance review

Speaking of the ethereal allied to the feral in fragrances while reviewing Tubéreuse Criminelle by Serge Lutens, I had tied the former to that other "otherwordly vampire of piercing eyes which draw blood inveigling us into submitting willingly to its almost sacral fangs", Messe de Minuit by Etro. To say that it is the most arresting in Etro's elegant line is no exaggeration, but neither would it be an overstatement to claim it has the most striking mien in current perfumery!
Messe has the admirable quality of producing gut-instinct reactions in everyone who comes into contact with it much like the Cloisters in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC or the haunting executions chamber of Madame Tussaud's in London. Like the distant cousin who is neither elegant nor pretty, but when she sits on the piano everyone is mesmerized into attention, Messe de Minuit has a way of making you fall under its spell. Wearable it is not for most social occasions, even if one loves it like I do, so my personal solution for enjoying its wonderfully witching emissions all the time has been the discovery of the exquisitely luxurious candle: In its thick glass jar with its wide golden lid with the Etro logo on, it decorates my study at home, besides my old books collection and my antique camera from the first decade of the 20th century. Opening the lid equates a religious experience that reminds me poignantly of my own mortality, much like listening to the Commentatore scene of Mozart's Don Giovanni does, when he appears booming "Don Giovanni a cenar teco m'invitasti".

Even though the name (Midnight Mass) alludes to the catholic service of Christmas' Eve, in my experience the fragrance changes considerably depending on the season/climate, from the chillier crypt mustiness of the wintertime to a sage-like fuzzy warmth and gingerbread tonality in the warmer months. It in this frame that the fact la mama Sofia Loren chooses to wear it in the balmier nights of the South should be evaluated.

Introduced in 2000 by perfumer Jacques Fiori of Robertet (his tour de force in his many compositions for the textiles & fashions Etro line, founded by Gimmo Etro in 1968), Messe de Minuit starts damp and musty and brightly citrusy, with a scent that reminds me of raw pleurotus mushrooms left in the fridge for a couple of days. In this regard it is the shadowy mirror image to another citrusy incense fragrance from Etro, the more luminous Shaal Nur. The herbal and mildew-like quality gives a compelling weirdness to the perfume. The opening note also reminds me of the aromatic, herbal tête of the Slovakian liqueur Slivovica, but also of a frenzied July unearthing artefacts in the cave of Le Portel in the Pyrénées under the alternating hot sun and the cool shade of the archeological sheds.

While Messe de Minuit is touted to be "an incense fragrance", its core is nowehere near other popular incense fragrances. Passage d’enfer by L'artisan Parfumeur, Comme des Garcons Kyoto and Creed's Angelique Encens (all wonderful!) are completely different; they present a more serene attitude that still has a beguiling quality about it, drawing you closer, not further. Messe de Minuit on the other hand creates a needed apostasy. It also doesn’t possess that rich, resiny, sweet, smoky quality that I associate incense with, perfectly exhibited in Comme des Garcons Avignon or Armani Privé Bois d’Encens. It is as if the REMNANTS of incense smoke have settled down and been dampened in a old Paleochristianic temple. No holy smell , no passage of angels , no spiritual elevation. On the contrary , this is an abandoned abode , a lonely place deserted by man and God that has been festering demons and evil spirits , unhealthy and perverse. I can definitely see the face of the Antichrist in the background….
And then , what a surprise! It becomes really warm, quite spicy and deeper with bitter myrrh and sweetens considerably thanks to the amber and a touch of honey, almost urinous but not quite. Those old demons know how to play tricks on you. They put on a slight smile to beckon you in and eat your soul. And it also becomes earthy and “dirty” and makes you wonder about a certain frustrated humanity they once had that has become a distant memory to them. And it lasts, as if damnation will be forever. As it should be. I can see Anne Rice’s vampires wearing Messe de Minuit effortlessly while cruising in the human world.

Notes for Etro Messe de Minuit: Orange, bergamot, tangerine, galbanum, honey, labdanum, incense, myrrh, cinnamon, patchouli, amber, musk

Messe de Minuit is available in Eau de Cologne concentration at Luckyscent in the US, Senteurs d'Ailleurs, Liberty and Escentual in Europe. The packaging has recently been redesigned (black & white design, silver cap), depicted hereby is the (prettier IMO) older one. The matching candle, which is gloriously fragrant even unlit, is available at Fragrancenet.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Incense Series



Carlos Alvarez and Ildebrando D'Arcangelo in the Commendatore scene XV of the second act of Mozart's "Don Giovanni", originally uploaded by gtelloz on Youtube
Photography Roman Shadows by 3Lampsdesign

Guerlain Loin de Tout: fragrance review & history of an unknown vintage

Impropable finds come like heavy snow in August at a coastal town in Sicily or an apparition of the Virgin to St. Bernadette Soubirous performed by the Madonna of Lourdes, France ~once in a blue-veering-to-cerulean moon; and that only if you have been extremely pleasing to the Gods! Nevertheless I must have accomplished some minor divine appeasement because what I thought was in the realm of the above came in the guise of an infinitely rare collectible procured via a generous and knowledgable collector: One of the most unknown Guerlains no less, to tally up my archives of the venerable brand.

Loin de Tout ("away from it all") was issued by Guerlain in 1933 at a time when the lure of exotic travelling and the feats of aviation had cemented the belief that anything was possible. Vol de Nuit and Sous le Vent are probably the best known examples of fragrances in the Guerlain stable that were inspired by such a concept and so is the after-the-war escapism of Gaugin-esque Atuana. Like the above mentioned fragrances, Loin de Tout evokes by name the pleasures that await one from removing their psyche from the mundane of everyday life and its vagaries and abandoning one's self to the nobility of the natural world.

The composition of Loin de Tout is reminiscent of many elements in the familiar vernacular of Guerlain, especially other classics by Jacques Guerlain, scattered like coloured beads in haphazard directions creating a kaleidoscope of shape-sifting images: the animalistic base of such classics as Jicky and Voilette de Madame; the bouquet des herbes de Province that hides in some of the aromatic compositions of the earliest creations; the floral touches that exalt the romanticism of the Guerlain love-stories. In Loin de Tout everything is suave but with a rapid progression from the bright to the pungent and on to the lathery, which accounts for a trippy experience like a voyaristic glimpse through a keyhole to an affluent lady's or gentleman's inner sanctum. There is the happy beginning of orange blossom, clearly discernible singing like a nightingale for several minutes, all the while the lower density base notes peeking from under the surface; troubling, animalic and ambery. The progression veers into pungent notes resembling thyme and bay leaves ~a hint of L'Heure Bleue's herbal facet~ sustained into a warm summer’s day driving along the almost scorched shrubs of a Mediterranean country with all windows down and inhaling the warm, arid air with nostrils aflare. But not everything has been told as yet. After several minutes, the most unexpected note of a soapy floralcy emerges. Hypothesizing that it is due either to a hydroxycitronellal note (mimicking astrigent lily of the valley and very popular so as to “open up” the bouquet of old classics) or some aldehydic lathery tone of "clean" C11 (undecanal), also quite popular by the 1930s, it is an intriguing juxtaposition to the otherwise ambery proceedings with floral touches. It is an utter pity that the unpopularity of the finished jus put a stop to production quite soon, bringing an intriguing composition to an abrupt end, leaving behind only relics of a grandiose past, grist for collectors' mills.

The bottle encasing Loin de Tout was the historic "flacon brun fumé" better known as the one holding the previous fragrances Candide Effluve and À travers Champs Elysées, which were circulating during the 1930s. The beautiful and mysterious design of the flacon however proved unsuccessful commercially as well: being not easy to grab firmly, it was prone to accidental falls and was soon abandonded in favour of more fluted designs. Loin de Tout is almost impossible to find, indeed "away from it all", and if you happen upon it on Ebay or another collector's vaults you should thank your lucky stars, like I did.

Pic of Rudolf Koppitz nude "Desperation" via SexualityintheArts.

Guet Apens/ Attrape Coeur and Vol de Nuit Evasion by Guerlain: fragrance review & comparison, with a footnote on Guerlain Ambre

Gustave Claudin writes about Marie duPlessis in Mes Souvenirs: “She was fickle, capricious, wild. She adored today what she hated yesterday. She possessed natural elegance to the utmost degree. One could certainly say she had style. No one could copy her originality. As long as florists were able to provide them, she always went out with a bouquet of white camellias”.


Marie Duplessis is none other than the inspiration for the character of Marguerite Gautier, famously known as “la dame aux camellias”. Her natural sensuality and maturity beyond her years are a logical fit for a perfume like Attrape Coeur, formely known as Guet Apens.


La belle de nuit aux violets that is Guet Apens was composed as a limited Christmas edition by nose Mathilde Laurent 10 years ago (1999) when Guerlain had its first inflow of funds from LVMH's initial investment. A slight retouche by Jean Paul Guerlain three years later resulted in another Limited edition called simply No.68 (not to be confused with the new Cologne du 68 ~for a complete breakdown of that entanglement please see my detailed article here)

Was the sobriquet non sonorous enough to English-speaking ears to keep it in production? The resinous, powdery, vanillic juice at the core of No.68 bore ties of consanguinity with both Guet Apens and Terracotta, you see.


Guet-Apens was finally renamed Attrape-Coeur and since 2005 has joined the ranks of the permanent collection of Guerlain to the rejoice of perfume lovers, reissued upon the occasion of the renovation of the flagship Guerlain store on the Champs-Elysées. Although the scent is usually credited to Jean Paul Guerlain (rumours want the then working on Guerlain project Insolence, perfumer Maurice Roucel to also having had a hand in it), the original scent was composed by Mathilde Laurent, the nose behind the controversial Pamplelune with its sulfureous grapefruit and Shalimar Eau Legere/Shalimar Light (the 2003 version) which was so fabulous. Tact prevents me from elaborating longer on the possible rupture, but suffice to say Mathilde Laurent is now composing scents at Cartier.


The phrase Attrape Coeurs means "heart-catcher" and it is lovely in its connotations, although it can have its adversaries too. Hearts are usually a corny matter, depicted in nauseating permutations as a symbol of romantic love. Guet Apens on the other hand means "ambush" in French, which makes for a much more intriguing name, but maybe that is just my opinion. For Attrape Coeur I think of a seducer, a woman who is out to get men entrapped in her tentacles, but all that done in a most elegant and non calculating, non vulgar way

In a way it goes way back to another era. It evokes the real Marguerite Gautier, famously known as “la dame aux camellias” and her influence on French society, both as the heroine of the novel by Alexandre Dumas fils and as a representation of the Parisian courtesans of the 19th century. Modeled after a real person, Marie duPlessis (real name Alphonsine), lover of Listz at one point and of Dumas naturally, dead at only 23 years of age due to consumption but having made her reputation already, Marguerite is a very alluring personality. With her pale complexion due to tuberculosis and her manners of a grande dame she captures the attention of the Parisian high society. Camellia of course in not featured in Attrape Coeur (it has no significant scent anyway), rather dark violet is, which is very apt taking in mind that Violetta is the name of the heroine in the opera version of the novel La Traviata (which literally means "woman who strayed") by Guiseppe Verdi and numerous theatrical versions, hence the association.
In the enchanting and nostalgic Langage des fleurs, a book by Charlotte de la Tour, violet stands for secret love. Violets then with a little underscoring of woods and iris form the core of the perfume.

Identifying Attrape Coeur as a Guerlain happens after it sheds its veils like Salome one by one. The opening of Attrape Coeur is as if iris got suspended in a snowy mirage, fresh, tingling, hazy, reflecting light in all directions, not unlike the charming disposition the demure Apres L'Ondee coyly reveals. A little fuzzy, fruity tone (reprised in MDCI Promesse de l'Aube and Chinatown by Bond no.9) smiles with the beatific smile of golden mosaics in Roman villas. The glycaemic nuance of violets, undescored by a mysterious greeness, a fleeting earthiness, is winking in a jar on the countertop of a French patisserie in Toulouse. And all is poised over an animal's warm, vibrating belly as it luxuriates in front of a blazzing fire.
Even jasmine makes a brief appearance, but then I regrettably lose it: it’s a lovely jasmine note like that in another Guerlain, Flora Nerolia: it remains fresh, green and dewy. Compared to other offerings from Guerlain the base is somehow between Shalimar and L’instant : not as animalic as the former, not as sweet and –dare I say it?- cloying as the latter, it combines the element of eathereal iris and sandalwood in order to give stability and powdery dryness that is much needed to bring balance to compositions based on sweeter elements. The creaminess and luxurious, plush feeling of Attrape Coeur remind me of the opulence of Bois des Iles by Chanel; but whereas the latter focuses more on gingerbread-like milky sandalwood, the former is anchored in powdery, warm amber. It's that alloy that gives the tone, with a little vanilla, tonka and perhaps civet (which I was not aware of particularly, meaning it is restrained), so characteristic of Guerlain perfumes. Attrape Coeur is formally classified as a "fruity chypre rose animalic" (although to me the rose is safely tucked in there) and gives me the feeling that were Parure composed with peach and violets instead of plum and lilacs it would be quite close in feeling.

Attrape Coeur has a lingering, creamy aura of ambery woods which makes it very popular with people enamored with comforting scents, blooming on the skin and lasting on my wrists the span of a whole day going on well into the night. This is especially satisfying rising from a plunging decolleté as it is such a wonderful perfume and a nice surprise at this time of fleeting perfumes that make us apply over and over again.

To add to the confusion ~noting the additional "s" in the name which appears by mistake in "Perfumes, the Guide"~ let me mention in passing that a special Bacarrat edition of L de Lolita Lempicka in extrait de parfum with golden netting and blue topaz is also nicknamed L'Attrape Coeur and that L'Attrape-cœurs is the French title under which the novel by J. D. Salinger more widely known as Catcher in the Rye circulates under. Talk about picking a popular name!

On the other hand, Guerlain themselves, further the confusion. Vol de Nuit Évasion , introduced in 2007, is despite the name a completely different fragrance than the classic oriental Vol de Nuit from 1933. The Guerlain tagline presents it as "a nomadic homage to a classic scent". But actually it is simply the Eau de Toilette concentration of Attrape Coeur !(This was confirmed, apart from my own nose, by official Guerlain representatives later on). Yet it is circulating only at duty-free stores in France at train stations and airports (contrary to Osmoz's quote linked); clearly aimed at the travel-retail market which is experiencing a resurgence. Considering it's 1/3 of the price of the exclusive Attrape Coeur, it's a great bargain and not to be missed if you get a chance.
The bottle is following the classic emblematic design of Mitsouko and L'Heure Bleue with the upside-down heart stopper (slightly vandalised in the upcoming La Petite Robe Noire) but with the "circle" design of the name which appears almost cinematically-styled on the Sous le Vent flacon now. A lower concentration means Vol de Nuit Évasion whispers in hushed tones whereas Attrape Coeur would sing like a dramatic soprano (which is indeed the direction in which La Traviata's Violetta is taking). It's a good middle ground.


Notes for Guet Apens/ Attrape Coeur by Guerlain:
Rose, violet, iris, vanilla, woods, amber.
And a different set of notes I found:
Top: rose, jasmine, tuberose
Heart: peach
Base: amber, musk

Notes for Vol de Nuit Evasion by Guerlain:
peach, rose, jasmine, iris, amber, precious woods, vanilla

Shopping:
Attrape Coeur is now part of Les Parisiennes line in Eau de Parfum concentrations, resting inside the big "bee" embossed 125ml bottles with the boule stopper; exclusive to Guerlain boutiques.
Vol de Nuit Evasion comes in 50ml/1.7oz bottles of Eau de Toilette, exclusively available (at the moment at least) in duty-free chains in France.
Guet Apens in the lantern-style bottle makes sporadic appearences on Ebay.

And a little footnote on Guerlain Ambre: Notice this is the bottle lantern design used in Guet Apens! And as to how Guerlain Ambre smells, I will leave you to perfume historian Octavian Coifan:

"Ambre (1890) is said to be the first perfume of Jacques Guerlain. It is a very delicate and refined perfume based on the smell of ambergris tincture. It is not a sweet perfume (the ambre 83 type) but dry and deep. It has incense rezinoid, woody notes, labdanum, some balsamic notes (benjoin), orris. It is profound and dusty as the church wood or the very old books. A simple perfume that evokes a ray of light in an abandoned sanctuary."

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Violets, Guerlain series

Pic of Guet Apens, No.68 and Vol de Nuit Evasion by Fiordiligi (copyrighted), authorised for use on Perfume Shrine; of Attrape Coeur bee bottle shot by eowjdula/mua, of Guerlain Ambre via ebay. Artwork by Rafael Olbinski via allposters.com.

Patou Ma Collection: part 2 ~Chaldee review

In a roundabout way it was Coco Chanel, Patou’s main rival, that upon returning from vacation tanned as a sailor made sun-bathing fashionable and ultimately desirable inducing Patou to mastermind a fragrance, Chaldée, inspired by the new trend. Sun-worship was to witness resurgence after eons of absentia since its pagan days of idolatry.
For millennia ancient Sumerians, Egyptians, Greeks and Incas embraced the sun’s warm rays as the giver of life. And then even before western society abandoned slavery it embraced distinct social ranking which manifested itself through a very simple means: light skin meant less time spent out in the sun, which was the destiny of workers of the fields and the low classes in general. Thus an Odyssey began for women around the world employing poisons such as lead or arsenic in their quest for the unattainable pale ideal. Until Niels Finsen, that is, who introduced his Light Therapy in 1903 with purported health benefits, creating a mini-revolution, at least amid the scientific community.

But it was Chanel’s finger on the pulse of fashion that brought things full circle. A 1920s accidental tan while cruising from Paris to Cannes aboard the Duke of Westminster's yacht was quickly transformed into a trend-setting fad that was unprecedented. Tanning became a sign of leisure, of wealth, the sign that someone was able to take a vacation, preferably in a warm sunny place. The idolatry angle of the golden sun’s effect was also to manifest itself through the adoration of Josephine Baker who, with her outré style of performance and caramel skin, mesmerized Parisians into wanting to emulate her. Famous fashion photographer Cecil Beaton describes the Duchess of Penaranda in the pages of Vogue magazine:

"She wore sunburn stockings with white satin shoes...the duchess's complexion matched her stockings, for she was burned by the sun to a deep shade of iodine."

Jean Patou could not let this new ideal slip through his grasp like grains of sand between a sunbather’s fingers: he acted fast with Huile de Chaldée, one of the first sun-tanning oils which Henri Alméras, then in-house perfumer to Patou, re-interpreted in fine fragrance simply named Chaldée in 1927. The chosen name was to recall an ancient Babylonian region famed for its amber-skinned beauties. Chaldée with its deap, oily-smelling ambery character bears no relation to modern aspirations to being a Bronze Goddess, no matter how pleasant those might be.

A terrible dawn is showing through the parapets of Chaldea and, as the initial darkness of the night ~heavy with the fatty smell of hyacinths~ lifts, slowly you see upon the ziggurat the woman, adorned in candied tones of orange blossoms; her warm, pulsating flesh offered as an oracle and sacrifice to the all consuming Shamash. Her skin deeply bronzed, emanating all the aromas of Arabia, resiny, intimate, fetid. You can see the furtive but excited looks of the common folk awaiting, smell their humanness. The great knife is raised and swoosh… there flows the blood; scarlet, young, full of life, spent to join Nergal.

Today we know better than to sacrifice our flesh on the altar of Sun almighty in order to achieve the bronze looks and feel of powdered warmth the sun gives us. Yet as author Naomi Wolf notes in her controversial book, "The Beauty Myth", in 1991

"the discovery of photo-aging has created a phobia of the sun entirely unrelated to the risk of skin cancer [...]turning nature into a fearsome enemy from the male tradition's point of view [...]which stimulates women's fears of looking
older in order to drive us in the opposite direction: indoors once more...the
proper place for women in every culture that most oppresses us."

Worth pondering on...
In the meantime slip out a bottle of Chaldée, immerse yourself into its golden nectar and imagine yourself a bloodless Sun-offer.

Notes for Chaldee: orange blossom, hyacinth, jasmine, daffodil, lily of the valley, vanilla, opopanax, amber.

Pic of carnelian stamp seal, Neo-Babylonian Dynasty, about 700-550 BC from Babylon, southern Iraq, courtesy of the British Museum. Pic of Chaldee courtesy of fragranceglobe.com

Winter Amber Splash by Marc Jacobs: fragrance review

It is not seldom that something is misnamed in the world of perfume. Where shall I start? Angel, that dervish of a scent that has nothing to do with seraphic affinities? Youth Dew, that quintessential in the calculated arsenal of a mature woman that depending on her guiles can be interpreted as either too good or too bad? Fragile, surely not as fragile and subtle as you might deduce...Passage d'enfer with its cool soapy tone that belies its "passage through hell" name? (for a more detailed explanation on the name click here and scroll down). It is not easy to come up with a fitting name as we discussed on another occassion (click here).

And Winter Amber in the Splash series by Marc Jacobs is another one following the tradition of misnomers, luckily. Usually it is referred to simply as Amber and it was a limited edition anyway (along with their Ivy and Violet), so it is of no consequence for the upcoming generations in this fickle world of scent; but here at Perfume Shrine we like to hold on to things that caught our fancy regardless.
Luckily, I repeat, for me, because heavy ambers destined for an arctic winter do not make themselves approachable enough or suited to my sunnier surroundings; and I have to wait for the dead of winter to bring out the really heavy guns. Or sometimes, as is the case with Ambre Sultan, not bring them out at all, as they prove to be too condensed, too impenetrable and husky for me to crack their secrets and bring them to a climax. People who can actually manage those things are probably just as well left with those options and should consider themselves blessed.

On the contrary, this lucid, diaphanous amber lends itself to still warm early autumnal weather, weaving powdery aspects and rounded effulgent clean accords, softly glowing like an old silver-mounded honey coloured fossil trapping inside it a few precious drops of spicy forest honey. Cosy and velvety, whispery, it has the same soft quality that appears in Jo Malone's Amber and Lavender, without the latter's herbaceous edge.

Official notes:
Top Notes of Crystallised Ginger & Star Anise.
Heart Notes of Amber, Lys and Cassia Bark.
Base Notes of Cashmere Wood & Benzoin

If you dream of the Eagles lyrics below, this is the amber to take you into autumn.

I like the way your sparkling earrings lay,
against your skin so brown
and I wanna sleep with you
in the desert tonight
with a billion stars all around
’cause I gotta peaceful easy feeling
and I know you won’t let me down
’cause I’m already standing on the
ground
And I found out a long time ago
what a woman can do to […]

Its only drawback? The austere ginormous bottle that will last you a lifetime. Oh well, they're meant to be used all over...
Available at Nordstorm. $65.00 for 10oz/300ml of eau de toilette spray.



Next to be reviewed:

Prada Infusion d'Iris and Iris Ganache by Guerlain along with other exciting features. Stay tuned!

Pic of bottle courtesy of Nordstorm site.

Coromandel from Chanel Les Exclusifs: fragrance review

In the whole line of Les Exclusifs, one scent stands as trully lasting and sillage worthy. It's Coromandel, a dry ambery oriental advertised as "an oriental fragrance using a tree resin called benzoin, which has vanilla-like properties" inspired by the chinese lacquered panels that were abundant in Chanel's apartment, Coromandel denoting the company producing them and not the style of the panels.
The baroque appartment of Gabrielle/Coco Chanel on Rue Cambon, although not her place of actual abode (she used to stay at the homonymous suite at the Ritz in Paris), served as a background drop of her innermost luxury hedonist. And it was the basis of inspiration for another one of Jacques Polge's perfumes, Coco original, a spicy oriental, back in 1984. In it indeed a very opulent composition is evoking odalisques spread on leather sofas, weighted down by copious amounts of bronze and antique gold jewels.

Coromandel is described as "not innocent", as it is "weighted by frankincense" and "contains a hint of the heavier spices of the East".
Although I am a spicy oriental type, this sounded a bit like a rehash of Coco, of which for better or worse I a not a great fan and so before sampling I was almost certain that it would be too much for me, reserving instead my expectations for no.18. It soon proved that I was mistaken.
The initial impression is that of a citrusy, orange-like pipe tobacco mix rolled in powder, much like the one encountered upon meeting that vixen little scent called Fifi by lingerie designer Fifi Chachnil or a slightly less milky Fumerie Turque. In fact it could very well be a similar idea to that explored by the newer Burberry London for men.
Perhaps the orange impression derives from the inclusion of frankincense, a resin that sometimes gives off a sweet citric tang while burning.
A sweet lush note throughout is echoing subtly like vanilla pods immersed in fruity liquor and it opens up and expands on the wings of aged patchouli, mellow, soft, sweet and inviting. It would seem like the most glorious thing, if it were not for it being a little derivative of their Allure Sensuelle with a touch of Borneo by Serge Lutens and Prada thrown in for good measure. The influence Angel has had on the market in general is astounding to behold! Never mind that my favourite patchouli ever is Film Noir by Ayala Moriel.
Yet where Borneo is an inconoclastic dark patchouli laced with dark roasted coffee and Prada is an insolent single-minded young rebel that wants to shock her conservative environment in a relatively safe way, much like Muicia herself liked to do, Allure Sensuelle and consequently Coromandel do not dare push the envelope even in playful jest. They are not terribly innovative, although between the two Coromandel is much more complex and alluring.

Luckily, the pervading dryness along with just a touch of frankincense for a sense of mystery, not showcasing amber in any great degree all the while, provides a great balance to the sweeter vanilla elements and makes the whole not puff up in blue clouds of smoke, but stay the night on warm skin and well used sheets.
Sexy, yet not terribly imaginative. A cinnabar-hued brocade jacket, upper button undone with black camelia Chanel earrings. C'est ça!

Art photography by Chris Borgman courtesy of his site.

Colour of the jus

Have you ever wondered if the colour of your perfume is not a haphazard choice? Have you asked yourselves if you would love it equally if it were a different hue? Or more importantly if the people involved in creating it have actually exerted any brainstorming about this?
A funny incident happened a while ago and made me consider the issue from another angle than the mere personal.

On a fine lunch hour shopping spree I passed from that shop that was inspired by Moses' wife and rhymes with catastrophe in Greek (which is what my significant other always mutters when he sees a bag with the white-on-black logo of it). I am referring of course to Sephora.
As I was browsing, nodding to myself "already tested", "already tested", "already tested", I come close to a couple at the Lauder shelves. Casually dressed but well groomed (the european groomed casual chic), around 30 both.
The girl, a dark haired one, rather pretty, grabs the tester for Knowing and ooohs and aaahs saying "Oh, this is my favourite perfume in the world, wore it so much". (I am thinking she wanted the guy to take the hint and buy it for her- and she was not the mercenary type at all). The guy seems uninterested and browses beside her, going "uh huh". She then picks up Cinnabar, as they have the older Lauders all grouped together. "This is nice too" she comments smelling the bottle.(I agree) She gives it to the guy, who says they are both rather heavy, vetoing the decision. She is even motioning to pick up the Youth Dew, when he intervenes and says : "Imagine how heavy that one must be; it's almost black!!" She never finished the motion to pick it up and sniff the bottle, as she didn't do it with Aliage either (which is also quite dark). And immediately he goes on and picks the nearby Alien (Sephora places them alphabetically and Mugler is after Lauder). "Now this is lighter, better" he quips. (the "light" thing merits its own discussion in another post) She made a face. I just about wanted to smack him at that point! Both because he denied her what she obviously liked and because he showed his prejudices about perfume picking. I didn't follow them to see what they bought in the end. I didn't have the luxury of time. Maybe they didn't buy anything. If they did however it was not what she wanted, she seemed crestfallen....
I don't see these two making it to the aisle and that doesn't refer to the shopping kind.
The little story has a moral though. People judge with their eyes as much as with their noses.

There is another great story that has been recounted to me by J, known as Teacake, a sweet Australian-based lady. She mentioned that someone young (a teenager actually) who was a friend of her daughter had proclaimed upon viewing her collection that "yellow/golden juices don't smell nice, only pink and blues do". That comment has been a mini-epiphany for me. Seriously: it made me realise that indeed the colour of the jus really denotes the target market as well as the olfactory family in most cases: fruity florals and "fresh" scents which were all the rage with the young some nanoseconds ago are indeed pink or blue!

I don't think this is an accident. I believe it has to do with the mentality that yellow jus is older, classic perfumes that are associated with natural ingredients (no naturals are coloured pink or blue, except chamomille of course and they don't use it in most commercial perfumery because of that unstable blueish tint that might ruin the general effect).
If one stops and thinks about it most of the classics are pale golden or light ambery: Shalimar, Femme, Mitsouko, Joy, Chanel #5, Bois des iles, L'heure bleu. They all vibrate at some variation of wee colour. There are a few notable exceptions like Chanel #19 or the afore mentioned Youth Dew, but still no pink or blue or even purple coloured perfume existed till quite recently. Certain natural ingredients do have a deep colour: Peru Balsam is molasses dark; natural jasmine turns almost orange with the passing of time, sometimes alarming us into thinking that a perfume containing it has turned.

Pink and blue juice on the other hand usually has a highly synthetic construction that guarantees the stability of colour and the unnatural hue of the finished product.
Personally, I have a deep seated aversion to the colour blue in fragrances, although I do appreciate it in other permutations (the sea, glassware and jewels come to mind). I think it shows an insurmountable lack of imagination on behalf of the person who opts for it; especially if it's a man, I'm afraid. It's such an easy, safe choice! What's your favourite colour? 9 out of 10 men reply blue, if asked out of the blue about it (am I being punny?). I don't hear fuschia (too gay), chesnut(too difficult; do they even know it's a shade?), vermillon (it sounds like a french recipe for something involving snails or frog's legs) or even black (the odd rocker/goth/outcast/mysterious Lothario picks that one up out of the 10.....thank God fot that)
In perfume terms it usually denotes an overload of the dreaded fakeness that is the "marine" note. Yeah.....marine for people born and raised and living all their lives in the Chezh Republic(a landlocked country); having no passport on top of that. I am categorically adamant that the sea does not smell like any of the marine fragrances out there I have ever smelled. I do keep hoping some day they will catch the elusive trail. I live in hope.

Anyway, younger folks tend to associate the hip and new with those pastel hues, dismissing the rest as "old ladies' perfume". In their desire to mark their territory and draw the line, maping their own identity, revolting from what their parents wear, they go for the pink and blue, with the odd inclusion of purple for those who like a smidgeon of mystery (or so they imagine).
So companies churn out perfumes in those colours. It's all marketing, I'm afraid.


Pic was sent to me via mail uncredited, probably courtesy of an advertising campaign (MAC maybe?)
Not sure, but great photo nonetheless.

The Wonders of Amber: Perfumery Material of Soft, Oriental Character

Amber is a fit subject to tackle in the colder weather, if only because it's such an enveloping aura it creates. There are many misunderstandings about amber and hopefully we will dispel some of them here. Amber is a difficult term to describe in perfumery, simply because it has so many meanings as a word. Amber has additionally become a rather generic, all encompassing term, resulting in us being able to find all types of oils touted as "amber oil" in the market and sold online.

Essentially, there is no such thing as an amber essential oil. Essential oils are oils from plants in their purest form, distilled or otherwise extracted from a single plant species. Fragrant amber is a combination of several different botanical sources (or in ambergris’s case -which is a completely different material- a product of animal origin, more on which later). There is no one plant from which amber comes from, although some claim it comes from a special tree growing in the Himalayas. This is probably imaginative copy. Fir tree resin, in its regular, non-fossilised form is actually used in perfumery sometimes and offers a rather sweet, warm and deep smell that serves as a base to anchor the other ingredients that are placed on top of this less volatile ingredient. But it's not the usual reference.

The concept of "amber" on the whole is in fact an olfactory convention of the late 19th century and became a perfume "genre" at that time with the invention of vanillin (synthetic vanilla, as known from patisserie to most of us) added to the time-honored use of labdanum. This is for all practical purposes what we refer to as the "amber note": labdanum and vanillin.

"Ambery" is the general term -according to the French system - to describe the perfumes that fall in the oriental group and that have a warm, slightly powdery, erotic, animalic tonality in them ("parfums ambrés"). We could classify Shalimar, Obsession, Must de Cartier or Moschino for women (original) in that category. This doesn't have to do with the actual ingredients, it’s rather a figure of perfumery speech, although of course the perfumes of this category do include "ambery notes".
Please note however that NOT all "orientals" however are "ambery": the opoponax-based or balsamic/resinous fragrances in the Oriental spectrum (Opium or Youth Dew for instance) can eschew significant use of pure "amber bases" (see below for actual ingredients for this) in lieu of other accords within the variety of materials in hand. Simply put, the "oriental group" of fragrances is more encompassing than the "amber orientals".

The following materials do NOT have a relation with "amber" as the term in perfumery is used:

*A sort of "amber oil" comes from the Baltic amber; the fossilized resin from a prehistoric tree called Pinus Succinifera, a pine species. Amber dust is a by-product of the fossil amber industry (which caters for jewels) and the material renders an amber oil through a process called destructive distillation of fossilized amber. The oil yielded contains succinic acid which is useful in health products, however due to its uninviting aroma it’s useless in perfumery. Therefore there is no such thing as "amber fossil" used in perfumery.

*Ambrette seed is another ingredient often mixed up with amber that gives however a musk note in perfumes. Coming from the plant Hibiscus Abelmoschus , the seeds are distilled to give a waxy substance that is then treated with an alkaline medium to give finally the "absolute”. The smell is slightly musky and soft, warm, peachy and snugly; used in many luxury perfumes.

*Ambergris is the legendary ingredient often used in relation to "amber" (as ambra/amber appear shortened sometimes, since ambergris in French means “grey amber”).
Ambergris comes from a cured secretion from sperm whales; the whale secretes a substance to heal its stomach from the scratches of the cuttlefish it swallows when feeding. This gets out through the gastrointestinal system and is left floating on the ocean for years. The floating part is what gives it its characteristic slightly salty and warm , sensuous smell. It is animalic in a subtle way and retains its scent for centuries, just like musk.

So what actually goes into the production of amber and ambery perfumes, you might ask at this point.

The answer is two-fold.

Natural ingredients are used by natural perfumers to create an amber base without actual ambergris (and without synthetic vanillin, as per above), meaning a perfume base that smells warm, erotic and sensual or simply an oil mix.
Usually these include:

1.Labdanum: Cistus labdanum or rockrose is a gum resinoid from the common in the Mediterranean rockrose bush. In the past a long double rake (ladanisterion) was used to comb off the gum from the beards of goats grazing on the bushes, especially in Crete, Greece. It has been used in incense since antiquity. Today the twigs and leaves are boiled to yield the gum. The aroma is the closest thing to real ambergris in the plant kingdom.

2.Benzoin: A secretion of the tree Styrax tonkinense, a tropical asian tree, in the form of tears, which is secreted when the tree is injured. Two varieties exist; Siamese and Sumatran, the former drier and more powdery, the latter sweeter, more caramel like.
Its aroma is sweet and warm and evolves into powdery balsamic.

3.Styrax levant (Liquidamber orientalis): Another resinoid from a tree, it smells a bit like glue with a cinnamon edge. It is important in the creation of amber chords and has a rounding effect.

4.Natural vanilla extract from the Madagascar vanilla orchid can be used. (Perfumers dabbling in synthetics opt for vanillin instead)

Mandy Aftel in her book "Essence and Alchemy" suggests a simple "amber base" made from just three materials for the amateur perfumer: 30 drops of labdanum, 120 drops of benzoin, 6 drops of vanilla.
Usually other accent notes are used in amber chords to differentiate the result and make it unique, ergo the abundance of different "amber oils" in the market. Some of the usual ingredients to do so are vanilla, tonka bean, Peru balsam (sweet ambers), clove, cinnamon, Tolu balsam, sage, juniper (drier ambers), sandalwood, patchouli, olibanum (mysterious ambers), rose, jasmine or other flower essences in very small amount (more floral ambers).

The big perfume manufacturing companies (not the designers or the cosmetics companies who label their name on them, but those who get the “brief” and go in the lab to create them, such as Firmenich, IFF, Givaudan, Roure etc) have patented their own "synthetic ambers" for use in their perfume creations. It goes without saying that in order to find out what your favourite perfume contains you have to find out which company is responsible for its creation. Those "amber bases" (and please note that some lean onto "ambergris") fall into three categories:

1.True ambers: Those include Ambrarome Absolu by Synarome, Ambrogène by Roure, Ambergrissol by IFF, Ambré B.V. by De Laire and Fixateur 404 added to Grisambrol by Firmenich.
2.Ambers from labdanum: Those include Ambreinol and Ambregris Synthetique by Givaudan, Grisambrène by Firmenich, Ambre Synthetique by Naarden.
3.Pseudo amber (which is closer to opopponax resin really): Those include Ambre 53 by de Laire, Ambreine Samuelsom by Firmenich and Ambrène by R.Sondes.

New molecules are developed as we speak. For a modern and extremely popular synthetic that draws upon amber qualities refer to our article on Ambrox/Ambroxan, a woody amber note with great tenacity and diffusion.

The issue of amber is a fascinating one and hopefully some of the more obscure aspects of it have thus been illuminated. It is important to know what is at the core of a fragrance, however it is our nose and limbic system that finally makes the decision for us. So, wishes for a happy amber hunting!


This article used some data from the archives/catalogues of the perfume companies mentioned, Mandy Aftel’s "Essence and Alchemy", Eden Botanicals and Ayala’s "Smelly blog". Thanks to all.