Showing posts with label amber. Show all posts
Showing posts with label amber. Show all posts

Monday, September 23, 2013

M.Micallef Rouge #2: fragrance review & Deluxe Rouge Collection free perfume draw

Some perfumes benefit from an embarrassment of riches, sort of a scent analogy with Bathsheba Everdene given the choice of not one, not two, but three suitors. Similarly these gifted perfumes straddle varying stylistic directions, arriving at the most meaningful in the end, but having quite the mileage before settling there. Rouge #2 eau de parfum, part of the newly launched Art Collection Rouge by M.Micallef, is one such olfactory heroine.

Julie Christie via bookforum.com

The fusion of catty, tangy blackcurrant with spice and fruity-amber notes produces a very individual experience: the segments are certainly familiar from other fragrances which highlight one or the other, but the combination by experienced perfumer Jean Claude Astier is unexpected. Rouge #2 feels much redder than M.Micallef Rouge #1 (which flushed pinkish, salmon-toned in my mind, with its peachy rose). Although advertised as an animalic fragrance, I do not perceive it as too naughty for comfort (in the sense of too musky or civet/cumin leaning like Muscs Kublai Khan for instance), though it could be argued that my personal threshold for naughty is set on rather high, since I find the infamous MKK a purring kitten. Rouge #2 by M.Micallef is more of an intense, pungent fruity yet polished fruity oriental, in the mould of -say- Jungle L'Elephant by Kenzo, with its unusual mélange of contradicting elements.

Rouge No. 2 eau de parfum by Martine Micallef's Art Collection Rouge, which includes Rouge no.1 perfume in beautifully decorated crimpson-hued bottles with Swarovski details, is recommended for perfume lovers who like being surprised by orientals that take a zig when you expect them to take a zag and anyone who considers standard gourmands too sweet or predictable. It could be shared by both sexes, although it leans more on the feminine side, and its lasting power is very good.

Notes for M.Micallef Rouge #2:
citrus, blackcurrant, nutmeg, jasmine, violet, orchid, amber, vanilla, labdanum, castoreum

Finally for our readers and thanks to the US distributor of Micallef, we have a lucky draw: 
10 winners will each receive two fragrances, the pair of No.1 and No.2 as large 5 ml deluxe miniatures set in a drawstring pouch: M. Micallef Art Collection Rouge No.1 M. Micallef Art Collection Rouge No.2.  The draw is available to US addresses only and is open till Wednseday midnight. Winner to be announced on Thursday Please leave a comment to be eligible.


Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Ormonde Jayne Tsarina: fragrance review

Tsarina, part of the London exclusive "Four Corners of the Earth" line by niche perfumery Ormonde Jayne, is advertised as "baroque" as would be expected from a fragrance evoking the furs and jewels of imperial Russia. Much as the sensibilities of democracy and social struggle have imprinted themselves into our collective consciousness, understandably making us abhor the practices of that long-gone era, the opulence of the winter palaces and the decorations on the regal vesture make the eye rest on them in awe and admiration (but lest we forget, people suffered so that the few had those privileges!). The contemporary reality of the scent by Ormonde Jayne, co-created by perfumer Geza Schoen and art director Linda Pilkington, is beyond the dense and thick, breathing with a beautiful luminosity and genuine distinction beyond the class systems.

Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia (pinned on Pinterest from coeurdelhistoire.tumblr.com)

The inspiration for the new perfume collection 'The Four Corners of the Earth' came from the indigenous flora of different parts of the world Linda Pilkington have visited on her travels. Globetrotting can serve many things and when it's for the benefit of us all, who can blame Linda for wanting to package these olfactory impressions into elixirs to be put onto skin?

Tsarina captures opulence and passion. It demands furs, leather, brocade, heavy silks in sweeping dresses and fabulous jewels to go with her haughty heritage. If you like the opulent feeling that some great florientals of the past exude in spades, such as Caron Narcisse Noir, or Boucheron Femme (the original), my gut feeling tells me that you'd probably love Tsarina, just like I have, and suffer through its exclusive status as a London-only ware. (The rest of the exclusive line includes the India-inspired Nawab of Oudh, the cedar-austere Montabaco inspired by Latin American and the featherweight charm of Chinese-inflected Qi)

*sigh* I had to post this despite my will, since the costumes are so magnificent...

Decadent luxury is transliterated into scent with Tsarina, a powerhouse floral oriental perfume reverberating with heaps of natural jasmine sambac (quite the non-Russia-referencing blossom!), unfurling its petals from the bottle like tentacles of glamour. The bright fruity touches give a saturated texture. The soft, vanillic and close to the skin intimacy of leathery  labdanum, fusing into an amber-smellingblend (more soft suede than balsam or butch leather one would associate in reference to the usual Cuir de Russie scent themes), underscores this composition—and do I detect a drop of civet, too?
Like the vitraux at the Saint Isaac's Cathedral in Russia, Tsarina is beautifully radiant, powerfully evocative of imperial splendor.

Notes for Ormonde Jayne Tsarina:
top : mandarin, bergamot, coriander, cassis
heart : hedione, freesia, jasmine, sambac, iris, suede
base : sandalwood, cedar, vanilla bean base, labdanum, musk

Tsarina is available exclusively at the Ormonde Jayne boutiques in London, UK.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Nawab of Oudh by Ormonde Jayne fragrance review (4 Corners of the Earth line), Ormonde Jayne news and fragrance reviews.


Friday, March 8, 2013

Ormonde Jayne Nawab of Oudh: fragrance review

I remember walking around an exhibition on Moghul India at the British Museum, resplendent in the opulence we associate with this particular region and time. The curlicued rupees bearing intricate names alongside triangular flags, ears of wheat and fishes were not strictly limited to Moghul rule, the curator explained; the Nawabs had seized control of their own regions by that time, issuing their own coins, but continuing to cajole the Mughal emperor by keeping his name on the currency. Similarly the latest India-inspired Ormonde Jayne fragrance, Nawab of Oudh, draws upon two different wells: the silk Banarasi saris of India, with their Moghul motifs and their heavy gold work, on one hand and the mystic Muslim tradition of roses and oud resin rising in the air from a censer at the mosques of Persia on the other.



Understandably, given those references, the perfume smells the way a metallic brocade looks: lush, rich, opulent, draped for elegance. But the artistry of perfumer Geza Schoen makes it modern and wearable too. Despite the by now tired trope of "oudh",  the note so often smelling more like a pack of Band-Aids than the exotic resin obtained by the pathological secretion of the Aquilaria tree when attacked by a fungus, there is none of that contemporary nonsense in Nawab of Oudh. There is a powdery, soft like cat's paws, ambery trail in the drydown, reminding me of Private Collection Amber Ylang (E.Lauder), which envelops the higher notes of green-citrusy brilliance into a cradle of plush. The distinction between phases (drawing upon the classical pyramid structure of perfumes) is here apparent, at least in a binary pattern: the introduction is distinctly separate from the prolonged (really impressively prolonged) phase of the drydown. In essence we have the interplay of raspiness and velvety softness, aided by the texture of the rose. Oud-laced roses have become a dime a dozen lately in niche perfumery, but I will withhold a place in my heart of Nawab of Oudh because it's so extraordinarily beautiful indeed.

And the name? How did it evolve and how does it unite those two worlds, India and the Middle East? Awadh or Oudh was a prosperous and thickly populated province of northern India (modern Uttar Pradesh), its very name meaning "capital of Lord Rama", the hero of the Ramayana epic. Its turmoiled history began with becoming an important province of the Mughal empire, soon establishing a hereditary polity under Mughal sovereignty; but as the power of the Mughals diminished, the province gained its independence. The opulence in the courts of the Nawabs (ruler kings of the Awadh, originating from a Persian adventurer called Sa'adat Khan) and their prosperity were noticed by the British East India Company, resulting in their direct interference in internal political matters, which reached its zenith in the eventual total loss of power by the Nawabs in 1856.

The official info on the scent by Ormonde Jayne runs thus: "Nawab (Ruler) of Oudh is a province of central India. Our perfume is inspired by the Nawabs who once ruled over it. It is a potent blend of amber and rose with a soft oudh edge. Yet surprisingly not one ingredient stands out from the others. It achieves a perfume synergy that defies traditional analysis, releasing a pulsating pungency, brooding and hauntingly beautiful, a rich tapestry of fascinating depths, a jewelled veil to conceal its emotional complexity and extravagance."

Notes for Nawab of Oudh:
Top: green notes, bergamot, orange absolute, cardamom, aldehyde.
Heart: rose, magnolia, orchid, pimento, bay, cinnamon, hedione.
Base: ambergris, musk, vetiver, labdanum, oudh.

Nawab of Oudh along with the rest of the "Four Corners of the Earth" collection by Ormonde Jayne, inspired by Linda Pilkington's travels, is exclusive to the London Ormonde Jayne boutiques at 12 The Royal Arcade and 192 Pavillion Road and at the Black Hall perfumery at Harrods.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Hermes Ambre des Merveilles: fragrance review

Much like the brownie points of "casual chic" of the original Eau des Merveilles (2004) by perfumers Ralf Schwieger and Nathalie Feisthauer, L'Ambre des Merveilles never intends to intrude a space, but rather infiltrate like a secret agent. To pursue a musical analogy, whereas amber (ambre) is usually solid Buxtehude, L 'Ambre it's a lacework melody by Gabriel Fauré; two cyclical piano phrases, like the four-beat gait of a horse, having a conversation with an echoing cello.

An Adirondack Lake by Winslow Homer via hudillo

The newest Hermes in the Merveilles fragrance line (again) showcases perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena's mastery of his materials: there's nary a heavy or syrupy off note as trap-like as this perfume trope can get; the equivalent of a warm hug rather than a baked goods pastry or a head shop rife with patchouli and amber aphrodisiacs. We're long off that vulgarized route and yet L'Ambre never misses a beat on smelling alluring and sexually appealing all the same—or rather, in spite of it.

L'Ambre des Merveilles unites some aspects of both Elixir des Merveilles and Eau Claire des Merveilles (previous flankers from 2006 and 2010 respectively) into its DNA, the comforting gingerbread cookie nuance gaining the nuzzling sweetness of the hug of a close friend who's wearing cosmetic powder and sweet amber perfume oil. Because, you see, there's both warmth and austerity in L'Ambre, interpreting the amber "fragrance note" (really a mix of ingredients) into a perfume that explores all facets of this most traditional aperture of Orientalia: the initial piquancy, the resinous depth and heft, the powdery trail lingering on skin and clothes, the vanilla dryness...The bitterness of labdanum, a touch of soil, of earth smelled in the air, the saturation of crocus yellow trailing off the horizon ~and what I sense as powdery benzoin~ mingle with the bittersweet citrusy top note and a hint of blond tobacco into an amalgam that is brighter than the sum of its parts, yet is still oddly founded on the minerals and salty skin idea of the original Eau.

L'Ambre des Merveilles feels light and buoyed and collapsingly soft, like being surrounded by a sunny cloud, and invokes thoughts of nostalgia, quiet contentment and being at peace with the world.




Music: Gabriel Fauré - Sicilienne, for cello & piano, Op. 78 dedicated to William Henry Squire


Friday, August 24, 2012

Ramon Monegal Mon Patchouly: fragrance review

Mon Patchouly, part of the impressive new Ramón Monegal perfume collection from the former owner & perfumer of Spanish Myrurgia (since swallowed by Puig), straddles the line between woody oriental fragrance and oriental "gourmand", intended for people of either sex persuasion who love soft, rich, deep scents that invite you closer with a delicious Jon Hamm hum rather than proclaim their aggressive intentions with mock bravado. It's patchouli reinvented; traditional, yet new; an overdone fragrance note of the 2000s which here gains a precious, quietly exciting patina.

via http://nowandthan.tumblr.com/post/19390848880

The association with the suave Midwestern actor is reinforced by the subtly retro "masculine cologne" hint ~with its herbal indefinable rosy touch under the musk and woods~ that Mon Patchouly exhibits, further enhanced by the rum & whiskey tonality it gains as it unfolds its dry cocoa powder opening on the skin. It's enough to induce daydreaming of more elegant times, when men were virile and women were femmes. Aside from the phenomenal lasting power of the fragrance on my wrists ~withstanding an entire extended weekend that involved 2 showers, one prolonged sea dip (!) and several hand washings, obviously~ Mon Patchouly is also distinguished by its variability according to the skin it performs on.

On my own feminine skin, this RM perfume sweetens, mollifying the intense gourmand dryness of French roast coffee dregs & cocoa of Borneo 1834 by Serge Lutens. Fans of Montale Boisée Vanille and L'Artisan Havana Vanille/Absolument Vanille might find a similar boozy, darkish, real vanilla pods note hiding; rich and resonant, full of complexity and sub-plots, sometimes the latter even slightly repelling but always compelling. On my significant other's male skin Mon Patchouly dried down more resinous ambery, though not quite the thick, beer-belly-amber we know from elsewhere; I detect a hint of raisin and smoke too which provide contrast, probably revealed by skin Ph magic. The fragrance has the right balance and artistry not to fall into the over-familiarized (Just think, how many sweet amber patchoulis can you name at gun point? This isn't one of them).

The mossier, greener, woodier elements come forth from the back like dark secrets of a life behind closed doors, trysts during lunch break and hushed phone-calls, while still retaining the cigar box elegance and connoisseur complexity. I'm absolutely sure that come autumn and winter, Mon Patchouly will be delegated on the very front of my perfume closet (alongside the more panseasonal marvel Mon Cuir of the RM line which I sport as I write and on which I will write a separate review), its snuggly warmth a comfort for hectic days when its escapist fantasy will consume my commute and daily chores. I just can't fathom how bind-blowing Ramon Monegal's Mon Patchouly will be on a mohair scarf shared between lovers...you'll have to wait for me to divulge in due time!

Bottom line: scrumptious! I'd love to get one of those beautiful inkwell bottles for myself.

Notes for Ramon Monegal Mon Patchouly: Patchouli, olibanum, oakmoss, geranium, jasmine, amber

Available at Luckyscent in eau de parfum concentration.

In the interests of full disclosure, I was sent a sample from the manufacturer.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Dior La Collection Privee Oud Ispahan: new fragrance

Dior took siege of the oud bandwagon it seems: Besides their established Leather Oud, they're issuing a second "oud" fragrance in their Collection Privee line-up, this time combinging two exotic references in one in its name: Oud Ispahan.


The oud craze has taken almost every single perfume house on the planet vying for a perfume with the exotic-sounding prized Eastern material in the name to the point of boring perfume fanatics to tears. Largely this is just a trend that will eventually pass, relying on brain manipulation: mention a posh, exotic sounding material (oud/aoudh/agarwood) and let the audience dream about something different than what actually goes into the bottles. But we can't blame companies for wanting to produce what has proven successful commercially last time...can we?

Not only oud, not only Damascus Rose, but also amber, all rolled into one this time. Mysterious, grown-up hippy for women (and men, the fragrance is presented as a unisex offering) who want to smell sophisticated and orientalised, exotic and fascinating, Oud Ispahan is a fragrance release that will create some talk.
Of course the more seasoned perfumephiles among us will find that oud and rose is a classic combination that has been already explored, but Dior rather aims at consolidating a seeming Arabian authenticity than presenting a novel accord.

According to the official blurb, the notes are varied: “Oud Ispahan recreates Mr. Dior’s dreams of the Orient* through a striking Rose-Oud-Amber accord. Created by Dior Perfumer-Creator Francois Demachy, this universal scent features top notes of Labdanum Absolute, middle notes of Patchouli Essence from Indonesia and bottom notes of Oud Essence from Laos, Rose Essence from Turkey and Sandalwood Essence from New-Caledonia for a warm, spicy reinterpretation of Eastern locales.” According to perfumer Demachy it's "an immediate impression, an instant local snapshot of the Orient"

There's a bit of discrepancy here which I'd love to point out for our readers, just for history's sake: Christian Dior has been known to say, "As for the bazaars of Trebizond, on entering I felt as though I was heading into Ali Baba's magical cave." Trebizond, to be factual, is actually on the border of the Caucasus region and the Black Sea and bears the heritage of the Byzantine empire and its Greek populaces, and has nothing to do with what is commonly referenced as "Arabia", but let's allow this lumping of the Middle East into one exotic amalgam continue for Western tastes... The fragrance might prove to be spectacular regardless, so historical consideration might end up meaning nothing.

Oud Ispahan is going to be released in summer 2012 through Dior boutiques worldwide and will be available from 28th May in Selfridges Maison des Parfums on Oxford Street, London.
125ml of Dior's Oud Ispahan will set you back 125GBP, 250ml of juice go for 185GBP and 450ml cost 285GBP.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Donna Karan Gold: fragrance review

Donna Karan strived for a lushly feminine lily effect with her stupendous Gold fragrance for women in 2006. Its mix of vibrant lily with animalic profundity puts Gold on a pedestral of worship, that of a stony goddess who demands the coming of Choephoroi.


The fragrance necessitated no less than 3 perfumers of the caliber of Yann Vasnier, Calice Becker and Rodrigo-Flores Roux. Usually that would be a recipe for disaster (too many opinions and twinkering often lead to an incoherent vision), yet in Gold the result is none the worse for trying. On the contrary.

Scent Description 

The main accord in DK Gold focuses on bright, trembling with life lily, suave woods plus musk, effecting a round and creamy composition accented with discernable jasmine adding its indolic glory. The opening of Donna Karan Gold has the dewy freshness of green tonalities of muguet, vaguely reminiscent of the green overture of Annick Goutal's Des Lys (another floriental focusing on Casablanca lilies) and the sharper start of Lys Mediteranée by F.Malle. Although the floral phase is clearly discernible from the start, the more the scent dries down the more the sensuous aspects reveal themselves beneath the droplets of lucid coolness. Underneath, a camphoreous scent is peeking through, like a riddle on the edge of the screenshot in a Greenaway film : now you see it and now you don't.
The development of Gold in the Eau de Parfum concentration adds a very alluring animalic submantle which hints at ductile leather and ambergris rather than the traditional resinous amber mentioned, yet it doesn't do so with too much rebelliousness, remaining a sensual touch warming the proceedings and adding gravitas. Perhaps Gold, although certainly not ground-breaking, is a knowing wink of Donna Karan to her first perfume, the long discontinued Donna Karan New York in the phallic black bottle, which utilized lily, amber and suede to great effect.

Concentrations & Notes

Please note that Donna Karan Gold comes in Eau de Parfum concentration, which is warmer and much more complex than the more aqueous and linear Eau de Toilette, as well as a Sparkling Eau de Toilette. Between those versions Eau de Parfum is highly recommended as per above, also being much closer to the revered Serge Lutens Un Lys. Parfum amplifies the cistus and incense with more vanilla.
The elegant bottle is created by jewellery designer Robert Lee Morris.

Current distribution of DK Gold is bust; get some while you can on online discounters.

Notes for DK Gold: Casablanca Lily, Amber, Acacia, White Clove, Golden Balsam*, Gold Pollen and Patchouli

 *a mix of Peru tolu balsam, olibanum, benzoin, vanilla, and cistus

Photo of French actress Eva Green via Google (have since forgotten the exact source)

Monday, February 6, 2012

Agent Provocateur by Agent Provocateur: fragrance review

When the first Agent Provocateur perfume first launched in 2000 in its ostrich-egg-sized pink bottle, little did one expect that the scent within would be atavitistic to the lineage of impressionable floral chypres of yore. Chypres, a perfumy and mossy family of fragrances, had been effectively extinguished from a whole generation's memory by then (relegated to mothers and grandmothers who continued to wear their signature scents discovered decades ago) and were incomprehensible things to another: surely this was a doomed project? Who in their trendy minds remembered or wore Shiseido Inoui, Balenciaga Cialenga, K de Krizia, never mind Mitsouko or Miss Dior?

But curiously enough, it caught on!

Why it Worked
Agent Provocateur is a lingerie brand teetering on the edge of campy and they made ample use of that element to promote their fragrant wares. To quote Adentures of a Barbarella: "They aspire to be kinky, elegant, sophisticated, and somewhere along the line it goes wrong. Their clientele is stuck up, their models are either socialites or Russian escorts (it's a fine line), and they sold out last year. The depraved tone of the campaigns can be hilarious". But after all, what's the point of racy lingerie if you take yourself too seriously, right?

But the thing is their first fragrance is sexy as hell, a bit retro, a bit modern, and all around brave and great, considering they launched at the end of the aquatic/ozonic brigade of the 1990s and the advent of cupcakes-from-hell of the 00s. It's deservedly something of a cult favourite, if only for the fact that it was so very different.


Scent Description
The big Moroccan rose in Agent Provocateur's heart, much like in classic Jean Couturier's Coriandre from the 1970s, is complimented by a paper-y woody note of amber and vetiver combined with warm musks, but it is the saffron along with the upbeat coriander that bring a rather animalic and weirdly "dirty" quality to the fragrance making it the olfactory equivalent of an aged Hollywood star the morning after she has had a rampant night in bed with a nostalgizing fan half her years.

This is a perfume to wear sparingly (it can be big), but it won't change much during the day and after the initial impression it dries down to an erotic and  skin-friendly, skin-compatible nuzzling buzz.
Agent Provocateur original EDP is in hindsight similar to many fragrances which followed, so if you like any of them you should give the great-aunt a try: Gres Cabaret, Lady Vengeance by Juliette has a Gun, Narciso Rodriguez Narciso for Her EDT.

Available as Eau de Parfum from major department stores.

Flankers & Stuff
The brand has brought out variations on the theme with:  Agent Provocateur Eau Emotionelle (EDT from 2006), Agent Provocateur L'Eau Provocateur (new, lighter interpetation for spring 2012), Agent Provocateur L'Agent (2011) and Agent Provocateur L'Agent L'Eau Provocateur (spring 2012) in similar pink-ostrich-egg bottles. They can differ quite a bit with L'Agent being a woody floral musk.
Nota bene that the quite different fragrance by the same brand called Maitresse is also having a lighter flanker edition for spring 2012, called -you guessed it- Agent Provocateur Maitresse L'Eau Provocateur.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Parfums MDCI Ambre TopKapi: fragrance review

More of a straight fresh masculine than a languid unisex, more of an hesperidic-rich mock-amber than the stupendous orientalia of the brick & mortar of the real TopKapi palace, Ambre TopKapi, the first masculine fragrance by niche perfumery Parfums MDCI is a puzzling case of onomatopoeia.The fragrance "sounds" like an expletive in a foreign language.

Perfumer Pierre Bourdon is at least as famous as Ernest Beaux for super-dosaging an ingredient with a very distinctive odour profile in a best-selling fragrance: For Beaux it was the chain of aliphatic aldehydes in Chanel No.5, for Bourdon it was dihydromyrcenol in Cool Water. It seems like Bourdon has made a habit of this: Ambre TopKapi, although classified as a woody-spicy, is suffused with the cool citrusy aluminum blade that is dihydromyrcenol; boosting the freshness of the citrus notes (which veer more into pineapple fruitiness than the classic Eau de Cologne bergamot ambience of old) and incising the spiciness of its heart (cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, ginger, basil, lavender and thyme, all essences with a bracing, stimulating quality). The fresh feel is one that resembles part shampoo remnants, part chlorine-mopped counters, part woody cologne for men and it's this atmosphere that characterises the duration of the fragrance on skin; oscillating between dusty cool and sweetish, never really giving a straight-shooting answer.

Not much warmth or languor is to be met in the drydown and it's interesting to see that the fragrance doesn't really last as I expected, despite the presence of heavyweights listed in the official notes (musk, vanilla, sandalwood, oakmoss). The problem with Ambre TopKapi coming out in 2003 out of a niche line is that in a market full with clones of Cool Water it ends up smelling generic, even though it's masterfully blended and retains the same coherent character from start to finish.

Notes for MCDI Ambre Topkapi:
Bergamot, grapefruit, pineapple, melon, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, ginger, basil, thyme, lavender, oak moss, vetiver, sandalwood, rosewood, leather, Darjeeling tea, amber, musk, vanilla, jasmine and violet.

Ambre TopKapi retails for 250$ for 60ml and the price can rise to 610$ for the bust edition (same fragrance, same size, with a Roman bust on the cap made of Limoges porcelain)

Related reading on PerfumeShrine: Parfums MDCI Peche Cardinal, Masculine fragrance reviews

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Creed Vanisia: fragrance review

Vanisia by Creed does not smell like pure unadulterated vanilla as the name would lead you to believe, thank heavens. It reminds me more of a lighter Égoïste by Chanel if that one put the sandalwood into the boudoir and puffed it and puffed it with lots of ambery rose-jasmine powder that gives a golden shimmer over mounty breasts. T

The resinous depths of its core, a complex and satisfyingly rich amber accord, recall the play between light and darkness in the paintings of the Spanish masters; dramatic expanses of vivid motion, shadowy corners that hide small details with significance that doesn't pass unnoticed. The double whammy of a misleading name and the wrong company (few houses are more derisive!) just conspired it to make it a very under the radar fragrance. Which is exactly why I decided to get the scalpel and start surgery on this page.

The "barbershop" effect makes its presence known in Vanisia via a faint lavender note (a classic combination, best appreciated in Pour Un Homme by Caron which is almost solely lavender and vanilla) as well as what smells like cedar, which makes it wearable for men as well.
Women will naturally gravitate to it for its sexy factor, best appreciated in the depths of the base notes, although I need to stress that you need to be a lover of ambers to appreciate it. It's quite powdery in a mature, retro way, with hints of soap as well, an oxymoron amidst the sultry tonalities that remind classic references with more than a hint of ambery"skank" such as Bal a Versailles and Tabu. Lovers of Guerlain Samsara might also find a complex beast to like and claim as their own. But they should be warned that it smells unashamedly mature, probably best reserved for those who already have other youth-ammunition under their belt; this is not a "spritz me with grapefruit and let me fool you into believing I'm 7 years younger" gimmicky. It's said by Creed that Cher likes this one and wears it: figures...

I am personally a little bit at odds with Vanisia: On the one hand I like the tempered amber character that doesn't imbue everything with a sticky candy floss note and includes that familiar ambergris Creed base. On the other hand I find there is some incongruence between the after-shave accord on top and the floral oriental core. Lately I have been unlucky into coming across bottles that seemed to be a little off, metallic and more "masculine" than I recall the scent to be. I am not sure if we're facing a reformulation or not (the tester bottles didn't look pristine brand new) or if there is fake stock circulating, which is surely the case for other Creeds. It would be interesting to hear from you in the comments if you have other experiences with that matter.

Vanisia was launched in 1987, supposedly for a Spanish queen, and is mostly unknown/unacknowledged till this day, although one of their more rounded fragrances.

Notes for Creed Vanisia:
Top: bergamot
Heart: jasmine and Bulgarian rose
Base: sandalwood, amber and vanilla

Painting The Parasol by Francisco de Goya.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan: fragrance review

Much has been made of Ambre Sultan's resemblance to women's odorata sexualis, the intimate scent of a woman, and although I fail to take this literally, this Serge Lutens perfume is certainly one of arousal. Lovers of this deep, devilishly suave iconoclast of a scent (which doesn't recall any of the powdery, "safe" sweet ambers you might have known before) confirm it.

And if it seems counterintuitive to think of an amber when spring is around the corner, and indeed when Lutens has just launched his newest Jeux de Peau, Ambre Sultan can surprise us; the perfect amber blend for warmer weather, blooming into something more meaningful with each sun ray that hits our hair.

According to fragrance expert Roja Dove ~journalist Hannah Betts quotes him in Let Us Spray~ this is part of a wider trend: "When the Aids epidemic hit, we wanted all the sex washed away, but perfume is returning to its semier side." Amber fragrances in general have something of Eros in them, because they try to recreate an oriental ambience that spells languor, exoticism, opulence, all conductive to a let go of the senses evocative of odalisque paintings by Eugène Delacroix or orientalia scenes by Rudolph Ernst. The most common raw materials for creating an amber "accord" (accord being the combined effect of several ingredients smelling more than the sum of their parts) are: labdanum (resinous substance from Cistus Ladaniferus or "rock rose", possessing a leathery, deep, pungently bitterish smell), benzoin (a balsam from Styrax Tonkiniensis with a sweetish, caramel and vanillic facet) and styrax (resin of Liquidambar Orientalis tree with a scent reminiscent of glue and cinnamon). And most ambers are usually quite sweet or powdery-hazy (particularly those which include opoponax and vanilla) which bring their own element of both comfort (a necessary part in surrendering inhibitions) and desire. Ambre Sultan has a devil may care attitude and the necessary austerity to break loose with all conventions.

The truth in the creation of Lutens's famous opus is different than the rumours, although none the less semiotically erotic. Serge Lutens was simply inspired by his forays into local Marrakech shops, full of interesting knick-knacks and drawers of pungent spices, where precious vegetal ambers are preserved in mysterious-looking jars alongside Spanish Fly. As the polymath Serge divulges: "An amalgam of resins, flowers and spices, these ambers are a praise to women's skin". This was the brief given to perfumer Chris Sheldrake and together they set on to create one of the most emblematic orientals in modern perfumery in 2000.

Interestingly enough, the pungent, sharply herbal opening of Ambre Sultan, full of bay leaf, oregano and myrtle is traditionally thought of as masculine, but it is the rounding of the amber heart via mysterious, exotic resins, patchouli and creamy woods which captures attention irreversibly and lends the scent easily to women as well. The first 10 minutes on skin are highly aromatic, like herbs and weeds roasting under a hot sun on a rocky terrain, with bay and myrtle surfacing mostly on my skin. The effect translates as spicy, but not quite; what the creators of Diptyque must have been thinking when they envisioned their own original herbal fragrances treaking through mount Athos. Next the creamier elements segue, contrasting warmth and cool, fondling the skin and at the same time hinting at an unbridled sensuality.
Although Ambre Sultan is a scent I only occassionaly indulge in (preferring the leather undercurrent of Boxeuses or the hay embrace of Chergui and the bittersweet melancholy of Douce Amère when the mood strikes for a Lutensian oriental), probably because it's rather masculine on my skin, I marvel at its technical merits each and every time: the way the creaminess never takes on a powdery aspect and how it's poised on a delicate balance between smoky and musky without fully giving in to either.
Much like Lutens is the sultan of artistic niche perfumery, Ambre Sultan is a dangerous fragrance in the pantheon of great orientals that like a possessive sheik will never let you look back...

Lovers of Ambre Sultan might enjoy other dark, non sweet or spicy blends such as Amber Absolute by Christopher Laudemiel for Tom Ford Private Blend, Creed's Ambre Cannelle (whose spice uplifts the skin-like drydown) and I Profumi di Firenze incense-trailing Ambra del Nepal. Those who would love a sweeter amber but still firmly set into the Lutens canon, can try his equally delightful Arabie with its dried figs and pinch of cumin spice.

Notes for Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan:
coriander, oregano, bay leaf, myrtle, angelica root, patchouli, sandalwood, labdanum, benzoin, Tolu balsam, vanilla, myrrh.

Ambre Sultan is part of the export line by Serge Lutens, in oblong bottles of 50ml Eau de Parfum, available at select boutiques and online stores such as the Perfume Shoppe.


Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Serge Lutens news & reviews

pics via hommebraineur and rudolph valentino blog

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Christian Dior Dune: fragrance review

Originally thought out by perfumer Jean-Louis Sieuzac* (of Opium fame), is it any wonder Dior's Dune smells more like the warmed up sand where lush Venus-like bodies have lain in sweet surrender rather than the athletic Artemis/Diana figures which aquatic/oceanic ("sports") fragrances ~the classification in which the house puts it~ would suggest? The French have been known to prefer Venus over Diana in their artistic depictions over the centuries anyway. It's perhaps unjust and a sign of the celebrity-obsessed times that this Aphrodite of a scent is recurring into the scene because word has leaked out recently that Kate Middleton wore it as a signature scent when she was a student.

But at least it might give newcomers into the cult of perfume a chance to experience one of the lesser known Dior fragrances: Curiously enough, for something that has stayed in the market for 19 years and belongs to the LVMH portfolio, Dune, apart from a men's version Dune for Men of course with its tonka beat backdrop, has no flankers...

*[Although Jean-Louis Sieuzac proposed the formula, his submission was rejected by the Christian Dior perfumes head of development at the time. It took a modification by perfumer Nejla Bsiri Barbir (working at Parfumania) which sealed the deal and got Dune on the shelves in the end...]

Dior's Dune is a case study not only in the house's illustrious stable (scroll our Dior Series), but in the perfume pantheon in general: The zeitgeist by 1991, when the fragrance was issued, demanded a break with the shoulder-pads and moussed-up hair of the 1980s which invaded personal space alongside bombastic scents announcing its wearer from the elevator across the hall...or -in some memorable cases- across the adjoining building three weeks after the wearer had passed through its halls! The advent of ozonic-marines was on as a form of air freshening (and a subliminal chastity belt to attack towards the AIDS advent) and L'Eau d'Issey, interestingly issued exactly one year after Dune, was paving the path that New West by Aramis had started a few years ago. Where the Japanese aesthetic for restraint put forth mental images of limpid water lillies by the drop of water on a sparse zen bottle of brushed aluminum & frosted glass, the French were continuing their seductive scenery: the model was all prostrate on a sandy beach, the colour of antique pink silk underwear hinting at fleshy contours, eyes closed, giagantic eyelashes batting slowly, reminiscent of broom stems, a world capsized into a sphere of tranquility... Interestingly it's also routinely fronted by blonde beauties, suggesting there is an oriental for them apart from the flamenco-strewn dark-haired territory other classic fragrances have mapped out so well. Lately advertising images for Dune sadly capitulated into the slicked, oiled-up bodies that infest other Dior fragrance advertisments, but I prefer to keep the original ones in my mind.

Perfume taxonomist Michael Edwards recounts how the heads at Christian Dior wanted to create a "marine type" of fragrance but without the harsh ozonic notes that were catapulting the market at the time. The original idea was a monastery's garden by the coast, herbal and aromatic.
To do the trick they relied on both a clever construction (which was more "smoky oriental" than "marine") and some ingenious, suggestive marketing to compliment it later.

The imagery was easier to devise, although not easy to pull off exactly as planned: The packaging was an inviting hue of peachy, as was the colour of the juice, to suggest femininity and soft flesh, while the star ingredient that suggested beachy slopes and wild growth, broom (what the French call genet) was featured on the advertising images in an effort to reinforce the suggestion of wild beaches of escapist delights. The seaside town of Biarritz, where the official launch was scheduled, gathering a huge amount of press professionals, was practically painted peach to echo the livery. A chic picnic on the beach was set to kickstart the festivities. But someone had forgotten a small detail in the mix (or was he/she nonchalant enough the European way not to check it out?). It was a nudist beach...

The composition is never too clever by half, it's intelligent: The dissonant opening impression of Dior's Dune relies on a bitterish interplay between the tarriness of lichen ~alongside the distinct bracken feel of broom (in reality deertongue goes into the formula)~ with the sweeter oriental elements of the base. It's almost harsh! The phenolic, after all, is never more aptly played than when juxtaposed with a sweetish note (such as in natural honey in the form of phenolic acids), as exhibited to great effect by Bvlgari's Black which was to follow at the end of the 1990s. The intelligence of Sieuzac nevertheless lied into injecting a "marine" fragrance with exactly the element that no one would expect from an oceanic-evoking landascape: warm oriental powder! If you lean closely, the top stage of Dune with its bitterish tendencies almost immediately gives way to a dry impression that almost recalls gusts of powder, but missing completely the candied violet-rose & makeup feel of the mainstays of feminine guiles, powder puffs. The official notes proclaim orris, but the effect is due to carrot seed (often used as a replication of the earthy, powdery undergrowth). This is a fragrance that is conceived as an extension of the boudoir into the outdoors, not an accoutrement out of it.
The warm amber (but not too sweet) and the musk base is there too under the other elements, almost like fig-filled biscuits rolled into floral tanning lotion. In fact I believe the Dior Bronze "summer fragrance" called Sweet Sun, was directly inspired by Dune. But the diaphanous interpretation of Dune allows it to pose as borderline "fresh". Almost "natural". Someone described it as "flesh-toned in the creepy way of artificial limps, not real ones", continuing into pronouncing it "marvellous" and "the bleakest beauty in all perfumery", and this Plastic Venus off the Waves stands indeed on a unique podium amidst the whole of modern perfumery: There's simply nothing quite like it.



Notes for Dior Dune:
Top:bergamot, mandarin, palisander, aldehyde, peony, rosewood and broom
Heart: jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang, lily, wallflower, lichen, orris.
Base: vanilla, patchouli, benzoin, sandalwood, amber, oakmoss, and musk.

The Eau de Toilette is my preferred concentration in this scent, possessing in greater degree the jarring elements which make Dune so very interesting to begin with. There is also an alcohol-free version for use in the sun, called Dune Sun, but as usual with alcohol-less versions, it lacks much staying power.

pic of plastic venus by lo boots via deviant-art

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Teo Cabanel Alahine: fragrance review

Alahine (2007) by Parfums Téo Cabanel literally smoulders in the guise of an ode to ylang ylang and amber, composed like a palimpsest of orientalia: the lushness of the flowers, cut with a smidgen of citric tang (usually the uber-classic bergamot), then fanned on resinous notes that deepen to a tawny iridescence has brought us spectacular fragrances from Shalimar to Bal à Versailles, all the way through Boucheron Femme. Alahine was apparently inspired by Arabian palaces (located in Spain I'd wager) and its solar energy is weaved in an virtual arabesque of luminous, warm notes.


Technically the concept isn't new: The same treatment of the ylang-ylang salicylate-rich blossom is given in Estee Lauder Private Collection Amber Ylang-Ylang: a medicinal amber that sweetens via the florals and leaves a somewhat powdery finish on drydown. Another tawny amber is played in a same style (but more violet-tinged and darker) in Attrape Coeur by Guerlain, also known as Guet Apens. Interestingly the Lauder came out one year after the Cabanel. Still, neither can claim laurels of originality. The main difference nevertheless between the two is how the Lauder projects almost linear, with a persistent two-tone melody to it (enjoyable for anyone who wants what they want, mind you!), and a boozier-saltier amber progression; while the Cabanel is falling from top to heart to base like on a billowy mattress. Even though they're both lush and sexy feminine, thanks to their floriental ambience, a judicious man could benefit from a spritz of Alahine strategically placed. Come to think of it, Sensuous (again by Lauder) is another one men after an ambery fragrance should try. Compared with Amber Ylang Ylang, the Cabanel is more upscale and smells more expensive. It's what people usually refer to as a "sweater scent", denoting a comforting, nuzzling composition that performs especially well in cooler weather and northern climes which seem like its natural habitat. Yet, I bet the tropicalia of its flowery heart would be equally perfect during cool summer evenings when it would blossom sexily if used with restraint on warmed-up belly skin. The fragrance is beautifully poised between East and West, between the dainty quality of Dresden china and the arabesque exoticism of Mecca artefacts, to warrant a place in many perfume lovers' collection.


Alahine opens on a cascade of sizzling and rather medicinal bergamot-ylang-ylang chord, which isn't miles removed from the mandarin-frangipani start undescored by benzoin-rich and patchouli-spiked amber of Chanel's classic Coco from 1984. Indeed they show a comparable bravado into appearing haughty at first, while being utter purr-kittens later on. Coco is spicier and has a powdered-chocolate note which also appeared more than a decade later in Coromandel. Angela of NST proclaims "the result is a ylang ylang crème brûlée lightened with rose and dusted with powder". The resinous quality of Alahine is persistent though, the amber never becoming completely powdery despite the orris touch, nor totally milky-comforting (which one would think would be the result of the sandalwood plus vanilla). A small musty facet which reveals itself through rose plus patchouli is totally brilliant amidst the oriental formula. This is probably its coup de grace, as it engulfs you into an embrace that can still be a little dangerous and fanged, despite the languid exotica.

Kudos to Thédore Cabanel's heir Caroline Ilacqua (the goddaughter of his own daughter) who has indisputably excelled where other upstarts in niche have blundered, when "re-starting" her firm in 2005 (The press kit by Cabanel mentions their first eaux pour le mouchoir were composed in Algeria in the 1890s and they relocated in Paris in 1903): Classical structure, top notch ingredients (not all-natural, though as claimed online, but still with a quite high ratio without doubt), an approachable but not yawn-inducing formula, seamless but perceptible progression & opening-up like a fine cognac. Their other fragrances, also composed by Jean François Latty (creator of Givenchy III, Yves Saint Laurent pour Homme, Tsar, Eau Dynamissante and Drakkar among others), are also very good: Teo Cabanel's Oha is a rose-moss chypre that has nothing to be jealous of from other classics in the genre, while their Julia is a graceful floral fit for princesses. Latty's motto has been "quality doesn't mix with compromise". It's reassuring to know classical perfumery is still revered enough to prolong itself into the 21st century.


Notes for Teo Cabanel Alahine:
Top notes: bergamot and ylang ylang
Heart notes: Bulgarian rose, Moroccan rose, orange blossom, jasmine, and pepper plant
Base notes: iris concrete, cistus, patchouli, benzoin, vanilla, and musk.

Alahine by Teo Cabanel is available in Eau de Parfum through Luckyscent and other etailers (at advantageous prices), also somewhat discounted on Reirien.com. It's also available in Concrète de Parfum (solid perfume) and Parfum Extrait in 15 ml/0.5oz. More info on
the official site of Cabanel.

For our French-speaking readers, an interesting interview with the president, Caroline Ilacqua on Youtube linked here.

All photos copyrighted by Elena Vosnaki. Click to enlarge.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Frequent Questions: Amber or Ambergris?

Perfume companies and their ad copy often end up confusing the consumer. Whether they do it inadvertedly or on purpose is to be examined. The point is several people raise questions: "Is amber and ambergris (i.e. grey amber) the same thing?" "Why is amber so sweet?" "Why do some ambers smell sweet while some smell savoury or even salty?" "Is it just me?" Let's disentangle the confusion.

Amber and ambergris are two completely different things, at least in theory as several companies tend to mix the terms to great confusion.

Amber usually refers to a resinous mix, a medley of base notes (usually a specific mix of only three amply suffices, read our extensive article on the differences) with a sweet, almost powdery tone (smell Histoires de Parfums Ambre 114 for instance) and an oriental theme due to the very nature of the resins used which hail from the East. Hence the ~usually in French~ terminology/classification of orientalised perfumes as "parfums ambrés". For instance CK Obsession, Shalimar by Guerlain or Moschino by Moschino (the original) are examples of perfumes "ambrés"; they're warm, inviting, a little powdery, soft, cuddly, mysterious...

The concept of "amber" 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.

It's interesting to note that the most common raw materials for creating an amber accord for most perfumers are labdanum (resinous substance from Cistus Ladaniferus or "rock rose", possessing a leathery, deep, pungently bitterish smell), benzoin (a balsam from Styrax Tonkiniensis with a sweetish, caramel and vanillic facet) and styrax (resin of Liquidambar Orientalis tree with a scent reminiscent of glue and cinnamon) with the inclusion of vanillin.
Since vanilla naturally compliments the sweeter facets of benzoin and since it's both considered a universal pleaser (especially so in the huge US market) and a semi-aphrodisiac (according to some perfumers' beliefs, notably Guerlain) it's used to boost the effect rendering most ambers quite sweet. Four notable examples of non sweet ambers, to escape that surypy effect, while still remaining "parfums ambrés", are Ambre Sultan by Lutens (the golden standard, mixing a pungently herbal top note including bay leaf and oregano), Ambra del Nepal by I Profumi di Firenze (using naturally cool and citrusy frankincense to put the sostenuto on amber), Ambre Fétiche by Goutal (drier than most thanks to Russian leather base) and Ambre Précieux by Maitre Parfumer et Gantier (beautifully balanced with aromatic top).

Ambergris on the other hand refers to the intenstines product of the sperm whale. Ambergris (also called "grey amber" and ambregris in French) is a substance that the wild sperm whale (Physeter macrocephalus Lin=P.catodon) regurgitates naturally, a sort of cetacean furball to cleanse its digestive track of remnants of indigested cuttlefish (quid beaks mainly). "Only, if you thought it was got rid of through the mouth, think again: it comes out the other end...[Kemp Chris., Floating Gold: A Natural (and Unnatural) History of Ambergris]

"It’s hard not to fall in love with ambergris. Here is a solid lump of whale feces, weathered down—oxidized by salt water, degraded by sunlight, and eroded by waves — from the tarry mass to something that smells, depending on the piece and whom you’re talking to, like musk, violets, fresh-hewn wood, tobacco, dirt, Brazil nut, fern-copse, damp woods, new-mown hay, seaweed in the sun, the wood of old churches, or pretty much any other sweet-but-earthy scent". [Kemp Chris., Floating Gold: A Natural (and Unnatural) History of Ambergris]
 
The ingredient is rather sticky and gelatinous like, like a fat lump of grey color at first; while when it dries it becomes harder like a fragile but hard resin. When it is fresh, ambergris has nearly no value because its smell is extremely fecal (like "scented cow dung") and it has no value for perfumery. But let it float on the ocean for some years and it gains a beautiful patina that famously chemist Gunther Ohloff described as “humid, earthy, fecal, marine, algoid, tobacco-like, sandalwood-like, sweet, animal, musky and radiant”. Other people have dscribed it as having the scent of  wood in old churches or Brazil nuts.




To Christopher Ash in Whaler's Eye (George Allen & Unwin Lts.1964, p.254): "It always reminds me of a cool English wood in spring, and the scent you smell when you tear up the moss to uncover the dark soil underneath".

"Nor indeed can the whale possibly be otherwise than fragrant, when, as a general thing, he enjoys such high health; taking abundance of exercise; always out of doors; though, it is true, seldom in the open air. I say, that the motion of a Sperm Whale's flukes above water dispenses a perfume, as when a musk-scented lady rustles her dress in a warm parlor. What then shall I liken the Sperm Whale to for fragrance, considering his magnitude? Must it not be to that famous elephant, with jewelled tusks, and redolent with myrrh, which was led out of an Indian town to do honour to Alexander the Great?" (H.Melville, Moby Dick, ch.20)

The process of production is usually non harmful to the animal; not exactly "whale vomit" as purpetuated, more of the equivalent of a furball which floats on the ocean for years.

If we are talking about ethically harvested ambergris as opposed to ambergris from slaughtered whales ( that goes through a man-made maturing process) it is tremendously rare. It was one of the most prized findings of sailors (There is a mention of it in the seafaring adventure film “Master and Commander: far side of the world” when sailors contemplate capturing a whaler merchant ship.)

Its greatest attribute is its capacity for rendering a composition rounder, especially in oriental perfumes or in floral compositions where it melds the notes into one and brings out their best qualities. It clings on to fabric too, through repeated washings even, becoming ever sweeter with time. Therefore it is prized for its fixative power: the ability to anchor more volatile notes and make them last.
Most commercial perfumes today use a synthetic substitute, because the real thing is so expensive. 
Dior Dioressence used to use real ambergris back in the day. Eau de Merveilles by Hermes is suppossedly one of the few that contain some raw ambergris (debatable) , which is usually used in tincture form in perfumery due to its sheer potency. Creed is also insisting that they use real ambergris in their perfumes. Natural perfumers use beach harvested ambergris in some of their more exclusive or bespoke fragrances.


Natural ambergris doesn't smell sweet at all to me; in fact it's salty, almost dry, a little oily. A very different variant on sensual which I personally lean to with a passion. Smell Isabelle Doyen's L'Antimatière by Les Nez to get a feel of what natural ambergris smells like: it's choke-full.
[For a much more elaborate breakdown of the raw materials and perfume terms "amber" and "ambergris" as well as the synthetics used to replicate an amber note in perfumery you can read more on this link. ]

To revert to the confusion instigated by perfume companies, let's illustrate with some examples.
Some perfumes do use the term "amber" in their puramid notes to stand for "ambergris", Eau de Merveilles by perfumers Ralf Schwieger and Nathalie Feisthauer being a case in point in some online lists of notes. The fragrance smells saline, salty, almost briny, discreet, definitely not sweet. Prada's L'Eau Ambrée is another example along those lines: I had described the drydown as smelling of ambergris, of salty skin. Clearly not an "ambré" perfume in the sense described above!

Balmain's Ambre Gris on the other hand does exactly the opposite: The whole ad copy is a marketing ploy based on the "myth" of ambergris:
« L’ambre gris, proche du mythe, un ingrédient rare et précieux à l’odeur somptueuse. » (While in fact the natural is very rarely used nowadays and only in very select, very expensive cases).
The scent itself is based on amber synthetics and is indeed sweet (typical cinnamon-vanilla accord). But the name and corresponding colour co-ordinated packaging work on the premise of "grey amber" and the elusive "pearl" of the sea: The cap is shaped like a huge South Sea pearl, its surface scattered with dots that look like Sevruga caviar "boules" from afar (thus further evoking luxury and the ocean), the colour scheme is greyish, mysterious, non bronzed oriental.

Perfumery is an intricate language that traps the mind into perceptions that trick the nose...

Resin drop trapping an insect inside via wikimedia commons, photograph of Ambre Gris by Balmain bottle via Stress & the Country

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Prada L'Eau Ambree: fragrance review

L'Eau Ambrée, maestra Miuccia’s latest fragrance, talks with the whispers of a ghost; an ectoplasmic take on the dry woody, patchouli and ~most imporantly~ ambery core of the original Prada fragrance mingled with the saline note of Eau de Merveilles that reproduced the scent of ambergris rather than sweet resinous amber (For more on the differences between amber and ambergris read this article). Ghost-like in its evanescence, gossamer-light, leaving behind but the memory of someone living in a grey-hued photograph that captures its ether.

This new gouache of an oriental is possibly the most skin-scent-like Prada ever issued, even more so than Infusion d'iris. One could even consider it an embryo of the idea of an "oriental" for the next decade and beyond: Will it induce hallucinations of orientalia beneath the gauzy veil to the modern day sylphids who worship at the altar of austere Prada? It remains to be seen. I see it as a step in that direction and the beginning of a new trend in perfumery.
Lovers of diaphanous ambergris creations and those able to smell Isabelle Doyen's L'Antimatière by Les Nez might find something to take them through every eventuality: The fragrance enters the scene in a light-through-the-tunnel vista, all hazy linings, via its refreshing top (which isn't quite as citrusy as purported nor is it rosy, but it's certainly cypress-like and with a micro-facet of white flowers tucked in someplace inside). And then it takes on a little tone of sweet, slightly salty sweat musk, not a tetrapod's raunchy howl, but the smell of seashore in spring and the bodies that lie down on its fluffy texture (cozy musks with no big sweetness have this effect). Yet the refinement of the drydown is so delicate that it could find its way along with your Prada frames and eponymous canvas tote to the office. And surprisingly for such a light scent it lasts too with a lingering trail, which as March put it: "It dries down and fades away but has a habit of popping up again and again, all day long".
According to Prada, 'L’Eau Ambrée is a perfume that ‘imposes itself discreetly with the perfect balance of classic influences and of modernity that is characteristic of Prada fragrances. This eau ‘twines complexity, freshness and harmony’ around a sleek, contemporary amber'.


L'Eau Ambrée, the latest in the Prada amber-based perfumes (amber is in the original Prada, as well as in Prada pour homme) was developed by perfumer Daniela Andrier and was launched this past September, with the expectation to be a permanent mainstay in the line unlike the ephemeron Infusion de Fleurs d'oranger.
Prada’s original bottle has taken a dark mantle here, adorned with a golden plaque instead of the silver of the original.

Prada L'Eau Ambrée is available through major department stores in Eau de Parfum 1oz/30ml, 1.7oz/50ml and 2.7oz/100ml.; Eau de parfum Deluxe refillable atomizer (with spray bulb) 2.7 oz/100ml and 2.7-oz./100ml refill; Body Lotion 6.8 oz./200ml; Bath & Shower Gel 6.8 oz./200ml; Body Cream 6.8 oz./200ml; Powder with powder puff 3.5 oz/100ml.

Notes for Prada L’Eau Ambrée:
Top: Citron, citrus, mandarin from Italy
Heart: Rose, gardenia jasminoides, patchouli
Base: Amber, vanilla, oppoponax

The advertisments are lovingly retro in an almost frieze-reprising way: a cheeky manner of eschewing the sexy-mania of other houses, a deliberate abhoring of seduction that comes from the mind of a true Marxist designer not interested in the man-hunting games of the western tradition, Miuccia Prada.









Michigan Central Station ghost, photo by Nicole Rork via michpics.wordpress.com
Acropolis Parthenon Hydrophoroi scene from the East frieze. Clips originally uploaded by gottalovebirds and stylistaonline on youtube

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