Estee Lauder Azuree (original): fragrance review

There is a family of perfumes composed by the same brilliant perfumer: Aramis being the butch Godfather patriach, well behaved on the outside, dangerously brooding on the inside. Cabochard is the maternal force turning the neck (and therefore the head as well) in any which way she likes, while Azurée is the younger long-haired son or daughter driving fast without a licence. They could have been The Sopranos, had the show been more stylish-oriented and retro glamorous. Or not. It doesn't matter, we can imagine. For those who didn't know it, Azurée (1969) is by the great Bernard Chant, the guy behind both Cabochard and Aramis; a fresher interpretation of the Aramis idea given a luminous fruity topnote of refreshing bergamot, while still remaining resolutely herbal.

Chant was mad for chypres, skanky animalic or non; his Aromatics Elixir for Clinique is a seminal study on mossy herbal patchouli with a big rose lurking inside the bush. Azurée, albeit herbally green and chyprish, is softer than leathery Bandit and lacks the acid green bite of the quinolines that compose the latter's leather note, thus making it more approachable, if largely unsung.

The zeitgeist and the image 

Azurée is unsung because it's an atypical Lauder fragrance. Usually big, expansive and highly floral femme in a very American way, Lauder fragrances are of a routinely high standard, yet of a somewhat "mainstream" image that belies their quality. It's all down to advertising and positioning; the repeat customer of Lauder (in makeup and cosmetics as well as fragrances) is the middle-aged, middle-class woman of predictably good taste, which tends to (unfortunately) brand the house as "unexciting". Azurée however could pass as a niche offering for the customers of -say- Beautiful or Pleasures. If it were embottled in a dark squarish flacon in the Tom Ford Privée line I bet it would be hailed as the new best thing. And it would cost the stars too, while I hear Azurée will only set you back about 40$.


We tend to forget that what passes as niche today was actually mainstream all right in 1969, when Azurée launched. We also tend to forget that the Mediterranean ideal that niche perfumes today advertise with the accompanying imagery/concept (from Aqua di Parma Blu Mediterraneo fragrances to Ninfeo Mio and Philosykos) was incorporated into perfume releases then without any visual or conceptual stimulus. It's odd to think Azurée as a perfume for Chicago wearing; it's just so darn South of France (or Capri-like) in its ambience! After all that's where its name derives from. I can almost see Romy Schneider in La Piscine putting some on casually before embarking in that fateful romance. Or think the swagger of Lauren Hutton when she was in her prime.
But then again, 1969 was the time of the sexual revolution and the fragrances matched the spirit of the times. To quote Queen, these "fat bottomed girls [were] gonna let it all hang out [and] make the rocking world go round"; out for good fun and expected to be worn indiscriminately, without pretence. Azurée is one such gal.

Scent description

The citrusy introduction of Azurée is wonderfully clean, bitterish and STRONG, providing the ouverture to an aria of leather, tar-like notes fanned on flowers and herbs. But the flowers don't register as especially feminine or romantic, rendering Azurée perfect for sharing between the sexes. A peppery twist is running throughout the fragrance, stemming from the herbal and basil notes and the more the scent dries down on skin the more the herbal and mossy character is surfacing. The perfume straddles several families in fact, from aldehydic, green/herbal, woody & leather without trying to please everyone and ending up pleasing nobody; and that's a great thing!
 The herbal and pungent character makes it very detached from today's sweet sensibilities, unless we're talking about niche perfume wearers joining you, so it's advisable to limit its use to smart company and minute application (it's POTENT stuff!). Amazingly, it's also not ruined through various reformulations, so great value for money all around.

Please note: The classic Azurée is NOT to be confused with Azurée Soleil (also very good but in a completely different game) or any of similarly named "beachy scent" summer variant to be launched in the future perhaps. You will know you got the classic, if you had to ask the sales assistant at the Lauder counter to get this out of the back of her drawer, like it were illegal contraband.

Notes for E.Lauder Azurée:
Top notes: Aldehydes, bergamot, artemesia, gardenia
Heart notes: Jasmine, geranium, cyclamen, orris, ylang-ylang
Base notes: Leather, patchouli, oakmoss, musk, amber

And another set of notes, via Basenotes:
top: basil, jasmine, and citrus
heart: armoise, sage, spearmint, vetiver, and rose
base: patchouli, moss, and amber

pics of Romy Schneider & Alain Delon in La Piscine via europeanbreakfast.tumblr and habituallychic.blogspot.com

Twin Peaks: Gres Cabochard, Aramis for Men and Lauder Azuree

It's been noted before that Aramis bears a distinct kinship with Cabochard (Grès) through the common perfumer behind both creations, namely the legendary Bernard Chant. But two other perfumes fall neatly somewhere between those two neighbouring meridians: Azurée by Estée Lauder and Bandit by Robert Piguet. Roughly, they can be likened to a family:

Aramis being the butch Godfather patriach, well behaved on the outside, dangerously brooding on the inside. Cabochard is the maternal force turning the neck (and therefore the head as well) in any which way she likes, while Azurée is the younger long-haired son driving fast without a licence and Bandit the rebel without a cause tomboy daughter who shuns panties in lieu of leather pants. They could have been The Sopranos, had the show been more stylish-oriented and retro glamorous. Or not. It doesn't matter, we can imagine.

Actually I'm cheating: Technically, the original sketch for Cabochard from 1959 was later deprived of its intensely opulent, romantic floral heart of India-reminiscing blossoms to serve as the core of the formula for Aramis (1965). For those who didn't know it, Azurée (1969) is also by Bernard Chant; a fresher interpretation of the Aramis idea given a luminous fruity topnote of refreshing bergamot, while still remaining resolutely herbal.

Chant was mad for chypres, skanky animalic or non; his Aromatics Elixir for Clinique is a seminal study on mossy herbal patchouli with a big rose lurking inside the bush. Azurée, albeit herbally green and chyprish, is softer than Bandit and lacks the acid green bite of the quinolines that compose the latter's leather note, thus making it more approachable of the four specimens, if largely unsung.

Comparing the two classic fragrances from Grès and Aramis, Cabochard and Aramis for Men respectively, I find myself contemplating how reformulation has changed perceptions: Cabochard has lost something of its intensely feminine mystery of floral chypre throughout the years (the ylang ylang and civet have been watered down), gaining a toughened, ballsy exterior which brings it even closer to the virile Aramis; the latter hasn't suffered major loses so far, although a reformulation in the mid-2000s altered a bit of its veneer.  
Aramis appears somewhat sweeter and mossier, underneath the male snagging quality with its pungent bitter leathery and artemisia green notes on top laced with cumin and a hint of ripeness emerging very soon ("body odour zone", "wild!", "unbelievable"). It has a more powdery-earthy vibe overall, with a sweet pleasing note in the drydown which lasts amazingly well. Cabochard is more screechy and strident nowadays with its synthetic castoreum and floral reconstitutions, yet still rather formidable compared to so many blah scents around. Both are abstract landscapes where everything is sophisticated, yet wild too; a cultural map of the sexual revolution unfolded through the span of a couple of decades.

Certainly not interchangeable, but similar enough to appeal to lovers of rough, fangly greens with mossy, leathery drydowns, this quartet of fragrances ~Aramis, Azurée, Bandit, Cabochard~ has a place in any perfume collector's arsenal. All fragrances are highly recommended as "shared" between both sexes irrespective of their advertising campaigns.

Notes for Aramis for Men:
Top: Artemisia, aldehydes, bergamot, gardenia, green note, cumin
Heart: Jasmine, patchouli, orris, vetiver, sandalwood
Base: Leather, oakmoss, castoreum, amber, musk

Notes for E.Lauder Azurée:
Top notes: Aldehydes, bergamot, artemesia, gardenia
Heart notes: Jasmine, geranium, cyclamen, orris, ylang-ylang
Base notes: Leather, patchouli, oakmoss, musk, amber

Notes for Piguet Bandit:
Top: galbanum, artemisia, neroli, orange
Heart: ylang ylang, jasmine, rose, tuberose, carnation
Base: leather, vetiver, oakmoss, musk, patchouli.

Notes for Gres Cabochard:
Top: aldehydes, bergamot, mandarin, galbanum, spice
Heart: jasmine, rosa damscena, geranium, ylang-ylang, iris
Base: patchouli, leather, vetiver, castoreum, oakmoss, tobacco, musk, labdanum, sandalwood.

Top photo Vogue US cover March 1969. Vintage ad from the 1980s for Aramis for Men.

Estee Lauder Private Collection Jasmine White Moss: fragrance review

Private Collection Jasmine White Moss will be the "closing chapter" of the Private Collection series which includes Tuberose Gardenia and Amber Ylang Ylang, a collection above and beyond the run-of-the-mill fragrances of the mainstream sector while at the same time remaining unintimidating and utterly modern in feel. The series managed to inject an upscale touch to the Lauder giant with its limited distribution and its ornamental bejeweled flacons & solids compacts, yet it is the essences hidden inside that prove it's still possible to produce quality jus in those days of rationing and dumping down of the market at large.

While Tuberose Gardenia went for a remarkably alive white floral with gardenia unfurling its waxy petals in front of your very eyes and Amber Ylang Ylang enhanced the familiar amber's unguent with soft lappings of powdery sexiness, Jasmine White Moss goes for the kill and proposes a nouveau chypre. Much maligned as a term that last bit might be however, the resurgence of the august family of chypre fragrances is a market fact: The mossy earthy bases (focused on vetiver & patchouli, often along with synthetic Evernyl, cedar and treemoss) in several fragrances launched in the last few years prove its durability as a genre, even in altered states. Estée Lauder herself seemed deeply enchanted with the abstract harmonies of the typical chypre formula, supervising several in her lifetime: Azurée (1969), Alliage ~also spelled Aliage for the US market~ (1972), Private Collection (1973) and Knowing (1988).

Now comes Jasmine White Moss: Inspired by the spirit of Estée (née Josephine Esther Mentzer) and categorized as a floral, green chypre, being the closest of the trio in terms of fragrance family ties to the original Private Collection. Aerin Lauder, supervisor of the new scent and depicted in a white jersey vintage Halston dress with a white flower in her hair in the print ads says:

“…there is a lot of Estée in this project. We chose the blue stone accents [of white jade, dark and light lapis, sodalite, black agate, mother-of-pearl and blue lace agate] because blue was her favorite color; a basket weave design on the cap, since that was one of her favorite textures; her signature is on the lower right side of the bottle, and of course the juice began as her project.”

According to official press: "Private Collection Jasmine White Moss began as Formula #546AQ— conceived by Estée alongside the International Flavors and Fragrances (IFF) team in June 1989. Never completed in her lifetime, it remained untouched in the IFF archives for decades, until Aerin decided to revisit the juice a year and a half ago". (source)

First of all it is refreshing to see that in an age when divulging has become synonymous with the ad serviendum demand of the buying public the Lauder team admits that all those Estée Lauder scents, which have made fortunes and have catapulted the American perfumery tradition like no other, have been harboured by labourers of the prestigious IFF company and not by Estée herself as was the myth for years (Despite that, it is undoubted that she had a discerning and tasteful veto on the creations herself; after all she ranks among the 20 most influential business geniuses of the 20th century). Indeed American perfumer Josephine Catapano, working with Ernest Shiftan, is the true creator of the mythical and trend-setting oriental Youth Dew (her other well-known creations include Fidji for Laroche and Norell's Norell, later sold to Revlon); she also paved the way for Belarussian by birth Sophia Grojsman who in turn composed several Lauder fragrances to great aplomb (White Linen, Beautiful, Spellbound)!

While Tuberose Gardenia was composed by Firmenich's Harry Fremont, the baton is taken again by IFF for Jasmine White Moss injecting the fragrance with a new material of which they are having the exclusive rights: "white moss mist". The ingredient is quite elegant and provides much of the success of the soft and refreshingly mossy composition. Let me mention in passing that White Moss is also the name of a 1997 Acca Kappa fragrance (Muschio Bianco, although muschio means musk in reality) as well as a L'erbolario fragrance by the same name. The "white moss" ingredient has been fearured in I am King by Sean John (another IFF fragrance) while IFF perfumers have also added it to Estée Lauder’s new Michael Kors limited-edition scent ~Island Capri (source). It is intriguing to contemplate that in this frame there is a hybrid of the Rosa Damascena family called Quatre Saisons Blanc Mousseux, which is known in English as 'Perpetual White Moss' or 'Rosier de Thionville'. Its inclusion seems plausible, especially given the background that reminds me of Chanel No.19 with its powdery rosy greenness, delicate petals amidst the emerald plush, and IFF's headspace technology.

Azurée and the original Private Collection provide the consanguinity. Yet while I had included the original Azurée (NB this is NOT the recent beachy Azurée Soleil) to my Big Bruisers article, as part of my Leather Series, and while Private Collection can be said to be another handsome powerhouse of strident proportions, Jasmine White Moss proves easier to wear than both even with a distinct late 60s-early 70s vibe. However her dainty foot is firmly placed in the modern Jimmy Choo peep-toe of a fiercely smart secretary rather than the classic Roger Vivier pump of the coiffed boss. The opening is nicely old-fashioned, perfumey, comprised of a non-indolic jasmine which oscilates between freshness and tonic dryness. Concerns about regulations to the use of jasmine or moss shouldn't concern: the wizardry at IFF suggests everything is possible with judicious use of small amounts of naturals alongside man-made essences. Its aura of mossy depth appears at once luxurious and reserved. Jasmine White Moss is soft without appearing meek, elegant without pretence and would be the perfect introduction to even wilder, bitter arpeggios for those willing to take the plunge. The gratification from the latter course would be even greater!

Notes for Private Collection Jasmine White Moss by Estée Lauder:
Top: mandarin, black currant bud absolute, galbanum and bergamot
Heart: jasmin sambac absolute (Aerin’s choice), jasmin India absolute (Estée’s choice), violet, orange flower absolute, orris and ylang-ylang
Bottom: patchouli heart absolute, vetiver and white moss mist (the latter is an ingredient exclusive to Lauder.)

Lauder's Private Collection White Moss is available as 30 and 75ml of Eau de Parfum, as 30ml extrait de parfum and as a solid in pendant. It will be featured in 260 U.S. specialty doors in July, including Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman Marcus, Bloomingdale’s, Nordstrom and Bergdorf Goodman. Internationally, the scent will launch at Harrod’s in August. Testers have already appeared at Saks Fifth Avenue and Nordstorms for those willing to test it.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Jasmine Series, Chypres Series, Lauder reviews & news.

Photography by Guy Bourdin via Life Lounge

Leather Series 11: the Big Bruisers

Perfume directions often go the way of fashion trends and lifestyle choices, which sometimes translates as going the way of the dodo, and this is nowhere more obvious than in the leather scents that emerged in the late 70s and during the 80s. After the brief optimism of the mid-60s, the world entered a grim period of oil crisis, economic downfall and the threat of the planet suffering nuclear annihilation. So what emerged from this situation? Consumerism, the cult of the ego, striving for quick wealth and excessive partying all rolled into one big cigar! Bret Easton Ellis wasn’t far off in his American Psycho: there was some degree of paranoia running through the course of that era and the leathery scents that graced it partook of it in some degree.

Many of those big, nasty bruisers that emerged owe a lot to the intense patchouli high of such scents as Aramis (1965). Composed by Bernand Chant who would follow with equally patchouli-laden Aromatics Elixir, Aramis, arguably the male version of same nose’s oeuvre Cabochard, made it OK to leave a bombastic luxurious sillage announcing itself in Wagnerian ouvertures that demanded their own Brunhilde following.

But it was Estée Lauder’s Azurée which was continuing the noble lineage of leathers in 1969. With its rather masculine edge despite its feminine gardenia aspirations, submerged into deceptive aldehydes or cyclamen and jasmine aromas, it opens on dark, musty oakmoss that grabs you and makes you pay attention. In a way though its leatheriness does not possess the striking green slap-across-the-cheek of Bandit or the smooth caress of a gloved hand that is Diorling; resulting in diminished revenue in today’s currency.

Caron’s Yatagan by nez Vincent Marcello came out in 1976 to a striking ad campaign brandishing a man with a giant curved Ottoman sword, the yatagan in question. On a par with Djedi in its uniqueness and otherworldiness it conjures up visions of fierce Tatars roaming through the steppes, stomping over jade artemisia and dark pine needles and keeping the meat for their meal under the saddle, imbuing it with the horse’s dense sweat. Its odour of livestock is peculiar, in an accord with liquor that has gone rancid. The culinary image of steak tartare with its weird vibe of sour, bitter and metallic is embossed in the fluxes of memory and never fails to raise its head when I am thinking about this arresting, avant-garde and trully brave scent which inspired and is still inspiring many niche perfumers, even today.

One of the first masculine scents I purposely tried to locate and wear was Jules by Christian Dior. It came out in 1980 and for years it kept a low profile saleswise, until suddenly it stopped being carried by my local store. It was at that minute that the quest for it became an impossibility and therefore (predictably) a semi-obsession: how could they do this to me? Discontinue it when I hadn’t even paid enough attention to it in its darkly aged-tobacco-ish flacon? It was de trop! I was determined to locate it! Of course decisions and determination often culminate in materialisation years later and such was the case with Jules. My encounter with it was sudden, brisk and like seeing a familiar face which I hadn’t thought of for a long time: Cuir de Russie amped up via a peppery accord like bell peppers getting cut in front of me.

Cartier made their own pilgrimage in 1981 through the cult of the watch: the leather wristbands of their Santos watches, inspired by aviator Santos Dumont, and on a second level the bomber jackets of the first days of aviation gave cue to Santos the fragrance. One of my personal favourites it is perhaps too butch, yet its mesmerising nutmeg and cumin spice pas de deux hidden in the effluvium of dark and dank patchouli and rich castoreum never fail to captivate me. Strange as it might sound, Santos has all too often served as a personal ambience scent for centering: How many happy hours have I stooped over historical documents and textbooks trying to think of this or that relation between cause and effect while the gentle remnants of Santos on little silk cushions were wafting their magic…
Santos was followed with many flankers, one of the most memorable ones being the Concentrée version which mollifies the spice duo and renders the greener aspect more intense.

But Santos was not alone: that same year Chanel gave Jacques Polge the brief to come up with a new masculine that would make waves and he succeeded with the intense sweaty macho maleness of Antaeus with its unusual honeycomb accord in the deep drydown and the strength of its mythological inspiration.

On the vein of the intense Van Cleef & Arpels homme, Trussardi Uomo (which came out in 1983) was for one brief moon the scent of choice of my father, its crocodile-print flask bottle garnering pride of place on the bathroom sill. Spice along with tobacco is prominent in this one as well, highlighting my predilection for such materials, with a passing touch of serene incense. But on re-smelling the fragrance for the purposes of this article I came upon a distinctly sour note that has a pin-and-needles effect up the nostrils which I didn’t recall in my father’s morning ritual. A little research quickly yielded its unsavoury results: there has been a reformulation which happened around 1995 when the bottles were redesigned. Too bad!

Guerlain is no stranger to leather and Derby, a masculine leather fougère, is one of the most elegant and debonair fragrances in the genre one could hope for. First issued in 1985 by nose Jean Paul Guerlain, it got re-issued for the removation of La Boutique Guerlain in 2005 to great and deserved critical acclaim. The leather notes rest atop the moss and minty herbs, with a very thick, spicy clove introduction. After some time a floral phase of carnation and jasmine peek under the clove and give a smooth richness that then goes into the forest floor of a traditional men’s fougère and the leather note of a battered jacket that has withstood the elements in a battle at some far away place.

The less controversial Bel Ami by Hermès was brought out in 1986 and it placed leather firmly in the map with all the determination of the purveyors of fine saddles since 1837. Leather was cool by then. It wasn’t the mark of the daring individual a la Yatagan, but a distinguished mark of sophistication all over again.

But the two most legendary ones are intended for women: Paco Rabanne’s long defunct La Nuit (1985) and Claude Montana’s Parfum de Peau (1986). The quintessential bruisers, both scents sport an unapologetic dash of panache which prowls across the room, across the corridor and probably over down the street as well.
As to La Nuit and its amazing drydown despite the unasuming opening, I am leaving you to enraptured Luca Turin on his take ~which probably caused a stampede to try and locate some of the elusive juice:

“This is the warmest, sultriest perfume imaginable. To think I hated it when it came out ! My extenuating circumstance was that at the time (1985) I lived in Nice, where women can be toe-curlingly vulgar, and it was a big hit. La Nuit is probably the most animalic perfume ever made by a major firm, and I don’t just mean musky à la Koublai Khan, or castoreum as in Tabac Blond, but something beyond that, almost urinous/sweaty, “wrong” and truly wonderful. Spray Tabu on a horse, and you’ll get the idea. I wrote a disparaging review of it in 1992, apologized for it in 1994 and only recently treated myself to a bottle. Now that the Niçoises have moved on, I see it for what it was all along: the sexiest fragrance since Cabochard”.

Parfum de Peau was my major introduction to castoreum, of which it features copious amounts, and thus merits its own full review shortly.

Pic of Glen Ford originally uploaded by spuzzlightyear on livejournal. Pic of La Nuit and Jules ads courtesy of parfum de pub.