The Power of "Noir" in Perfumes

Nowhere is the power of "noir" (aka black) more intense than in the sublime and surreal cosmos of perfumes: From modern creations such as Bulgari's Jasmin Noir and Black or Tom Ford's Black Orchid and even Black Violet to Ormonde Jayne's Orris Noir and Yves Rocher's Iris Noir, all the way through to vintage gems such as the murky Narcisse Noir by Caron, or the kaleidoscopic Or Noir by Pascal Morabito, with a detour at niche "founder" Serge Lutens via his Datura Noir, everything is painted in black a la Rolling Stones. And who can forget the enigmatically legendary Nombre Noir by Shiseido and its white heat?

Even more vague and promising in intonation than the above (which mostly recall shady, unusual hybrids of flowers with few exceptions) are those which are sartorially-inspired (Lutens has Fourreau Noir but also Serge Noire, both evoking fabrics and items of clothing; Guerlain La Petite Robe Noire, while Avon has Little Black Dress, where black is synonymous to pared elegance regardless of the discombobulating scent: the mere mention of the name promises Hepburn-like pizazz!). The darkening of ingredients is also popular: The slightly scorched effect of Noir Epices by Michel Rounditska for the F.Malle line, the indie Ambre Noir by Sonoma Scent Studio... Black Sun by Salvador Dali sounds even more surreal than intended, the world of alchemy eclipsed into Schwarze Sonne/Sonnenrad neopaganism purpoting radical change: apparently not so, in perfume terms! Crystal Noir by Versace is reminiscent of jet-bead jewellery, the par excellence mourning jewellery in the Victorian Era, a direction that the designer house considers too far back to be referenced by the youthful audience to which they aspire. Sometimes "noir" can even stand alone, stolid, full of fortitude and mystery, like a promised (but rarely delivered) olfactory Healthcliff: Lacroix Noir for men, Avon's Noir for men...Othertimes, it paints a heroic symbol with the wide brush of machismo: Drakkar Noir, how can we forget you? Perhaps the more literal interpretation of Lalique's Encre Noire (black ink) is more elegant onomastically. And the trend gets carried in excess as in ~fittingly named~ Black XS by Paco Rabanne, The Wrong Man obviously for dark regressions out of the past.

The recent trend of naming perfumes "Black this" and "Noir that" (or as Tania Sanchez wittingly calls Black Thingamajig) has really gained momentum with hundreds of fragrances containing one or the other denominator in their very name. After testing the majority of them with apprehension as to their perceived fangliness, I have come to believe it's pure marketese to denote something that is the antithesis of "fresh", "light", "inoffensive", "cookie-cutter". Admittedly, people have always wanted to be the opposite of the last two adjectives, even if they don't have one iota of dangerousness, sensuousness or mystery in their bones. Call it the call of the wild, the desire to be what they cannot be in their ordinary lives, call it escapism: Which I realise all perfume really boils down to! It's simply irresistible, it's like watching an old film-noir and fantasizing about being the wicked femme fatale (Who is usually coincidentally dressed in black, have you seen any in pink polkadots and yellow ribbons in her hair?). "The femme fatale provokes a kind of temporary insanity in the protagonist, which partially absolves him from responsibility for his actions. It is as though she happens to him, like a natural force". [quote]
Ayala Moriel, an indie perfumer from Canada, has created a glorious (and mysterious-smelling) patchouli confection in her suitably named Film Noir. The crossfire of "good girl vs. bad girl" is a dichotomy prevalent in many cultures, none more pointedly so than the American one, with a plethora of "rules" to adhere to in order to belong to one and not the other, personal fragrance being the outward manifestation of an inward inclination. Nuit Noire by Mona di Orio assumes a very intimate aura (of yes, rather forbidden bodily zones) to talk about the dangers of a black night ~what its name means~ when you'd be more simpatico to some experimenting in Bitter Moon/Lunes de Fiel , Pascal-Bruckner-style. The decade of "clean" (the 90s) with its AIDS hysteria ~when perfumes seemed to serve as a virtual chastity-belt~ is over and thankfully most of the ozonics and aqueous scents are left in a lonely place.

Somehow I think the reference was cinematic to begin with, including the very first scents onomatized with this dark epithet. Marcel L'Herbier's Le Parfum de la Dame en Noir from 1931 based on Gaston Leroux's older novel of the same name conveniently tied the two in an inextricable knot. Narcisse Noir by Caron, apart from Sunset Boulevard and its dramatic sensuality, makes me think of vampy Theda Bara, arguably not the person you'd imagine baking you an apple-pie and preparing the kids for school in the morning; assuming she were actually awake in the morning! Which nicely brings me to the current pop mania for vampires and creatures of the night, via Stephanie Meyer's Twilight and its tremendous marketability: Are dark-named fragrances another manifestation of a youth's desire for safe "danger" and repressed sexuality, as explored via boyish vampire teens who have sharper teeth than other body parts? It's murder, my sweet, not sex!

Arguably black has always been laced with magical qualities too, the sense of inherent danger, the cabbalistic and alchemical symbols tied to its shaded enigma: enter the most representative olfactory case of them all, Magie Noire by Lancome. Apparently in an era where witches are fortunately not burned to the stick with gusto until they're well-done, perfumers show a hankering for well-done renditions instead of dark, earthy and twilight-shaded compositions that lurk within shaded forests, the dark corner and the nighmare alley.

But the obsession with darkness also has to do with fashion and visual cues: Black is not a colour, optically-speaking: It's the absence of colour! This gives it a sort of power that all other colours lack (a comparable case with white but different connotations). Mediterranean cultures who have embraced it because it makes such a strartling constrast with the bright sun knew a thing or two: Picture the lace-headscarf of the Spanish consorts over red blooms, the black cloth of Sicilian and Greek widows against the white-painted little houses. It's not an accident that nidjas are dressed in black, that we have the little black dress (the little red one is a whole different matter), that goths like black, that black has an aura of the occult and the forbidden, even the subversive or the fatal (black death, black metal, black sabbath, black widow...).

I have a personal theory to offer on that matter as well: black is the colour of anonimity! Put someone in black and they mingle right in. "Men in black", remember? The ones supposed to come out of nowehere and zap your memories of close encounters of the third kind out of your system. You can't do that in -say- jade or canary yellow! Therefore black in a genius transition from the visual to the olfactory & the mnemonic allows both the concept of a perfume to be easier to graft on one's self and for one's personality (assuming they have one to begin with) to shine through; allowing the better elements to slowly unveil themselves.

Whether I associate the word "noir" with specific perfumery notes? Not really! Several recent, modern "noir" and "black" fragrances ironically smell exactly "light, fresh, inoffensive, cookie-cutter", so....no. Other people however mention oud, patchouli, resin, smoke, tobacco, incense. It's a your mileage may vary, in any case, not one of "all cats are black in the night".

So what does "noir" signify for you in terms of smell?

And a Game: He or She who recognises all the titles of film-noirs hidden in the text will win a decant off my vintage collection! (hint: they're 10 in total and they're all Google-able)




pics of The Killers and The Narrow Margin via sbccfilmreviews.com, kitsune.noir.blogimages, dvdbeaver.com

Incense week: 4.Traitorous incense for Holy Wednesday

Most people know Judas Iscariot as the classic traitor, the archetype of such a justifiably hateful character: crossing his master for 30 pieces of silver, betraying him with a kiss. It is such a fixed notion in pop culture that we see references of that very act of betrayal in balkan folk verse to U2 songs.
It is also no accident that in many Christian communities there is the tradition of burning a representation of Judas before the Resurrection. Great attention is put into the comparison of the sinful woman who is saved to the chosen apostle who is lost in the scriptures.
In short Judas is doomed. Os is he?

Villains are always exciting characters to follow in literature and if one -like Nietzsche, who by the way was the son of a man of religion (it figures!) - takes an interest in the scriptures solely in their literature capacity and not their alleged apocalyptical meaning, one sees that a proper drama requires at least one capable villain. All the more power to him if there is the possibility of him falling from grace in the end bringing the much needed aristotelic katharsis.
The mention that Judas was of a prominent Judaic family and that he was educated, in sharp contrast to most of the other apostles, is something that does not –in my mind- preclude innocent and coincidental associations. It seems to me that there is an underlying effort to stress that the new emerging religion, Christianity, is thus targeted to the socially and economically unprivileged, whose vast numbers guarantee a great success and a rapid spread of the new word of course. But let’s not be so cynical…

However the recent revelation of the lost Gospel of Judas reveals a different facet of the man that is perhaps even more intriguing. That of the misunderstood here, the one who must bear a cross of his own (as does any man, really), the one who is chosen above others to bring about the difficult task that is needed to bring about salvation through resurrection. In his own words Judas Iscariot talks about how he has been guided by Jesus himself who revealed to him the demanded task: to betray him, Jesus so as to affirm his rule of death and convince the world of his divinity. Although this last part does not shed a favourable light on Jesus (who is basically dooming a simple man to promote his own end) and therefore it has been vehemently denied by the official dogma of the church leaving the study of the gospel to the hands of historians and not theologists, it is so very meaningful and implicating that it requires its own path of thought.
Of course Judas’ gospel is not the only lost one….In fact there are many, one of which is Mary Magdalene’s one. But the subject of any strong faith getting stronger by crashing any notion of weakness is a vast one and the place is not appropriate here to embark on such deep waters.

I have picked nevertheless a handful of tricky, misunderstood incense fragrances that reflect the misapprehension we sometimes reserve for that which we deem fixed idea, just like we have possibly done to Judas.

Snake Oil by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab: It’s hard to pass up such a great opportunity to talk about this one with the eminently appropriate name. I assure you nevertheless that it is as much chosen for its ability to smell different on each separate application rendering the poor wearer crazy with anticipation on how it will evolve upon the skin. The thick smokiness of the incense cut with a smidgeon of citrus mingles with earthy, dirty notes of patchouli and musk into a symphony of darkness that seems quite potent at first.
As it is quite medicinal when fresh, it tends to mellow and gain complexity and sweetness as the ageing process is on its way; and indeed like a good wine it gains the veil of vanillic warmth that makes it seem much more innocent and lovable than it is, much like those misunderstood characters that we hate we love. Quite strong it is also considered by some to be sexy. Don’t count me in the latter group but thought you might want to know.

Mania by Armani: Why is this one surfacing into a post about incense and traitorous scents, you might ask. You do have a point. It is mr.Armani, bless him chuckling in his tailored sleeves, who is the traitor. Because he had the nerve to discontinue the old slightly masculine, incensy musky and woody version of the scent with that name bottled in a grey bottle with an anthracite cap and replace it with a common pink fruity floral that’s a dime a dozen with a beige cap. For shame, mr. Armanis. For shame!

Incense by Norma Kamali: Take your pills (every one you’ve ever been presecribed, you’ll need those suckers) and slowly, tentatively inhale this mysterious, intense potion. You will find yourself in a swirl wind of such mental turmoil that the afore-mentioned Nietzsche’s troubles will seem like child’s play to you. Prepare yourself for a dose of South American resin, copal, that is completely traitorous to the canonical frankincense and myrrh of more conventional incense-centered perfumes. The northern Lacandón Maya of lowland Chiapas in southern Mexico offered copal incense (pom) to their gods, a material made from the resin of the pitch pine (Pinus pseudostrobus). Norma Kamali is transporting us into a pagan ritualistic celebration like the religious iconoclast that is the theme of the day. Tread with caution; it can’t be stressed enough!


Next instalment -with yet a different spin- to come up shortly!

Pic comes from the film Zwartboek courtesy of Athinorama.

Bvlgari Black: Eating Asphalt ~fragrance review

The car analogy on my previous post and today’s pic had been lurking in my mind allied to a particular scent and what with mr.Duirez doing a commercial for Lexus (Duriez is nose in Patou house), brought to my attention by Karol, one of my readers, and everything, this is as good a time as any to bring it up. I had referred to this perfume as a Mercedes S-class its rubber tires eating asphalt in a metropolis setting in my Scent of a Man list a few days ago and the comparison now seems anachronistic somehow, but scripta manent, therefore I am to remain blameless.
Bvlgari (or Bulgari, whichever way you want to spell it) Black is the weird oriental for men (and women; it’s one of those euphemistically called “shared” frags) who want something modern, sleek, original, definitely not the spawn of any other department store fragrance. Yet it is easily accessible, which adds an intrinsic value to people who live in places far away from hip Barneys, Les Senteurs or Body&Soul stores, so the poor chaps might actually test the stuff before commiting the monthly allotment reserved for perfume.


In Black’s case sniffing might be in order if you are unfamiliar with the modern perfume niche market. However under no circumstances is it strange or unappealing to wear. Polarising as it might be, due to the perceived hot rubber tires accord, I find it soft and vanillic, which is perhaps sounding like an oxymoron next to the "supreme exponent of the metropolitan concept", as Bvlgari wants to call it.
Created by Annick Menardo, the talented Cannes-born nose behind Lolita Lempicka, Lolita au masculine, Kouros Body, Hypnotic Poison, Boss and a co-perpetrator for Hypnôse (well, I am no fan, sorry), it was a 1998 sensation even if it never reached the upper echelons sales-wise. Although Dzing! by L’artisan created by nez extraordinaire Olivia Giacobetti launched in 1999 and is quite close to Black, it segues into other avenues of weirdness and wondrousness, enough to make it stand apart.

The bottle is a very fetish-y matte rubbery surface like the rubber watchband from their supreme collection, encasing a glass bottle within that is crowned by a steel top with the Bvlgari Bvlgari logo of their eponymous collection that twists and sprays. There are ON and OFF positions on it, in an attempt to make it look like a gadget or a driving equipment. The idea is brilliant, however people have been reporting that the mechanism has been found a bit wanting, since it can have a tendency to jam or leak if you try too hard. They’d better ameliorate this aspect. The current version exists in 40 and 75ml bottles.

Upon spraying this on skin a warm citrus/bergamot note greets you, soon to be rounded and smoked by the black veil of lapsang souchong tea leaves notes. Tea scents have been something of a trademark for Bvlgari, because it was them that introduced the accord with their Bvlgari Femme perfume and the tradition persisted along in Eau parfumée au thé vert (green tea), then thé blanc (white tea) and finally thé rouge (red tea). Seems tea is coming out in all colours of the rainbow, after all, and pity me who had underestimated it through my teenager years as the drink to consume while sick. Little did I know then.
Along with tea a strange and wonderful resiny aroma rises up from heated skin like smoke signs by stressed executives in their offices to the object of their affection along the hall. Has life become so hectic that we communicate in new ways and with new signals after all? Does perfume hold a special place in this new language? I think it does.
Proof positive that pretty soon the warm hug of rich vanilla envelops the cool smokiness and the whole nests in a woody embrace created by the combination of sandalwood, cedar and amber. No single wood is discernible for what it is, because the mingling is seamless and vanilla and some musk seem to overpower the rest.

Although Bvlgari insist to list oakmoss as one of the ingredients I have never smelled it in this and I doubt that now with the new IFRA regulations it will be included anymore.

Anyway, the fact remains; do you have an object of affection across the hall? Are her or his antennae tuned in to perfume? Black might help you deliver that message you have been wanting to across.


Pic by HelmutNewton.edu