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.

Lament for a Fragrance in Sepia ~Cabochard by Gres: fragrance review

“Headstrong” or “stubborn” is not the first thing that comes to mind when I contemplate on my mother’s personality. Yet it was the formidable, petulant perfume thus named, Cabochard, that had won her heart and ~along with Dioressence~ became her insignia. The Grecian-inspired fluted designs of Madame Grès which were cut directly on the body would have suited the Dorian drama of her beauty. Her dreamy flair for romanticism however betrayed appearences and made a fascinating juxtaposition with her bombshell fragrances. Thus the merest whiff out of her now almost empty bottle never fails to bring back poignant memories of my childhood with a Proustian rush. Talking about it dews my eyes like writing the obituary on an era: trying to recapture those sepia memories like a faded vignette is doomed to fail due to the fragrance being irrecovably changed.

Cabochard comes from the old French word “caboche”, meaning "headstrong" or "self-willed", according to the Petit Robert dictionary. It was Alix Grès, neé Germaine Emilie Krebs and formally trained as a sculptress, who opted for it, to accompany the independent nature of her couture. Alix Barton was her first business pseydonum. But she later took her husband’s ~Serge Czerefkov, a Russian painter ~ first name and with a partial anagram settled on Grès, opening la maison Grès in 1942, amidst the German occupation of Paris. Soon she was dressing everyone, from the Dutchess of Windsor to Marlen Dietrich and Greta Garbo.

The story of creating Cabochard
The credit into making Cabochard a success is attributed to Guy Leyssène, who met Madame Grès at a dinner part two years prior to the perfume’s launch, per Michael Edwards. It was Guy's suggestion that she should issue one because it was a profitable enterprise which all the other fashion designers of the times had embarked on. It took only a month for Grès to ask him to help her create her own perfume. {interestingly, according to history of fashion.com the first perfume was called Muse in 1946}. However, nothing is as simple as it might look. "Cabochard is a miracle of complexity […] the secret life of a Parisian woman with no age and no illusions" wrote Luca Turin about its scent in 1994 and its story is just as complex.

The perfume that was in works was a composition by legendary perfumer Guy Robert, called Chouda. Robert was young and under the guidance of mentor Andrée Castanié, then editor of L'Officiel de la Mode et de la Couture, had been introduced to Mme Grès in 1956. But it took a trip to India, the land of exoticism, which prompted Alix Grès to further her plans on the house’s fragrance. The visit had begun innocuously, invited by the Ford Foundation to assess Indian brocades. It was there that Alix Grès discovered water hyacinth: a flower she became enraptured with. It has a sweet odour, rich like tuberose, yet with a fresher top and slightly warmer. The experimentation of Guy Robert yeilded rich fruits: Alix loved it, however Chouda was almost exclusively used by her (only five litres of Chouda were ever made) as it was too flowery for the tastes of the 50s which veered towards classic chypres. She launched another fragrance under the pressure of public input: the mod of what was to become Cabochard, made by Bernand Chant of IFF, was received much more favourably and thus the plan to push Chouda was ultimately abandoned, although the two were issued almost simultaneously in 1959. It comes as a surprise that there were focus groups even back then, but it is a fact that puts things into perspective: public reception is (and will always be) the moniker of how things work in a sector that, although hinges on art, is also largely a business.


The story of the bottle for Cabochard, as well as Chouda, is also extraordinary in that it was the already made and discarded stock of Guighard, a small glass manufacturer later acquired by Pochet. They had made the bottles for another company who never bought them and in order to save costs, Grès bought all 500 of them for both perfumes. The difference was the little bow that adorned the pharmaceutical stopper: grey for Cabochard, green for Chouda. The Cabochard success (it sold 250 bottles in the first week of its launch alone!) secured numerous backorders to the glass manufacturer. In a way, the commercial success owed to the enthusiasm with which it was promoted by a commission salesman formerly working for Piguet (whose biggest seller at the time was Bandit). According to Leyssène the demand was so pressing the sales were doubled each year for the following ten years!

Scent Considerations: A Leathery Chypre Marvel
Cabochard utilised the same aromachemical with Bandit: isobutyl quinoline, a harsh green and pungent, dry leather aroma, yet fanning expensive, precious, sweet flowers over it. Inspired by the archetype it muted the smokiness until the drydown. Cabochard offers a capricious bitter orange opening instead, with the illusion of wading through wild bracken catching a distant whiff of clove and hairspray. The crackling leather, powdery afterfeel of face cosmetics was sustained for hours on skin, emitting grace and confidence in a similar manner to Chanel’s Cuir de Russie, although with rather more sweetness and less birch. To Gres it recalled a walk along a deserted Indian beach:

“the crispness of the early morning air, the warmth of sandalwood, a hint of far-off flowers, and the dry caress of sea breezes”.

The parfum sitting on the dresser of my mother ever since I can remember was so warm and rich than mere drops were enough to scent her hair and garments, retaining the essence of who she was into my heart of hearts. The eau de parfum in older versions is also exceptionally good, while the eau de toilette has a lighter but sharper quality.

The difference between the vintage and the recent re-editions can be traced back to 1984 when Beecham Cosmetics acquired British American Cosmetics, who had bought the Grès brand in the interim after Alix closed the couture house. To celebrate Cabochard's twenty-fifth anniversary, they changed the grey velvet bow into frosted glass, encased the bottle in a black instead of a black-and-white one and brightened the citrus top while also restraining the animalic accord. The 40th anniversary of Cabochard was celebrated in 1999 with a Bacarrat crystal flacon, designed by Serge Mansau and what seems yet another re-formulation which finally put the tombstone on one of the best in my opinion perfumes of the 20th century.

Official notes for Madame 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

Pic of bottle from official Gres site

Leather Series 9: leather scents of the 50s

After the ravages of WWII, which brought real emancipation to women through their en masse contribution to the workforce and the uniformity of vote throughout the western world, people were now free to revert to more conservative models of life. In that regard, fashion and its cultural sensibilities that pertain to fragrances followed suit. Women craved glamour and style after the privasions of the war and the boosting economy tended to their needs with swathes of fabric and gilded bottles of precious, fragrant liquid.

In this economically optimistic atmosphere which was olfactorily inaugurated with the stunning verdancy of Vent Vert by Balmain (1947) and the playfully leathery animalic chypré Miss Dior by Christian Dior (1947), women reverted to more traditional roles in which the bitter green dyke-y typhoon of Bandit (1944) had no place. Family values gained newfound popularity as the world was ready to be repopulated with young people, to substitute the ones who had perished in the fields of warfare. Thus, being a good wife and mother was seen as the height of success for a woman of that era and in that regard fashion and perfumes complimented that ideal: constrictive lingerie that created smooth but immovable lines beneath the new secretary-chic clothing of twin sets and pencil skirts; bows and polka dots fighting for a decorative boost, capri pants and Vichy plaid, pearls adorning swan and less swan-like necks alike; the introduction of the stiletto heel ramaging parquet floors and the concept of shoes matching the outfit in its colouring and detail.



The formality and solid glamour of the 1940s relaxed into clothing that was more conservative overall, taking cue from the “I Love Lucy” series and “The Honeymooners”. The rock n’roll craze injected its own special touch to the youth culture with voluminous circle skirts, short ankle socks and ballet flats. Dior and Balenciaga were the couturiers to revolutionize fashions and while to wear the former you needed a slim waist, to wear the latter you needed a headstrong caracter: Many of his creations were architectural in nature and striking in their aesthetics.

Perfumes consequently moved into the realm of demure floral, feminine floral chyprés and elegant cool aldehydics. Leather as a material had lost its emancipated allure of the Garconnes of the 20s and the toughness of the Nazi uniform of WWII, relegated into items of luxury denoting prestige: expensive, smooth handbags of stiff shape made from endangered species (ecoconsiousness had not entered people’s vernacular yet), heels in elongated impractical shapes, Chesterfield couches in gentlemen’s clubs. With a rebelious sideline of leather boots worn by Teddy Boys and youths copying Marlon Brando in “The Wild One”.
Leather in fragrances therefore took a new twist to match the sartorial mores of the times: powdery, with floral touches of old-fashioned violets such as in Jolie Madame by Balmain (1953) or starting its own revolution with all the gusto of a "Rebel without a Cause" in Cabochard by madame Grès (1959). The refinement of the original Doblis, issued by the house of Hermès in 1955, is the soft to the touch hand that caresses a crocodile-skin bag; in many ways its logical descendant in fatal smoothness is Paul Vacher's Diorling for Christian Dior in 1963.

Myself I envision the femme leathers of the 50s emulating the style of two different ends of the spectrum: on one hand like the insouciant costumes of “Une Parisienne” (1957) with Brigitte Bardot and on the other like the faded, broken heroine of “The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone” (1961) as played by Vivien Leigh; both elegantly dressed by none other than Pierre Balmain, the couturier who established the jolie madame style of 50s fashion.



(uploaded by stallano)



Reviews on all those scents coming up shortly!

Pic of Suzy Parker for Balenciaga couture from Vogue 1963. Roger Vivier pink embroided shoe for Christian Dior from Victoria & Albert museum exhibition.

The Dior Chypres series ~Diorling: fragrance review

If Diorama is synonymous to a classical goddess, then Diorling is fit for a dark Rennaisance angel. This supremely elegant "leather chypre" that saw the light of the day in 1963 is one of the rare beauties that have such smooth contours, so velvety a sheen as to render the leather note a tender caress on a very expensive handbag of an austere design resting atop a soft feminine lap while waiting for a rendez-vous a deux; a handsome beau bringing flowers hidden behind his back.

Diorling was created by Paul Vacher, the nose that is officially credited with the creation of Miss Dior, that classic of classics for the house of Christian Dior, in a French attempt at "English refinement". 
In the case of Miss Dior it has been inferred that its formula was based on a concept by Jean Carles (the man behind Tabu and Ma Griffe) and the extrait de parfum was further assisted by the great Edmond Roudnitska. In Diorling there is no data to support a hypothesis that the perfume was aided by either man’s expertise. It is therefore interesting to examine what sources Vacher drew his inspiration from.

One could trace the lineage of Diorling in such formidable leathery scents such as Cuir de Russie (1924), Bandit (1944), Jolie Madame (1953), or Cabochard (1959). Diorling offers the relatively harsh but restrained opening of bitch tar coupled with bergamot and what seems like bitter orange without the bracing, almost bitter aromatic top of Jolie Madame, the acid green of the quinolines in Bandit or the bracken & whip of Cabochard ~ which make for challenging compositions that seem demanding like an ancient Greek cthonian deity or a creation of Paula Rego.

On the contrary, Diorling weaves its sexy, dry, leathery note smoothly throughout the duration of the fragrance on the skin revealing flowers of an incomparable beauty and luminosity: the clean note of hydroxicitronellal, which echoes the headiness of muguet/lily of the valley, and light, airy jasmine with no real indolic dirtiness. Although rose is part of the bouquet garni of Diorling, I perceive no evident trace of its lushful personality as it is hidden behind the backdrop of dryness and classical symmetry; two traits which put it firmly in my heart of hearts. As the scent slowly dries down a stream of patchouli and earthy vetiver come to the fore elegantly and quietly to position the whole into the realm of chypre. This chypre however has neither the intensely floral animal naughtiness of Miss Dior nor the opulent fruitiness and floralcy of Diorama {click for review} which draw contrasts of chiaroscuro. Diorling puts its spell through the equilibrium of a delicate pendulum that never veers from its well-ordained course.

Nota bene: The above review pertains to the vintage edition of Diorling, which is also the best. There is a newer bottle in 125ml eau de toilette with houndstooth label available from Paris Dior boutique which is lighter and with less intense animalic components (circulating in the late 2000s).
Then there is a 2012 "modernised" version of Diorling joining the perfume line Les Creations de Mr.Dior on 30th January 2012, comprising notes of Calabrian bergamot, Egyptian jasmine, patchouli and leather. This one bears the characteristic design of the newer Dior bottles with the silver "mock thread" around the neck of the bottle in sizes of 100ml.


Boutique Dior is located at 28-30 Avenue Montaigne, 75008 Paris. Fax number to order: 00 33 1 40 73 57 95. Also available at time of writing at Le Bon Marché (in Paris) and at Harrods (at Roja Dove's Haute Parfumerie) in London.

Ad from okadi. Pic of Emanuelle Beart courtesy of aufeminin

Chypre series 5: chronology and the zeitgeist

It has long been my opinion that fragrances do not merely reflect their makers' vision or the desire to attain beauty and harmony through an ethereal means such as the fume of a precious liquid. They are routinely shaped by the circumstances that define much of the popular culture around us; they take form from the spirit of the moment, the zeitgeist. Hegel would have turned in his grave hearing us applying his Philosophy of History term applied to fragrance, but nevertheless it always seemed appropriate to me. Because, if you really think about it, aren't scents the expression of cultural tendencies and the aspirational mores of the ethos of select segments in society?

Thus, chypre fragrances evolved through a particular cultural necessity that alternately dictated allegience to forces of cool earthiness, or feminine powderiness or elegant sophistication. Although chypres have been in existence since antiquity, as previously discussed, it is most fascinating to contemplate their evolution in the 20th century.

Contrary to popular perception, François Coty was not the first to associate the name Chypre with a particular perfume in 1917. Guerlain's Chypre de Paris preceded him by 8 years, issued in as early as 1909. Chypre d'Orsay was the next one to be introduced, in 1912. However it was Coty's that really took off and became an instant commercial success that created traction and a vogue for such heavy "green" perfumes. It was also the year when Caron launched their Tabac Blond, a daring concept at the time, encouraging women to smell like they smoke, considered terribly chic then.
It was the time before the Great War, when disillusionment had not set in and the introduction of the exotic, sensual mystique of the East hadn't budded yet. It would take legendary Mitsouko by, Guerlain in 1919, inspired by a Japanese heroine in the then best-selling novel "La Bataille" to do that. The success of Les ballets Russes under impressario Diaghilev's artistic baguette (who incidentally loved Mitsouko and used it on his hotel curtains) brought on the vogue for orientals in the 1920s, as manifested by the roaring success of khol-eyed Shalimar. Suddenly everything oriental hinted at abandon and sensuality, the forbidden territory in which "flappers", the independent women of the time, marched through with renewed confidence.
Chypres and tobacco scents provided also a backdrop for confidence and individualism that marked this new era in women's emancipation. Long pipes of ebony and ivory were often held in elegant hands that bore the glamorous manicure of the times and the dark lips that recalled Theda Bara. Molinard's Le Chypre was introduced in 1925 and in 1933 Jacques Guerlain launched Sous le Vent to capture the soul of artiste Josephine Baker, the woman who shocked Americans and mesmerised the Paris audiences. (You can read a full review of Sous le vent clicking here).
The leathery chypre of Chanel, Cuir de Russie, was brought out in 1924, using birch tar as the note that skyrocketed it into the realm of utter sophistication.

As the great Crash crashed hopes of affluence and resurgence for the masses,chypres lost some of their cachet in favour of more economical propositions, at least in the United States. However perusing lists of perfume houses from the perior 1919 up to 1949, we see that every one of them had some chypre fragrance listed in their catalogues. Obviously this was a family that was considered sine qua non for perfume makers. It was often that they married the classic chypre accord with flowers, such as rose, jasmine, carnation, heliotrope or geranium, to render a more feminine note.
Contrast this with today's world in which the name Chypre is associated with more obscure or niche fragrance marketers such as Vivienne, Scientex, Arys, Montale, E.N.Z., Peckinsniffs, and Patyke. They take the heritage of Coty's success with them, but they are not at the front row of fashion. On the other hand, maybe the lack of such identical nomenclature in commercial scents has to do with marketing strategies that point to the direction of more original names that would differentiate products from one another among brands (the fact that they are not that differentiated among the offering of the same brand, what with the flankers of 1, 2, light, summer etc. is fodder for another post).

In the difficult years of World War II, it was the genius of Edmond Roudnitska that saw the potential of a long forgotten vat of methyl ionone that smelled of prunes in the factory that he was working trying to find such exciting things as butter substitute and such due to the privations of war. Femme was the dense fruity chypre of 1944 that recalled an upscale confectionary shop and which became the first perfume of couturier Marchel Rochas, a wedding present to his beautiful young bride.
It is interesting to contrast this with the dyke-y creation of nez extraordinaire Germaine Cellier Bandit for Rober Piguet issued in the same year. An ox-feller of a leathery chypre, Bandit was inspired by the panties that models wore exiting the runway; which according to Cellier was "when they let out the best of their femininity". It is no secret that Cellier was a homosexual...
Bandit was a proud creation that unabashedly confirms the aloofness of intense vetiver and patchouli smeared on used leather and with the echo of moss and flowers in the background. One can picture it on an interesting woman or a daring man. They have to be so to begin with, though, and not hoping to graft the image onto themselves through perfume.

After World War II, chypres saw a reigning period again according to perfume writer Michael Edwards, this time in the guise of less orientalised variations that were removed from the mystery of Mitsouko and more into the powderiness or the couture elegance that was depicted in Ma Griffe and Miss Dior.
Ma Griffe was another post-War chypre, a true masterpiece by nose Jean Carles for the house of Carven. Very powdery dry and quite spicy thanks to the weird note of styrax, Ma Griffe managed to be assertive in its name (it means "my signature", but also "my talon") and supremely sparkly and feminine in its aroma. It marked the introduction of chypres into the arena of professional women. Those were not factory workers of the war or flappers; they were secretaries at the new firms; twin set in place, string of pearls and a slick of lipstick on impecably powdered faces. The psychology of those new chypres talked about women who earned their living by themselves, but did not manifest themselves as sexual predators. There is a sense of detachment and intelligence.

Christian Dior had just launched the New Look in 1947 that took trainloads of fabric to new heights of spending, in an effort to maximise fabric sales but also to inject a hopeful touch into the hearts of women who had bid farewell to the rationed days of the war.( It is an old adage by Yves Saint Laurent that in times of economic shortage couturiers use a bit more fabric to boost the market, whereas in times of economic affluence -such as the 60s- the shorter length is king). Miss Dior became a best-seller and a crowd pleaser that managed not to sit on the fence, but to take an animalistic backdrop and smother it with soft flowers such as gardenia, narcissus, lily of the valley and green touches of galbanum and aldeydes. It spoke of a new elegance and a subdued sensuality that was not aggressive like that of the flappers, but more pedigreed and delicate, yet undeniably naughty underneath especially in the glorious parfum/extrait concentration.

Well into the 50s, chypres were popular. Jolie Madame was another product of Germaine Cellier, in 1953, that reprised the animalic, leathery theme; this time with very green and violety notes that cede to a big box of talcum powder. This is definitely a turn to the more restrained and professional as befited the times.
Cabochard for Gres by Bernand Chant in 1959 was more devil-may-care in attitude. Obviously there were different types of women to be catered for with the era's chypres and this one was destined for those who were powerful and dominant. Madame Gres said she was inspired by a trip to India. The bitter orange opening on spice and leather and the powdery depths beguiled and asserted themselves in the memory of anyone smelling it. Reformulated in later years, it has been irrecovably ruined, I am afraid. It is a pity, as it used to have a very individual character, hard to mimic, although it does bear some relation to another of Bernard Chant's offerings, Aromatics Elixir by Clinique.
In 1961, Guy Robert created Caleche for the house of Hermes, inspired by a fine type of carriage. The quiet resonance of this scent was completely in tune with the times, exuding copious amount of good taste while remaining tame with its sensuality under wraps; a cladestine affair was not in the programme, but should it ever happen it would remain a very well-kept secret. The sparkle of aldehydes mid-way between two trends, floral and chyprish, gave a fizziness that was also popular at the times, imbuing the whole with a feminine touch that was distinctly Parisian.

But the 1960s was a different time. Although they begun in the soft powdwery florals and the aldehydics, soon Mary Quant with the mini, the Beatles and the hippy movement and the ravages of war in Vietnam and the politics of the time swang the pendulum in another direction that meant another mentality in perfume. Nature and the smells of the body were explored in simple oils, headshop ones, such as straight patchouli and aromas that had a "pot" aroma to them. Clearly this was another page.

It was not until the 1970s when chypres dominated the perfume scene again, as a second wave of women's emancipation came to the fore. The kickstart was given by Chanel No.19, a fragrance that is traditionally classified as a green floral, created by Henri Robert for Coco Chanel herself (and overviewed by her from beginning to end), later to be publicly launched. However among the different concentrations one can feel a chyprish quality in the drier, more iris-vetiver rich eau de toilette, whereas the eau de parfum is rosier and more floral. In parfum/extrair concentration there is such dry depth that it re-affirms its position at the top of my list for elegant fragances for confident women. It seemed that it created an avalanche of chypres, dry, crisp and cerebral this time, echoing the new status of women who needed men "as much as fish needed bicycles".
Diorella was another legendary Roudnitska creation that remains enigmatic and minimalistic to this day. It begun as an attempt to capitalise on the trend of women wearing men's scents, which had started with yet another Roudnitska creation, Eau Sauvage for Dior. Diorella was to be the more feminine sister scent so that women could claim it as their own. Too crisp and fresh with its lemon opening and its fruity greeness for it to be really sensual, but an elegant insouciant fragrance for the young women who wore trousers and set out to rule the world. The latter image was best depicted by Charlie, that best-seller by Revlon (1973), which revolutionised advertising, depicting women in pants for the first time and focusing on the sheer power and confidence that it gave women who didn't need a man to be successful. It was trully revolutionary, at least conceptually!
Aromatics Elixir for Clinique and Alliage for Lauder (both in 1972), Coriandre by Jean Couturier (with the addition of a large percentage of magnolione, a material similar to hedoine but with more of a jasmine quality) and Private Collection by Lauder (both in 1973) and finally Halston in 1975; all saw this new trend take shape.
Interestingly Givenchy brought out Givenchy Gentleman in 1974, a masculine chypre full of pungent patchouli and a true masterpiece of calculated olfactory assault that married tarragon, vetiver and russian leather, showing that men could project the traditional assured image themselves still.

As the decade was coming to an end, the hyber success of spicy oriental Opium meant a new direction that would take the carnal and affluent capitalistic 80s into new avenues of perfume exhibitionism. The sophistication and powderiness of chypres took a backseat to such bombastic examples as Obsession, Giorgio and Poison.
However they did not completely disappear, with cerebral examples that encompassed Ungaro's rosy bombshell Diva in 1982, Niki de saint Phalle (the 1984 creation of a talented sculptor famous for her snakes and bearing those on the bottle), Knowing by Lauder in 1988 (inspired by the smell of pittosporum smelled during holidays in the south of France) and La perla by luxe lingerie brand in 1986.
In the masculine field, Drakkar Noir by Guy Laroche was launched in 1982; a fougere scent (with borrowed elements off the very herbal chypres) that took the name of Viking ships to emphasize masculinity and which sported tangy verbena and lemon rind with a herbal heart of coriander, lavender and juniper berries on bottom notes of patchouli, sandalwood and fir balsam. It proved to be a bestseller in the corporate world of the Wall-Street-decade.
Nevertheless, the most memorable example of the decade in the category of chypres is perhaps Paloma Picasso, Pablo's daughter's foray into perfumery which was imbued with her unique, bold style and matched her Spanish roots and signature red lips: assured. It brought the animalic quality of castoreum into the vogue again interpreting it into a domineering personality that made Montana follow suit with his Parfum de Peau in the blue box in 1986, with its beautiful bottle inspired by the swirling fall of a winged sycamore seed as seen by a strobe light, designed by Serge Mansau. Magnificently intense and terribly potent it was perhaps the last chypre chronologically to make the aggressive mark.

By the 90s, things changed again as the baby boom took place and there was a regression to simpler things, a call to nature, a desire to leave urbanity behind and revel into acqueous and ozonic notes that promised the much longed for escape.
The chypres that came out then were mostly fruitier, tamer, sweeter blends such as the fizzy fruit salad of Sophia Grojsman for Yves Saint Laurent's Yvresse (originally named Champagne) or the underrated Deci Dela by Nina Ricci in 1994.
It was clear by then that chypres had had their heyday and consumers were opting for different things, terming chypres old-fashioned and almost archaic.

Yet this esteemed category has not uttered its final word. As discussed previously in The New Contestants article, "modern" chypres are out to take revenge for their illustrious ancestors and although they are markedly different than them, they are still a hope that the zeitgeist is again changing, favouring heavier, richer, more mysterious scents that demand a wink in the eye and a steely shoulder to cry upon. Let's hope that a return to truer chypres is not far off.

NEXT POST: a perfume legend gets reviewed. Stay tuned!


pic of Mitsouko ad from the 1960s originally uploaded on mua, pic of Diorella and Miss Dior ad from psine.net

Happy Mother's day!

My own beautiful, tender, loving mother used to love two perfumes: Cabochard by madame Gres and Dioressence by Christian Dior. She loved the exoticism, the mystery, the sillage, everything they entailed. And as my childhood was spent in close company to my mother and her many talented ways, those two have left an indelible print on the tracks of my mind. Despite the assertive character of those "barbare" scents, my mother was anything but and the juxtaposition only made the impression stronger, more fortissimo.
The memory of the sensual and yet reassuring way she smelled has me left with a desire to transfer this kind of olfactory fingerprint to my offspring some day as well: when I am long gone they will perhaps reminiscence about their mother in lacquered images of spicy Opium and think just how it was ingrained in my personality and aura.

Sadly, the perfumes posing as Cabochard and Dioressence today do not reflect but a mere spectre of the magnificence of the vintages that she used to wore all those years ago. The vagaries of fashion and the shortcomings of the industry have managed to ruin one of my most precious memories...

However to those of you who celebrate today (and you must be many!many wishes to you all) I can only wish that the olfactory visage of a loved one will stay with you for ever, as did my beloved mum's.




Pics courtesy of Parfum de pub.