Cacharel's Eden from 1994 is the precursor of neon green compositions like Mark Jacobs Decadence and Thierry Mugler's Aura, which were introduced as so trailblazing in recent years, but they're not. Considering that the latter with its green rhubarb-gardenia accord in the eau de parfum has sparked comments of very herbal mouthwash, grassy soil, muddy swamps and musty cellars, bugs and bug poison, etc., it's not unfathomable that Eden has also been rather challenging for modern audiences as well.
Back then, nevertheless, it was "the newest Cacharel" and its youth appeal was palpable. Every teenage girl and budding woman has fond memories and references in everything Cacharel made. There was no frog in sight, only princes.
The opening of Eden blends luminous citrus notes but also the sharpness of grassy-sweet patchouli, a hint of the jungle. Something untamed and lurking in the background. The cold water freshness of water lily (or lotus or pond lily) in the heart is combined with a complex, heady mix of floral notes (tuberose, mimosa, jasmine, rose and lily-of-the-valley) and sweet juicy fruits (of which pineapple and melon are probably the most referenced, though they smell of neither, per se, as the molecule used was Calone, as was customary back in the era).
The water notes are in perfect harmony with sharp patchouli and the warm, woody base of cedar and sandalwood and probably vetiver too, creating the terrain of the bog of a sorceress. Perhaps Eden shouldn't be recalling Eve, but rather Lilith, the first bewitching woman. The more the fragrance stays on, the sweeter it becomes, with a faint whiff of the compote peaches in rubber of Gucci Rush. Or rather the two are on the crossroads of fruity chypre and floral oriental, borrowing elements of either style and re-jingling the kaleidoscope to create a new image, a sort of musical-style Dear Prudence rendered olfactive — especially in the version sung by Siouxsie and the Banshees in Venice.
This specimen of vintage advertising from the 1980s by the French brand Cacharel comes as the imaginative apex of an aesthetic we don't come across anymore. The white knickerbockers-style outfit with the straw hat and the knee high socks in Mary Janes has a vaguely early 20th century feel to it. The lion is imposing and has a questioning look in its eye, it is hoever reflected ~please note~ alone and on a checkered floor on the opposite page of the advertisement.
Cacharel produced a romantic (and I bet to be discussed) commercial for the first flanker of Anais Anais in 3 and a half decades (the original was issued in 1978), Anais Anais Premier Délice.
Sarah Moon gives her place to Olivia Bee (barely 19 herself) for this time around, shooting what looks like teenager models having a hippie good time in the woods. Dora Baghriche and Olivier Cresp of Firmenich have composed the new fragrance (eau de toilette 50 ml sells for 39,90 euros at the time of writing, international launch set for April 2014). The scent of Anais Anais Premier Délice starts with green pear, bergamot, galbanum and orange, with the heart familiarly floral with peony and hyacinth, while the anchoring notes include cocoa and cedarwood.
It's an interesting, though not novel, approach, since the flanker is supposed to capitalize on a well-established brand, which however has lost much of its fresh, youthful appeal now that its original audience is comprised of mothers with their own daughters. So, in order to capture the daughters, L'Oreal, who hold the licence to parfums Cacharel came up with this plan. After all, three quarters of the sales of Cacharel come from the perfume sector!
What do you think? Wow or Yawn? (I refer to the advertising aspect, rather than the list of notes)
"Fit for nuns and virgins"is as enticing a description of fragrance [1] for some of us as talking of a scent weaving a web of seduction the way a femme fatale would. Clearly, it's not because we belong to either category, but rather that its programmatic unconventionality of what feminine fragrance should stand for makes it ripe for personal exploration. It's so easy to underestimate a fragrance just because it's widely available and comes from a brand that doesn't have haute or luxe pretentions such as Cacharel and Noa. I bet good money that were Noa issued by a niche company into some fancy-named contraption and fronted by a du jour perfumer it would elicit more enthusiastic response. Despite Cacharel's fashion presence and their rather large input in fragrance history (a pre-emptying floral in Anais Anais, a magical retro heliotrope in Loulou, the first aquatic fruit-oriental in Eden, a good effort at tobacco-laced feminine in discontinued Gloria) they fly under the radar on what concerns hard-core perfume lovers. Which is why we're here and have been reviewing the Cacharel canon for a little while now on Perfume Shrine.
Noa is an underappreciated little gem that didn't deserve the lack of attention it receives and which spawned somewhat less noteworthy flankers, called Noa Fleur (2003) and Noa Perle (2006). But let's see the strong and weak points of each and compare them.
The original Noa by Cacharel (1998) was composed by perfumer Olivier Cresp, the fragrance encased in a diaphanous bubble of a bottle, a zen approach to the spiritual 1990s (hence the tag line "the gifted fragrance", one would almost expect a Messiah in a bottle), designed by Annegret Beier. The passage of a few minutes results in a slight recalibration of one's original view of Noa, which would have been of an aquatic floral: it's really a floral musk with a hint of powder and soapiness and a delightfully unexpected smoky wood top note. The initially detectable ylang-ylang blends into the background, while the soapy aspect of the musk intensifies as the minutes pass by, boosted perhaps by some aldehyde. This produces both a smooth, clean scent, but also a reduction in volume, making Noa appear "light" and "fresh", although don't let that fool you into thinking it doesn't last; it does.The musks are fuzzy, cozy, warmish and comfortable, accented by a small note of spice like coffee laced with cardamom. Tania Sanchez identifies the spice as cilantro.
Noa Fleur by Cacharel came next in 2003 and its take is more unisex than its rosy character would suggest. Essentially a clean, rather screechy floral, flanked by musky notes like hibiscus and white musks, plus pale balsam and indeterminate notes that project with a faint powderiness, it's predictable and pliable. The inclusion of black currants gives a rather fruity facet to the proceedings, but there is no denying this is a rose fragrance with more woodiness than a typical soli-rose. This would make it fit for those occasions when you just don't know what to wear; rushing out of the door to get the kids on the school bus, going shopping impromptu, having a last-minute "wanna pick you up?" date when you're uncertain of your date's tastes...But you could do better than that: Grab Gucci Eau de Parfum II or Miracle So Magic.
Cacharel's Noa Perle (2006) was co-authored by perfumer Domitille Bertier and Olivier Polge. The formula was reprised, resulting in a more fruity floral mold, in which however the distinctive note of hazelnut swifts things to a slightly more interesting direction than the average fruity floral. The opening is lightly sweet citrus reminiscent of clementines with that standard "clean" floral that companies peg as peony nowadays; the drydown is an inoffensive powdery musk plus milky woods. Noa Perle is a nice enough if completely inadventurous scent, but for the price and the lack of pretence, it's still a better option than many out there. Points taken for the glaringly fake "pearl" inside, made from 100% plastic. With a name like that...
When CacharelLoulou first came out in 1987, there was a wonderful TV ad set to the romantic Pavane, Opus 50 by Gabriel Fauré and veiled in the mysterious bluish tones of the print ad. It featured a slip of a girl in a classic 20’s bob haircut dressed in a dark stretch dress (so Parisian at the time, very Azzedine Alaia!), swaying hurriedly through space on what seemed a film set, and when a voice called out “Loulou”, she turned to us –the viewers- replying “Oui, c’est moi” (i.e.yes, that’s me). It transported the Cacharel-trademark hazy contours and grainy shots of photographer Sarah Moon to the next level: a Lolitesque seduction. It has haunted me ever since...
The inspiration of Loulou by Cacharel: Loulou wasmeant to evoke the great film actress Louise Brooks and her Lulu role in the silent 1928 Pabst film Pandora’s Box (tamer than its title would hint at, but not by much considering). Louise Brooks has captured the imagination of discerning cinephiles ever since. Her trademark haircut (that actually recalls Cleopatra herself) has inspired many women and men alike. In fact Guido Crepax, the Italian sketch artist of “Valentina”, fashioned his notorious heroine of a vivid imagination and lush posterior attributes on her. The comic book had been turned into a RAI miniseries back in the late 80’s starring Demetra Hampton. The erotic TV-series was heavy in cultural referencing; indeed one episode was called ..."Lulu", reprising the Brooks character.
Loulou the Cacharel fragrance is almost forgotten today, although slightly less than those episodes, although it hasn’t been discontinued. In an age that pushes celebrity scents to an apotheosis, the natural urge of the perfume fanatic would be to turn to niche scents and/or classics from the distant past. Indeed this has been the case with many, as current literature on the subject indicates. That leaves many lovely perfumes of a more recent crop to the shade. Pity if you think about it. I had used the perfume for a while back, enjoying the wink in the eye it provided, the naiveté, the pure élan. It was perfection for those times!
The formula was composed by perfumer Jean Guichard, who is also responsible for Obsession (another 80’s hit), Eden (another forgotten Cacharel), and Deci Dela ( the delectable light chypre by Nina Ricci). Loulou bears the mark of the decade’s excess : lush and rich, it would seem completely out of place up until ten years ago when gourmands entered the scene. Somewhere between floral and oriental and with a similar feel to both Oscar de la Renta and Poison, Cacharel Loulou can also be viewed as a distant cousin of Guerlain's L’Heure Bleue. The sweet and a little melancholic heliotrope plus anise ties them together. The Cacharel fragrance opens on the characteristic note of cassis, a synthetically recreated berry base, quite sweet. This may become overwhelming on some, but the assistance of bergamot and aniseed manage to soften the blow of the top notes. Violet, mace and plum add their smooth nuances along with an armful of ylang-ylang, jasmine, marigold and a smidgen of tiare (that tropical flower of Tahiti), although one would be hard pressed to locate any of those individually, except for heliotrope perhaps which has a soft almondy scent, imparting a powdery aura along with the earthy orris: The feeling is almost retro, much like the whole ambience of the scent is after all. The fragrance lasts and lasts on the skin, suffused with musks and woods, with the insistence of tonka bean, a hay-like vanillic seed of a West African tree.
The bottle of Loulou looks best in the parfum or splash version (as depicted in the ad): a turquoise polygonal opaline that continues the house’s love affair with opaline (later to be reprised in green for Eden) topped with a dark red pointy stopper and garlanded with a burgundy red tassel : the contrast of colours is daring and unique, the concept vaguely inspired by Poison according to Michael Edwards. The Eau de parfum sprayer is sadly not as pretty. To me Loulou will always remain the smell to match the young girl that had first caught my eye in the TV ads and myself back then : insouciant , oblivious to her own seductiveness. A wonderful fragrance, if rather sweet for everyday.
The commercial still produces a sigh of delightful and wistful reminiscence in me, like a dog who is sighing, her paws tucked in and her ears down at the completion of a tender, sad patting as if to part forever.
Photo of Demetra Hampton as Valentina via facebook. Loulou ad via Parfum de Pub. Louis Brooks in Pandora's Box via seraphicpress.com
Named after the primeval garden of creation, Eden by parfums Cacharel broke new ground back when it launched (1994) "for the first time ever, encompassing the exhilaration of spring with sensuality", or rather the first fruity-semioriental-aquatic. Yes, I know, it sounds like an improbable combination like bacon ice-cream, but it managed to smell enticing nevertheless.
At least it did to me for the first bottle or so. Later I became bored with it and left it aside, never repurchasing. The body lotion I had bulk purchased was very nice and continued to remind me of the scent for a while longer. Imagine the shock and elation it provoked in me when my significant other remembered it when I brought out again a sample of it the other day and casually dabbed my wrists in this succulent fruity number. Memories, like cheap coffee, can come in instant form, after all, it seems! It’s a wonder those catchy innovative ideas like the offerings in the Je me souviens coffret from L’artisan Parfumeur (long discontinued) don’t lure in the buying audiences at a larger scale.
The bottle of the scent designed by Annegret Beier is completely friendly, in jade opaline, curved to fit in the palm of your hand, topped with a little green cap in the spray versions or a silvery boule in splash ones . Beautiful in its functionality. When Eden first launched there was a big event that set new standards in the risky and costly mega –launches of perfumes: a whole garden recreated full with tropical and aquatic blooms and semi-clad girls in fountains following the cue of the print advertisements. Unfortunately, Eden didn’t sell that well, which incidentally is one of the reasons why it’s featured here today. In order not to lose such a highly covetable name and concept, Parfums Cacharel went on to create one of the first “flankers” of an original perfume, inaugurating a trend that has progressed so rapidly recently it has resulted in a dizzying exercise against Altzheimer's for us perfume lovers: It’s hard to keep up, I can tell you! The follow up scent (i.e.the flanker) was Eau d’Eden and it is nice enough to warrant a separate review along the way.
Back to the fragrance at hand, Eden, composed by Jean Guichard, opens on tart fruits, namely bergamot, lemon, mandarin, and pineapple alongside melon ( the overuse of Calone was the note du jour of the 90’s after all). A very green smell also makes itself present, mixed with the fruits and the watery notes: it's not a typical fruity, nor is it a typical aquatic nevertheless. In its heart the standard rose-jasmine accord that forms part of most feminine scents is not particularly evident, instead that tree with yellow poms poms, the mimosa, with its sweet sugary, milky smell is the protagonist along with aqueous blossoms like water lily and lotus and a strange anisic component that casts a retro oriental shade on the proceedings. But overall the fruity heart has an element of bubblegum, but the girl popping it is so cute you’d be unfair to chastise her! The base relies on cedarwood and a hint of patchouli. Sandalwood, vanilla and musk are also featured, although they do not peak as such. That warm, not particularly sweet, rather odly spicy base prompted Luca Turin to liken it to the smell of a wet cashmere sweater, which was later revealed to not be a bad thing. Never thought it were…
The flowers and fruits are happily Serpent-free in their wholesomeness, pre-lapsarian, the garden of Eden safe from the advances of evil for the time being. Even if this is not your thing, Eden does not disappoint: it's a love-it-or-hate-it kind of fragrance, which means it has something going for it. The good sillage and very good longevity are also pluses in my books.
Who could imagine a block-buster perfume today being promoted through porcelain-skined beauties in soft focus showing no inch of skin beyond their necks set to pre-classical music? And yet Anais Anais, the first perfume by Cacharel (1978), was advertised exactly like that and became THE reference scent for the early 1980s for droves of young women who still reminiscence fondly of it 30 years later. It's also one of the most influential perfumes in history, at least on what concerns marketing success ~a triumph of Annette Louit~ and top-to-bottom design, if not complexity, quality materials or classicism of composition. It didn't possess any of the latter.
Yet it's still featured on the Cacharel website prominently and is up front on perfume counters. For many, Anais Anais by Cacharel was the first fragrance they got as a gift; or even better the first they cashed out their pocket money for: Its image was youthful from the start. No doubt the deceptively innocent scent, coupled with the dreamy advertisements accounted for that, as did the opaline packaging with the pastel flowers on it and the slightly suggestive name. It was the debate of many, to this day: Was Anais Anais a reference to writer Anais Nin and her ~"forbidden" to the young~ erotic literature, such as Delta of Venus? Or was it a nod to the ancient Persian goddess Anaitis, goddess of fertility? And which was more provocative?
Cacharel was specializing in retro knits at the time and both references for the name were valid enough, although the company always officially went with the latter. The goddess was testament to a peculiar cultural phenomenon on what concerned the position of woman in the zeitgeist: On the one hand Anais Anais with its imagery disrupted the context of feminism in perfume; the complete antithesis of Charlie by Revlon (1973), if you will, where Shelley Hack was dressed in pants skipping off to work or grabbing the bum of a cute guy in the street as an outward manifestation of her desire to be divested of her traditional passive role. These were both youthful fragrances advertised to the young. So what had intervened in those 5 years elapsing to account for such a change? Nothing much. (If you exclude the rush of spicy orientals in the market in the wake of Opium's success). The French aesthetic was always more traditionally feminine than the American one, going for Venus over Diana, and the marketeers soon realized that the beauty industry can't disregard the changes of times, but deep down, it will always depend on the passivity of the consumer into buying "hope in a jar". Perfume is perhaps the most mysterious of all beauty products, ladden with hundreds associations and legion aspirations. It was deemed best to start bouncing the ball back right away... Plus the youth market hadn't been exploited sufficiently (this was back in the 1970s remember) and someone had perceived that the young regarded standard perfume imagery as bourgeois and old-fashioned: they needed their own. Cacharel was extra attentive to grow the market; they put basins in department stores where they encouraged young women to plunge their hands in basins of water, dry them, apply scented cream on them and then finishing off with a spritz of Anais Anais, extoling the virtues of "layering" for a lasting effect. A youth phenomenon was at work.
And Sarah Moon was called for the Anais Anais advertisements: To take shots of women as pale-limped and virginaly innocent as paintings, lily-like, exactly like the opaline bottle and the main core of the fragrance which was built on lilies of the fields. The long limps gained an almost Piero Della Francesca sanctity, the doe-eyed gazes were soft and narcotized, almost. Were they beckoning unto the males watching, inviting by their easy-to -prey-on-passivity and odalisque-style harem numbers? Or were they nuzzling on each other evoking lesbian fantasies? Perhaps the most provocative thing is that the ladies in question all appeared so very.. young; almost under-age! Whatever the intention, the imagery is still memorable: It marks a mental no-mands-land between the advent of feminism in advertising and the regression to conservative values of the 1990s, peppered with some of the issues that still concern those of us who immerse themselves in beauty advertising with a critical eye.
Four perfumers were credited with the creation of Anais Anais jus: Paul Leger, Raymond Chaillan, Roger Pellegrino and Robert Gonnon, working at Firmenich. A surprising fact as the formula isn't complicated or challenging really. The opening is fresh and a little "screechy", a touch of green galbanum resin felt all the way through the base (galbanum is in fact a base note but it's felt at the top), giving a herbaceous overture that segues into the main attraction: lily of the valley forms the core coupled with another "clean" note, that of orange blossom, sanctified through the wonders of analytical chemistry. White lilies melt as if gaining human form, tender, devoid of their customary spiciness and given a touch of woody dryness. There is a supporting accord of honeysuckle, jasmine and rose, played sourdine; it's not especially felt. The permeating cleanness continues for long before a hint of playful soft leather in the base surfaces alongside indeterminate, powdered woods to give an intriguing twist to the plot: is this an autumnal scent for more mature women, I wonder? Although I seem to recall the scent of Anais Anais as a little bit more "substantial" in all its softness, there is no major change in its formula last I compared batches, probably because there is not much of allergens-suspect ingredients necessitating restrictions and because hydrocitronellal (lotv note) has been successfuly substituted anyway. It's a pity the parfum concentration has been extinct for some years now, as it played up the autumnal basenotes beautifully.
Notes for Cacharel Anais Anais Top: Bergamot, galbanum, hyacinth, honeysuckle, orange blossom Middle: Lily, lily of the valley, rose, ylang-ylang, tuberose,carnation Base: Cedarwood, sandalwood, amber, oakmoss, incense, vetiver
Sarah Moon photography via weheartit.com and thefashionspot.com
It is with a sense of disillusionment that I encountered Scarlett by Cacharel while perusing the aisles of Sephora in search of a gift. The brand has something of νόστος, of L'Éternel Retour for me: Anais Anais with its funeral parlour lillies (no offence inferred) always attracted me with its subtle autumnal romanticism which so contrasted with our innocence of the times; Loulou has been a sweet memory of long-ago, a shadowed Lolitesque reprise of L'Heure Bleue behind the parapet of a circus (and it still has devoted fans); Cacharel pour Homme was rampant in school, even though it probably didn't merit quite such a popularity; Eden and Eau d'Eden had the merit of being completely individual in their own little way (a wet wools fruity-oriental and a watermelon ozonic that didn't hiss at you, respectively); Noa is a pretty white musk with a powdery little whiff that can be an office-friendly scent that's not completely trite thanks to a hint of coffee; and Gloria was ~before its unexplained discontinuation~ a pipe-tobacco dream on the lips of a modern young coquette posing at some night-club wearing a pailleté top and licking Amaretto off her lips. Then they started producing über-sweet fruity stuff that was mediocre at best: Amor Amor, Promesse and Liberté seemed like efforts to tune in the craziness of everybody else issuing fruity florals with intense sweetness on a bed of cleaned-up patchouli, no doubt hot on the heels of Coco Mademoiselle's commercial success: efforts with results hard to deferentiate between and ultimately forgettable. Along with a pleiad of flankers that didn't shine any too brightly in the galaxy...
Scarlett goes even lower, reminding me of a deodorant mist or a shampoo more than a perfume and it really pains me to say so. Composed by such experienced and talented perfumers such as Honorine Blanc, Olivier Cresp and Alberto Morillas, it's probably a testament to the rush of companies to issue new things at a breakneck speed giving them about a week to come up with something. Or alludes to the desire to adress a pre-nubile audience raised on Japanese-style erasers and soapy non-perfumey "perfume" on their mothers: If you're brought up on Amazing Grace, anything more smelly than a bar of soap just might trip you into sensory overload. "Soapy" isn't necessarily bad, if done right: Great aldehydics of yore as well as modern musky florals prove it can be pleasant and even refined. The wrong kind however can tilt the scales into floor cleaner, deodorant cream and the laundry cupboard.
Scarlett starts on fresh pears that hint at the lightly gourmand and innocent opening of Petit Chérie by Annick Goutal and continues on girly transparent (and completely artificial, detergent-style) flowers, while vaguely being reminiscent of Juicy Couture overall only less polished. It completely belies both its wonderful flacon ~designed by Christophe Pillet~ and its fiesty name that would allude to passion and sensuality (this is neither O'Hara, nor Johansson). And just because someone had it phrased so very wittingly I am borrowing their words for once and quoting: "If Scarlett had worn this, she could have stopped the war all by herself. The yankees would have suffocated on their approach to Atlanta, and Rhett Butler would have donned a bonnet and crinoline and danced with Ashley Wilkes rather than endure our whiffy heroine".
But its invitation is so short-lived that a testing spree shouldn't leave you with too much to wash off, so do give it a try when you approach a department store and see if you think differently. I thought it wouldn't work too great on blood stains anyway...
“Mon secret est à l’intérieur” , my secret is on the inside!. With that catchy phrase, Cacharel is taking a journey back to their roots with their newest feminine fragrance, Scarlett. The Liberty print design of the packaging as well as the concept of a floral evoking heroines of literature as well as Hollywood glamour (because of Scarlett Johansson) are testament to that desire. In that regard it will be interesting to play out since ms.Johansson has been the face of Eternity Moment for Calvin Klein for quite a while (featured even in a shot of her film "The Island") and now the face for D&G makeup (fortunately another L'Oreal subsidiary).
The three values of Cacharel have always been romanticism, audacity and freshness after all. The Victoriana of its Sarah Moon emblematic campaign is still with us after all those years and the retro touches of their porcelain bottles on our vanity are still objects of affection.
The fragranceScarlett by Cacharel will incorporate a juicy citrus and pear prelude to a white floral heart of jasmine, orange blossom and honeysuckle anchored with tea notes, white musk and sandalwood. Much like their first foray with Anais Anais which relied heavily on lily this is ~apparently~ a return to less sugary compositions, a suprising aspect taking into account the fragrance is geared towards the 15-25 years of age demographic (a generation raised on very sweet perfumes). The perfumers for Scarlett are Honorine Blanc, Alberto Morillas and Olivier Cresp while the romantically retro flacon of japonesque floral designs in white faience/biscuit porcelain with coral insides was designed by Christophe Pillet.
Scarlett by Cacharel will benefit from an extensive advertising campaign starting August. Prices for 35 mL and 80 mL of Eau de Toilette, 35 and 59 euros respectively in major department stores, the fragrance launching in mid-July '09.
One of the most nostalgic perfume commercials I always remember with a pang of melancholy in my heart is the one for Cacharel's fragrance Loulou from 1988. Inspired as it was (along with the perfume itself) by Louise Brooks and her ethereal, yet also devilish character in Pabst's Pandora's Box and the cryptic message of a knowing wink beneath a heavy dark fringe it produced a soft spot for every aspiring coquette aged very, very young-ish. The scent caressed every nook and cranny with its voluptuous yet somehow innocent, powdery sweet aura: the seduction of a creature this side of Lilith. And it didn't help that the haunting melody echoed in my ears for years as one of the most touching elegies I have heard to the colour blue in all its literal and figurative permutations... My joy on finding it (even in its Italian version), after all these years thanks to the wonders of technology, has revealed that its pearly veneer hasn't lost its lustre in my mind and it still produces a sigh of delightful and wistful reminiscence in me, like a dog who is sighing, her paws tucked in and her ears down at the completion of a tender, sad patting as if to part forever.
And here is the divine soundtrack to the above commercial in its full glory: "Pavane, Opus 50" in F-sharp minor by Gabriel Fauré, set to images of impressionistic paintings by Monet.
Do you have a perfume that produces such synaesthetic responses in you? I'd be interested to hear.
Loulou clip originally uploaded by Shescom on Youtube. Pavane clip uploaded by andrewgrummanJC on Youtube.
February has landed and with it all the corny yet weirdly enticing thoughts of love potions and amorous gifts. So in the interests of brightening up your days and helping you dream a bit, Perfume Shrine will devote posts up till Valentine's Day to scents of love.
Many fragrances, especially feminine ones, include "love" or "amour" in their name. Whether they represent the romantic idea to your nose is another matter. For what is worth, here are some.
Kenzo Amour is one of the cuddliest offerings recently and the beautiful, design lacquer style bottles in white, fuschia or orange are enough to make you want to own one. The notes are: top of cherry blossom, rice and white tea; heart of frangipani and heliotrope, and base of thanaka wood, vanilla and musk. The whole smells slightly powdery and fluffingly vanillic with the merest hint of oriental sakura (cherry blossom). It also ran a beautifully shot, romantic commercial in Bali, which you can watch here:
(uploaded by Julie73b)
This year they have a new variation, a limited edition with graphic designs on the bottle called "Indian Holi" (click to see).
The most wonderful boxed presentation with lovely fragrances inside is by L'artisan Parfumeur: Les épices de la passion trio of 15ml/05.oz bottles of eau de toilette. Safran Troublant (saffron, vanilla, sandalwood and red rose), Piment Brulant (hot pepper, poppy, chocolate and clove), and Poivre Piquant (white pepper, creamy milk, liquorice and honey)
Available from Lucky Scent for 75$ and lovely to look at it is also a collection versatile enough to be worn in different occassions and various weather conditions (the Poivre is very nice in the heat)
Other companies also explored the love theme with varying results.
There is Amor Amor by Cacharel in its deep red bottle, bursting with fruity sweetness; if you are after that sort of thing, that is. It is pretty popular. Notes include: pink grapefruit, blood orange, sweet mandarin and black currant, apricot, red rose, jasmine melati flower, lily of the valley, vanilla. In 2006 they came out with their first flanker, Elixir Passion with a thorned rose depicted in white on the bottle and a rather more orientalised base. This year they have adorned the bottle with tiny silver diamanté in the shape of hearts:kitschy and cute.
Much obligingly they have also issued a men's version, Amor Homme (which isn't half bad! In fact I prefer it myself): a traditional introductory fougere.
Estée Lauder launched a variation on Beautiful last year, called Beautiful Love which plays into the lushness of tuberose with good results, as you can read here.
Guerlain have gone the Barbie way with their Colors of Love fragrance, "a powdery floral, the juice opens on notes of grapefruit, kiwi, passion fruit and violet, leading to a heart of rose, mimosa, cassia flower and iris. The base is a blend of musk and ambrette seed". Barring the promising ambrette seed there, I have failed to see the appeal of this one which is an uncharacteristic to Guerlain as is George Lezenby to the James Bond canon. If you want to get a Guerlain to celebrate Valentine's Day, get your man some <L'instant pour Homme: purring sex....
Or if the recipent is a lucky female, the iconic Shalimar , "the scent of temptation" inspired by the most romantic tale of them all, has a glorious Black Mystery version out: a limited edition in a collector's bottle in deepest black.
Last but not least, Ayala Moriel, the natural perfumer from Vancourer, has a great idea for a shared loving potion: Immortelle L'Amour perfume and scented tea that you can both sip to bring on the amorous mood... Immortelle L'Amour is a lovely fragrance that merits its own review soon, but suffice to say that it plays on maple-like nuances of immortelle absolute, paired with delectable rooibos touches and vanilla capturing the aroma of Tire d’Erable.
There is also a special offer for the upcoming days taken from her site:
Immortelle l'Amour Parfum + Tea Gift Set
Now on special discount - when you buy both, receive a $20 discount Original price $140 - now priced at only $120! - Essentially, you are getting the previous price for the parfum ($100) and tea ($20).
There are of course more traditionally "valentine's day" offerings, like Roses & Chcolate, although I haven't tried that one and can't vouch for how it smells. What is more interesting though is that she also offers jewelry with solid perfume captured inside, such as poison rings or pendants that make for a wonderful adornment, to be dabbed on when the crucial moment arises...
In the meantime and if you have a couple of minutes to click away, you can do a psychology test about your level of love on this site here.
Pics from ebay, parfumdepub, flickr, scandelines.de, luckyscent and ayalamoriel.com
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