Aftelier Cuir de Gardenia: fragrance review

"And at night I love to listen to the stars. It's like five hundred million little bells. [...]"You...you alone will have the stars as no one else has them....only you will have stars that can laugh."
~Antoine de Saint Exypery, Le Petit Prince.

Cuir de Gardenia, gardenia's leather. It is my tendency to focus on names, believing that they carry their own wisdom. So coming across this enigmatic coinage I couldn't help but pause and think, maybe lost a bit into my own lethologica. The leathery facets of gardenia, a flower becoming skin-like, the hide of an animal thrown atop tender skin. Yes, it sounded sexy as hell. Is sexy all there is when it comes to perfumes though?

Working with gardenia for a perfumer presents its own challenges. The flower doesn't yield a sufficient or steadily available extract (though there is one in extremely limited quantities) so an approximation is conducted through the synergy of pliable materials; doubly difficult when sourcing only off the natural palette. Of those, I sense the generous use of jasmine, with its lactonic and green facets highlighted, in Aftelier's Cuir de Gardenia; they produce an at once fresh and creamy variation on the gardenia theme, a sort of Pur Desir de Gardenia meets Hedy Lammar.
The mossy element in the base suggests that this deceptive floral hides a more introspective core beneath its veneer and it's worth waiting for it to surface beyond the delicious flower atop.

Artisanal perfumer Mandy Afteler did use a tiare flower absolute from a small producer (tiare is the Tahitian gardenia), which accounts for the more exotic and, yes, the "creamy smelling" feel you get upon testing this bewitching fragranc. The candied aspects meet the roughness of castoreum (an animalic note traditionally used in leather blends). She also mentions ethyl phenyl acetate, which although is usually rendering a rosy not in perfumes, here she describes it as lending a whiff of sweet peas. The liquid version of Cuir de Gardenia is oily, lending a softer ambience, but it doesn't feel oily, it absorbs quickly and well.

I did not find a huge stonking beat of leathery butchness, nor a dark, dangerous, skanky gardenia that would shriek Norma Desmond like off the vial (for a different take read Gaia's The Non Blonde's review), but then neither did I expect to: Cuir de Gardenia isn't a "cuir" per se, it's an illusion of an animal turned into a flower. If anything, it's more musky than leathery. It's a daydream, a waxy memento of sensuality hidden in a drawer for a rainy day, the feeling of physical happiness. It's a matutine moment stolen, when you can hear the stars laugh.

Aftelier's Cuir de Gardenia is available in liquid extrait de parfum and solid versions, on the official Aftelier eboutique. Although natural perfumes come at an increased cost per ml compared to commercial perfumes (even niche), I find that the options of owning minis and solids are a lovely way to get a feel of the work of artisans in the field.

The Fragranta Man has some interesting info on the sourcing of the materials. 

In the interests of disclosure I was sent a sample by the perfumer. 

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

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

Julie Christie via bookforum.com

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

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

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

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

Etat Libre d'Orange Fils de Dieu du Riz et des Agrumes: fragrance review

Despite allusions to Messianic status and references to a Far Asian dish full of endemic ingredients, Fils de Dieu is neither incense-based, nor is it foody in smell. Instead it shoots clarity, modernity and prized complexity into an age-old structure, the classic oriental perfume, making it shed its abundant sunshine like a golden ray shimmering onto yellow butterflies flying over the spring blooms in the balcony. Forget the controversy factor and scare-the-horses impact of the niche brand's infamous Sécrétions Magnifiques. This one is instantly (and easily) likeable stuff you will get serious milleage off; which I'd think defeats the brand's "perfume is dead, long live perfume" manifesto, but there you have it: they need to make wearable stuff too I suppose. Fils de Dieu is among their most approachable. 

Biko rice cupcakes from the Philippines

Etat Libre d'Orange describes its latest fragrance Fils de Dieu du Riz et des Agrumes (its full name meaning “Son of God of rice and citrus”) as "the one who brings on the light, the sunshine", drawing from the Philippines lore (its alternative name was Philippine Houseboy). Perfumer Ralf Schwieger (of Lipstick Rose fame), set to task by the brand's head Etienne De Swardt, took the basic structure of a classical oriental built on tart citrus and creamy ambery and vanillic notes (see Shalimar or even better the more legible Shalimar Light) and renovated it into a modern creation that registers as totally urban, totally effarvescent, totally wearable. But that's not to mean it wears thin or minimalist: the projection of the mouilletes on my library is reaching me, diffusing with gusto, in the bedroom and the sillage trailing off my chiffon blouse is enough to entice the neighbour meeting me round the corner to ask what I am wearing. "It's Fils de Dieu", I reply rather self-consious. "Oooh, sounds like one of those delectable things only you carry around here!" she replies with a resigned sigh. I oblige and write the name down along with intrstructions on where to get some.

That is the effect the new Etat Libre d'Orange fragrance has: uplifting, inviting, alluring, radiant. Despite the lack of heft its vanilla background has (forget thick, "burnt" too foody vanillas, this is nuanced and sophisticated), the tenacity of musk, the crushed flower petals and the profusion of leathery castoreum (reminiscent of a FarEast massage parlour) accounts for a composition that will get you noticed throughout the day. If the equally inviting Etat Libre d'Orange Archives 69 and their universally liked Like This is any indication, the French brand is following a certain kind of compositions quite purposefully lately. 

But the interesting thing about Fils de Dieu is the masterful playing of contrast and the injection of herbal into the classic oriental motif: the ginger (in itself having a citrusy facet) pairs with other hesperidic notes, notably sharp lime, starting with bracing, mouthwatering freshness (not unlike the bergamot-rich head note of Cologne Bigarade in the F.Malle line). There's the subtle and brief fennel-like note of shiso and then the perfume swims confidently into plush comfort through the milky-rice note of coconut-milk steamed rice. The zen-like effect of savoury rice cooking on the stove was perhaps most famously explored by niche brand Ormonde Jayne in Champaca: there's something home-bound and soothing about that smell and Linda Pilkington had revealed to me in an interview that she had envisioned it inspired by her Chinese neighbours cooking rice at their appartment every evening. Etat Libre had injected a rice note as a hint in their previous Putain de Palaces. But in Fils de Dieu the progression melds effortlessly into an intimate, gourmand aftertaste with lots of coriander (orange-saffron like, almost), a metallic nuance and suede, sultry leathery notes which retain the fragrance deliciously on both skin and cloth.

Etat Libre d'Orange Fils de Dieu, du Riz et des Agrumes is available from Henri Bendels, MiN New York and online from Luckyscent and Les Senteurs.


Notes for Etat Libre d'Orange Fils de Dieu:
Ginger, coriander leaves, lime, shiso, bergamot, Jungle Essence coconut, rice note, Jungle Essence cardamom, jasmine, cinnamon, French May rose, tonka bean, vetiver, musk, amber, leather, castoreum.

photo via cupcakeproject.com

Aftelier Secret Garden: fragrance review

The velvet feel of rose, the sweet nectar of jasmine, the tartness of raspberry...the human presence, felt subtly like the paws of furry animals trailing amongst the fallen leaves of an unattended garden...feelings, memories, awakenings, scattered; brought back like the rays of spring sun after a long, torturous winter. The endless repetition of the cycle of life just a snapsnot in the all too ephemeral space of childhood. This is what The Secret Garden stands for.

Secret Garden the perfume is named after the homonymous 1910 novel by Frances Hodgson Burnett. In it a young girl blossoms herself, after discovering a barren secret garden and bringing it back to life.This coming of age story and the metamorphosis of a sour, unaffactionate brat into an empathetic human being. The garden motif serves as the symbol of living things being spiritual healers. And how could this not be, as all natural perfumery, as represented by Aftelier, focuses exactly on the life force of essences derived from outdoors.

All naturals guru perfumer Mandy Aftel used two truly precious ingredients into the formula of Secret Garden, much like has been her practice in her opus, exploring the length and the breadth of the natural world. These two natural animalic essences are all but vanished from modern perfumery (except for very, very specific and far between cases): a batch of old civet, which she bought from a retired perfumer, and castoreum tinctured from the beaver. These bring out the warmth, the candied aspect of the floral notes, opening them up, citrusy honeyed backdrops of newly-discovered joy, a glimpse into a new world full of colour, of aroma, of pleasure. Jasmine and rose are the chief magicians, mingled into a duality that represents the heroine's, Mary Lennox's, past and present: jasmine sambac ~humid, narcotic, languorous, candied~ for India; rose ~satin-like, sentimental, feminine~ for Enland. The floral notes take more than a supporting role in this typically floriental composition, a classic aimed at everyone who loves perfume, boosting the generosity of the heart; hesperidic and seemingly spicy up top, vibrating with passion on the underside. The underlying sweetness is akin to opening up yourself to the wonder that is life.

Notes for Aftelier Secret Garden:
top: bergamot, bois de rose, Geraniol, blood orange
middle: jasmine sambac, raspberry (compounded isolate), Turkish rose, blue lotus
base: civet, castoreum, vanilla, deertongue*, benzoin, aged patchouli

*NOT an animal ingredient

The lasting power is quite good for an all naturals scent, no complaints there. 

Aftelier's Secret Garden is available in a 1/4 oz. bottle ($150), a 30 ml Eau de Parfum spray ($150), a 2 ml Mini bottle ($45), and a sample size ($6).
Available directly from www.aftelier.com



Painting by Marc Chagall, The Three Candles

Knize Knize Ten: fragrance review

Knize Ten is a 1924 fragrance composed by Vincent Roubert (who worked with Coty on L’Or and L’Aimant) for the Viennese tailor Knize. The Knize boutique was famously designed in 1913 by architect Adolf Loos, whose anti-Art Nouveau essay, Ornament and Crime, helped define Modernist aesthetics with its smooth surfaces and pure play on volume.

The scent itself was introduced to complement the clothier’s first ready-to-wear men’s line and in its opening notes, it clearly speaks in a masculine tone. The leather, paired with bergamot, petitgrain, orange, lemon and the slightly medicinal rosemary, is as dryly authoritative as a sharply-cut gabardine suit. As it eases into wear, rose, orris and carnation throw in a gender-bending curve ~Marlene Dietrich (herself a Knize patron) may have well slipped into that suit… The leather itself is of that of the wrist-watchband or fine shoe rather than the pungent “cuir de russie” boot. But despite the richly animalic base – musk, amber and castoreum – hinting at bridled desires, Knize Ten retains the buffered, well-bred smoothness of gentleman who never felt the need to set foot in the cigar-smoke laden cabinet of Herr Doktor Freud…

by guest writer Carmencanada

Notes for Knize Knize Ten:
Top: petit grain, orange, lemon, rosemary and bergamot.
Heart: rose, iris, carnation, cinnamon, clove, cedar, patchouli and sandalwood
Base: castoreum, ambergris, musk and moss.

Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur: fragrance review

Torrid opulence...When perfumer Maurice Roucel was developing Musc Ravageur (2000) for Les Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle, a young woman belonging to the creative team wore the powerful, dramatic "demo" of the fragrance to brave the afternoon commute home as part of testing. As she was sitting beside an elderly gentleman, she recounts she noticed him twitch his nose in puzzlement and vague alarm. Given that the team was trying to develop a feral animalic oriental (the name means " ravaging/devastating musk", clearly a politically-incorrect type of erotic discourse) which would trump current fads, it was clear they had succeeded!

The raunchy reputation

 Roucel had envisioned Musc Ravageur to communicate both "seduction and generosity". It was based on a fragrance formula he had developed in 1998, but which was deemed too racy to launch by most companies. Yet Roucel considered it one of his best works.
One more attuned to the American culture could claim this oriental would perfectly encapsulate those women which on US soil are called "skanks". Gallic civility probably restrained Roucel from voicing that thought. Yet, "skanky" doesn't necessarily denote negativity: A hint of vulgarity is often the element that puts the final brushstroke on a picture of beauty. Don't most vintage classics include such a note amidst all the refinement? Isn't a falling, slightly greasy tendril of hair or a little smudge of the eyeliner a promise of things unravelling later on? Isn't a small hole on the stockings an invitation to tear them apart? And isn't a slap begging to be chased with a kiss?
People react to it with either swooning indulgence or utter disgust and it's fun to see it never plays out the way one expects.

Demi Moore was shopping at Barney's some time ago observed by sales associates with loose mouths, whereupon she asked to try the Malle line. Upon being presented with Musc Ravageur she stopped the guy saying "Oh no, I don't like musk". After being shown the entire line, she was again presented with the infamous Musc without being told the name: "You saved the best for last" she murmured, her wrists stuck to her nose. [source] George Clooney and Pierce Brosnan have also fallen under the scent's charm (not on Demi, necessarily, we presume), so...India Knight, the British writer at any rate calls it "the olfactory equivalent of lucky pants". I defer to her experience of prose.

The incongruity: Scent vs. Name

In Musc Ravageur the explosive departure of bergamot, tangerine and cinnamon is set against a backdrop of vanilla, musk and amber. No flowers, just a refined skin scent. Yet contrary to name, Musc Ravageur isn't really about musk! On the contrary, there's a little synthetic musk and quite a bit of castoreum and civet in it (both of synthetic origin). And the reason I am including it in a section devoted to musks is mainly due to nomenclature and readers' expectation. If you have been fearing (or loving, like myself) the reputation of Muscs Kublai Khan and Christopher Brosius I Hate Perfume Musk Reinvented, you will be puzzled indeed by this one, recalling as it does the base of such classic orientals as Shalimar or even less classical, like Teatro alla Scala by Krizia.

Preceded as it is by its reputation as a best-selling fragrance in the Malle line, we're left with an incongruity: Is the audience buying fragrance from one of the quintessential niche lines really into feral mojo or are they searching for something else? Smelling Musc Ravageur on skin one cannot but form an opinion towards the latter. Musc Ravageur, just like the big paws of its creator, is more of a naughty & voracious home cat with a furry tongue giving you a bath, rather than a wild tiger in the jungle shredding its prey in pieces. A very sensual amber -rather than musk, compare with Kiehl's Original Musk oil for instance- is hiding in the core of the fragrance.
A characteristic and fairly dramatic citrus-spice top note is immediately perceptible (I detect mandarin, clove, cinnamon and possibly some lavender as well), which recalls the Gallified "oriental" mould in the most classical manner, and a silky vanilla dry down which isn't really sweet, but interplaying between warm & cool. In fact this drydown is structured by woods which offer the spine of the perfume: cedar, sandalwood and the warm gaiac wood. The artistry lies in having the amber-castoreum basenotes perform like a Chinese gymnast: all over the place, but with an elasticity that creates the illusion of weightlessness!

The shopping part: What and Where

The scent is presented in Eau de Parfum classic alcoholic version (which is a characteristic spicy ambery oriental) and in the Huile A Tout Faire oil version (a smooth clear oil for use on pulse points, hair or all over after the bath). The latter in my opinion is a lot smoother, rounder, with less of a spicy-lavender note on top, and extremely erotic, much more so than the somewhat "loud" spray. Both are fit for both sexes, amplifying what you naturally got. There is also a body products line available, including shower wash and body lotion, over which I still prefer the oil.

Musc Ravageur by F.Malle is available from the online boutique Editions de Parfums, at the eponymous Boutiques (see our article for the Parisian ones and the new one on Madison Ave.) and at Barney's.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Scented Musketeers (musks reviews), The Musk Series: ingredients, classification, cultural associations

Painting Seated Nude by Jacob Collins, via acores.canalblog.com.
Clip from the Andrei Zulawski film L'important c'est d'aimer with Romy Schneider.

Lancome Magie Noire: fragrance review of the perfect Halloween scent

If there is one perfume which conjures up a devilish sorceress in full-wiccan attire it is none other than Lancôme's splendlidly devilish Magie Noire (pronounced ma-zhee nou-ahr and meaning Black Magic) by perfumer-alchemist Gérard Goupy.

Introduced in 1978, Magie Noire is an ardent scent full of insupportable sensuality which projects with the mysterious force of an evil heroine; having you grip your seat with a mix of justified horror and perverse admiration at the same time! Its heady, unsettling base accord acts like velvet or a caressing fur coat that is hiding a knife, its interlay of all the powerhouses base notes (musk, civet, castoreum) a sign of brandishing its bravado like a protective amulet against all odds.
Not to be confused with the 1949 classic Magie (its bottle reprised in the design of Lancôme recents Hypnôse and Hypnôse Senses), Magie Noire was conceived at the wake of Opium's oriental success which took the market by (olfactory) storm and along with exact contemporary Rochas Mystère presented the gutsy, murky mossy alternatives before ultrasweet orientals elbowed them off the central shelves in the 1980s.
The bottle was designed by Pierre Dinand in the same forbidden territories as Opium too: The inspiration being medieval alchemical alembics this time ~instead of Japanese inros~ and covered with cabbalistic signs standing for bismuth, verdigris, sulphur and gold.

Despite its murky depths of oakmoss and patchouli, nevertheless ~which have several perfumephiliacs designate it to the chypre fragrance family~ Magie Noire technically belongs to the woody oriental one.
Starting with an ammoniac opening, which oscillates between the feline and the human, and progressing into a purple fruity overlay over the darkest gothic roses imaginable, Magie Noire is a journey into a noir story that unfolds with each passing minute with a new twist and a new thorn to grab you. The white florals in its heart are not read as such, rather the verdant and sharp greens present themselves at an angle (galbanum and hyacinth amongst them allied to the leathery pungency of castoreum). The drydown of the fragrance is much softer, deliciously mellower and musky-incensy sensual with a microscopic caramel note that is kept on the skin for days.

The fact that several wearers of the original Magie Noire nowadays find it (catastrophically) changed is no illusion: Lancôme actually reworked the formula of Magie Noire when re-releasing it after its brief discontinuation. The 1980s Eau de Parfum and parfum versions were much edgier and headier with a pronounced spiciness and murkiness that could cut through fog like a beacon. The sillage was unforgettable and typhoon-like in its potency with a sex-appeal-oozing-through-pores vibe that could make you or break you: It was a scent that needed to suit your personality in order to work right and on many it didn't. I recall it worn by women with exquisitely coifed hair which seemed like they braved the elements.
Even in its attenuated form today Magie Noire is definitely not a perfume for young girls, not because perfume has an age, but because like a complex grand cru it requires some getting used to and is an acquired taste. Its distinctiveness lends it a special occasion ambience which it exploits to good effect; it would be both a great waste and a sensory overload to use it all the time. On the contrary, savoured drop by drop, it imbues its wearer with the magical charm of an undestructible protective mantle.

Not only Lancôme changed the formula, they also changed the flacons design from time to time, making it a confusing task for chronologising your bottle. I remember the bottle in the 80s was black, following the one depicted in the ads above, while a maroon version also circulated in the 90s. Recently upon its re-introduction Lancôme simplified the bottle into the columnal solid glass with a metallic-looking top depicted below.

Notes for Lancôme Magie Noire: Bergamot, blackcurrant, hyacinth, raspberry, honey, tuberose, narcissus, jasmine, incense, Bulgarian rose, patchouli, vetiver, castoreum, labdanum, musk and civet.

Magie Noire is available on counters and online priced at $55 USD for a 2.5oz/75ml Eau de Toilette and that's the only version Lancôme currently offers. I wish they'd bring back the parfum! There also was the enigmatic huile parfum (perfume oil) version, reputed to emphasize the greener notes, but I have not tried it (yet) to compare with extrait.

Ads via perfume4u.co.uk and pays.dignois.com. Glass flacon via Lancome.ca. Maroon bottle pic via qb.org.nz. Sorceress illustration via mythicmktg.fileburst

Montana Parfum de Peau: fragrance review

On an ordinary morning on an ordinary weekday in Paris this past June, a rumour started to ripple through the mirrored design studios, the gilded, glossy magazine offices and the cramped workrooms of the French fashion industry. "Have you heard?" whispered voices ominous with impending ill news."The police found a body on Rue de Bellechasse this morning." "Have you heard?" they whispered, "about the death of Wallis Montana?"

~ Marion Hurne, Node Magazine Australia August/September 1996

Parfum de Peau, also known as Montana de Montana, as was its original name, is usually described as sexy, assertive, dirty, and sultry. It is all those things! But it is also tinged with tragedy as it was inspired by style guru Wallis Francken and the strange androgyny of her public persona. Together with Claude, they formed a weird couple and this is a weird perfume that can be easily imagined to be worn by people who love making a statement.
Almost unsufferably potent and single-minded in its assault, Parfum de Peau was given to me as a gift when I was a teenager. I wonder if the gifter was trying to tell me something. Because this zest has stuck. Did I always project a certain drama? Was that drama merely a plea for attention like every dutiful teenager does? All I remember is behind its bursting, blinding fruitiness peppered with spice it taught me what a furry little animal smells like when it’s hot and it lies dead on the street and one has the strange craving to go pick it up and lull it to sleep. There is the bitter and sweet odour of Thanatos which weaves such a strange net to lure us into a false sense of security.

Claude Montana, “king of the shoulder pads” and butch leather-man wearer is half-Spanish, half-German and began his career as a jewelry maker that got him recognition through Vogue coverage; that in turn helped him settle for a job at cutting and grading leathers at McDouglas, a Parisian firm in 1970. It would take some shows at Angelina’s Tea Room until he would start his own company in 1979 designing Amazonian, emasculating clothes for women. Those caused some ruckus with their inferred image of being reminiscent of Nazi uniforms. The Constructivism risus sardonicus that runs through his collections animates gyrating proportions with the addition of a peplum over narrow, wasp-waisted skirts. He greatly admired Mme Gres and Balenciaga which comes as no surprise. That kind of trapeze designs with the emphasis on shoulders and the power with which a silhouette moves in them was both reflected and bouncing back in his personal life.

His 1989 admission "I'm like a battlefield inside, a mass of contradictions" merely confirms the rumours of erratic behaviour and troubled inner life. He had married his muse, the German-American angular model Wallis Franken, 18 years after meeting her, when they were both 43. She, already a mother and a grandmother, always striking, always rail thin, knew all about the strange affairs of Claude. That warm July day, three years before the tragedy, she “gave up and yielded and went to Susa on foot to the monarch Artaxerxes”: she went on to be a wife ~"Oh, you know, cooking in the kitchen, fixing the dinner, lighting the candles..."
She was decked in an organza pant suit and white cowboy boots on that day. She was a vision.

What happened still remains a mystery: Wallis fell out of the balcony. Pushed or not? Out of her own accord or due to drug intoxication? The grim underbelly of fashion life in ne plus ultra Paris was just a hair away from being revealed. But it never did. It remained an agreement of silence: hushed, whispered in corridors but never out in the open.
What remains is one of her last public performances as an extra in the Madonna clip Justify my Love shot by Jean-Baptiste Mondino at Hôtel Ritz in Paris. I can smell the atmosphere in those rooms ~they reek of Parfum de Peau; they reek of contradiction and need; they reek of the desire to transcend death.

{Warning: uncensored version; unsuitable for office enviroment!}

(uploaded by nicubuleasa)

Parfum de Peau was originally composed in 1986 by Jean Guichard (Fifi, Deci Dela, Obsession, Loulou, Eau d’Eden) and was later reformulated with synthetic castoreum by the great Edouard Flechier (Poison, Tendre Poison, Une Rose, Lys Méditerranée, C’est la Vie). Not to be confused with the second feminine perfume of the house, Parfum d’Elle (1989) in a similar, shorter bottle.
The original Montana de Montana came in a breathtaking, award-winning helix-shaped bottle designed by Serge Mansau, inspired by the swirling fall of a winged sycamore seed as seen by a strobe light. It was encased in a cobalt blue box in both Eau de Toilette and Eau de Parfum versions.
The older versions had a packaging with the name Montana writ big, while the newer versions have a silhouette torse recalling the bottle on the outside of the box in orange, with the name Montana in smaller script underneath it.

Notes: green note, pepper, cassis, plum, peach, cardamom, ginger, rose, carnation, sandalwood, jasmine, tuberose, yalng-ylang, narcissus, patchouli, castoreum, civet, vetiver, olibanum, musk, amber.


Collage of Wallis Francken originally uploaded by Superchic1966 at Msn groups. Pic of ad from parfum de pub.

Leather Series 3: Production

Rendering a leather note in perfumery is a challenge for the perfumer who must coax this difficult and cult note into submission to make it sing with the rest of the composition. Production relies on two different courses: naturally derived and synthesized in a lab. Both account for a potent aroma of smoky and alteratively drier or sweeter notes, characteristic of the cuir family.

Let’s see what is actually used.

The naturals:

Birch: Betula Alba, the tree known as birch, owes its name to the Latin verb batuere meaning to strike. It is no coincidence that the branches of birch have been used for corporal punishment. Traditionally used in tanneries in Russia, Finland and Northern Europe in general, its bark produces birch tar and resin, an intensely wintergreen and tar-like odour, which has been used in Cuir de Russie type of scents in the distant past. The oil is widely used in suede and leather tannery in Russia and the essence obtained from birch buds is used for hair tonics and some cosmetic products.

Juniper and cade oil:
Juniper trees produce dark viscuous oil (cade) upon getting burned which possesses a smoky aroma that reminds one of campfires in the forests. Also used in Cuir de Russie type of scents in the past along with birch. It additionally has an anti-mould property which explains why it is a prime material for the binding of books, surely prone to decay and deterioration otherwise.

Styrax: Liquidambar Styraciflua and Liquidambar Orientalis trees are used for their excretion of the sapwood obtained by pounding the bark of both varieties. L. Styraciflua comes from the Americas (in particular Honduras, Guatemala and Mexico), while L.Orientalis comes from Asia Minor. The essence used in perfumery to give a leather undertone comes from the Honduras and is purified with volatile solvents or through vacuum distillation.
Styrax notes are usually sweeter than those of birch when used for leathery notes.

Cassie: The bark of cassie, a tree that belongs to the family of mimosa, and the absolute from the flowers are also used for giving a deep, intense leather note in some perfumes based on natural essences.

Castoreum: The secretion from the glands of beavers from Russia and Canada is a very intense, repulsive odour that when highly diluted can provide a leathery scent to fine perfumery. A by-product of the fur industry, it has been prized in perfumery for its tremendous fixative powers and its deeply animalic edge with a dry quality that smells like real leather.

Another natural essence that can produce a leather note although not usually used as such is Myrtle. Because of its camphoreous, green, rather than pungent leathery aroma, it is not the preferred choice for rendering a leather note in perfumes; although it is used in tanneries for the curing of hides.

Last but not least, cistus labdanum can provide a leathery backdrop- in cases where a more smokey/ ambery note is required ~such as in Caron Tabac Blond, Serge Lutens Cuir Mauresque and Ava Luxe Madame X {click for review}.

It is important to note that natural perfumers can render leather notes in their perfumes through the combined use of different essences such as black tea, patchouli or tobacco in addition to the above; sometimes opting for ethically avoiding animal products (castoreum) altogether.


The synthetics:

The major revolution in the production of leathery notes in perfumery came in the 1880s with the apparition of quinolines, a family of aromachemicals with a pungent leather and smoke odour that was used in the production of the modern Cuir de Russie scents appearing at the beginning of the 20th century such as Chanel’s (1924) as well as in Caron’s Tabac Blond (1919), Lanvin’s Scandal (1933) and, most importantly, Piguet’s Bandit (1944).

The chemical name of the ingredient primarily used from the quinolines groups is 4-(2-methylpropyl) quinoline, commonly referred to as isobutyl quinoline. A colourless to pale yellow liquid, used in a dilution of 1.00 % solution or less, it possesses a fiercely potent odour profile described as earthy, rooty, and nutty, echoing certain facets of oakmoss and vetiver and blending very well with both. Isobutyl quinoline also has ambery, woody, tobacco-like undertones: a really rich aromachemical! Its character can be very well perceived in the above scents as well as Cabochard by Gres.

Another synthesized note is the suede accord: a much subtler, more velours deep feel in the realm of leather notes. Less aggressive, suede notes are created in the laboratory for modern fine perfumes such as Lutens’ Daim Blond and Donna Karan. The origins hinge on muscone in the past or a complex tactile evocation of suede through a secret formula for more recent examples.

To a lesser degree the safraleine aromachemical can add a leathery tinge to perfumes. Evident in isolate of saffron, safraleine has an interesting smell ~ a combination of shoe polish/black cherry/air conditioning refrigerating fluid.

Aldehydes and especially C10, C11 and C12 are also used in addition to other ingredients in leathery perfumes to round out the composition and make it smooth.

Last but not least, in an effort to find materials that would enhance or augment leather tones and provide a cheaper and more stable alternative to animal-derived castoreum for rendering leather notes, the US Patent 4528124 (Jul, 1985 Sturm et al.252/522) has been proposed as a solution. The compound having the structure ##STR2## is a known compound disclosed at Chemical Abstracts Volume 99, Monograph 139339e. As I haven't smelled this secret ingredient I cannot report back on its effect, but it worth mentioning.

The search for materials which can provide a more refined leathery and castoreum aroma profile apparently continues.



Next instalment will focus on a scent fit for kings.

Pic of birch forest, Birch Hill Fairbanks in Alaska by Jeff Breu courtesy of Google images

Paloma Picasso Mon Parfum: fragrance review

It's hard for me to speak of Paloma Picasso perfume and not implicate the obliviously innocent in this. Because it happens to be the signature choice of someone I knew, someone who is most probably unawares of this blog, its writer and musings. I doubt I had even registered much in her mind back then when her scent made an impression on me. A really young novice I was at the Conservatoire, accompanying her vocal classes on the piano.

Anna was a creature of fire and spice, long tresses of chestnut trailing her back in thick curls, a straight, impressive nose under austere dark brows, but with a gregarious, roaring laughter that dared to flirt with anyone within a 10-mile radius. She dressed in full bohemia, just about 10 years after its heyday or about 20 before its resurgence, any which way you choose to see it. She wore dangling earrings made of ethnic beads and smoked heavy Gitanes. And her scent seemed to preceed her; which was not all that au contraire to the mood of the era, if only because there were numerous others, men and women alike, who followed a fragrance cloud rather than the other way around. That was the 80s, that was when Paloma Picasso launched Mon Parfum, a powerful chypre fragrance meant to embody her unique style.
Anna did not wear white shirts with black skirts, though, nor painted her lips in a crimson bloodfest that recalls the picadors in the tercio de varas. No, Anna was beyond such clichés...

The Ritual Fire Dance by Spanish composer Manuel De Falla conjures up comparable images in my mind. (the cello soloist is Julian Lloyd Webber and the clip was uploaded by gindobray)

The pungent green and dry chypré opening was like a bruise, aching long after the blow has been hit. And then roaring spices came cascading down in quick succession: clove and coriander, bold and proud, unashamedly pronouncing their presence before the hazy drop of flowers smelled at a distance was perceived, with a little hedione brightness. Rose was musty, musky, playing hide-and-seek with an effluvium of patchouli leaves with a little powder, much like that in Aromatics Elixir.
The gaunlet however was only thrown after the base notes develop, like the hides of dead animals, rich castoreum with more than a touch of the masculine, at a tannery on a warm day. The funk of a big animal in its ammoniac glory used to cure the hides is there and it dares you to bypass without closing your nostrils for a while, doubting if this is supposed to smell good or bad. A conundrum!

It came in a glorious soap formula that was made for bathing meant to make you smell dirtier than what you started with and didn't you love this, back then.
The eau de parfum was Anna's preferred concentration, encased in a black glass bottle from what I recall (current versions with lightned up base -due to restrictions in animalic ingredients used- are in plastic). And upon resniffing for the purposes of this review I couldn't but wonder how it was possible to tolerate, -nay, love madly- such a potent mix! It would take a very sparing application in this modern day and age to make it smell acceptable. But it is worth trying to find the perfect balance. The parfum/extrait which comes in a white splash bottle is perhaps the way to go as it is meant to be dabbed and not sprayed.
It's interesting to note that some modern day scents such as Sisley's chypre Soir de Lune were even inspired by Paloma's approach.

Paloma Piccaso, the daughter of Pablo, codenamed this scent Daphne 19, which puzzling as it is it is reminiscent of my own experience. Perhaps she knew someone named thus, while at her stint at Tiffany's as jewel designer, echoes of which are evident on the elaborate bottle, shaped after a pair of earrings made of petrified palm wood she designed for the brand? Or did she merely refer to the odorous plant? Dubious...
Mon Parfum was composed by Francis Bocris in 1984 with Paloma's guidance and includes the following notes:

Top: bergamot, lemon, hyacinth, angelica, ylang ylang, clove
Middle: Rose de Mai,jasmine, lily of the valley, orris
Base: Oakmoss, castoreum,vetiver, patchouli, amber, civet, musk, cedarwood, tobacco, sandalwood

.

The touch of a masterful persona that purposly discards social rules to do their own is evident in Mon Parfum by Paloma Picasso. Anna wore it amazingly well. Not all do.

Pics from parfumsdepub