Chypre Rouge by Serge Lutens: fragrance review

It's not often that a perfume assumes a stolen identity to pass icognito under our noses, hiding its true nature under a misnomer. Chypre Rouge is not a chypre by any stretch of the imagination, even taking into account the new chypre contestants that assimilate the older façade. It takes the symbolic image of red oakmoss of Chypre Rouge to make one think of an interpretation of a fantasy in which darkness and light mirror the hues of the No-like makeup that Lutens has always opted for in one of his previous incarnations as makeup director for Dior and Shiseido. And much like those waxy materials that metamorphose plain features into studies in cubism, Chypre Rouge has a weird power in it that transports the notion of chypre into the realm of oriental meets occidental.

Chypre Rouge came into the public scene with one of the most impressive yet somehow incoherent press releases to date.
It ran like this:

“I remember looking at the forest ground, covered with dead leaves, and finding it both macabre and beautiful. Something caught my attention: a strange patch of moss at the base of a tree, it looked as if it were bleeding, purple and red. Ceremonial dress, splendid and dying, lit by the rays of a nearby clearing. “Don’t deny, you will confess!” In this doorless dungeon we look for an exit. Thin light comes from a murdering hole.
Eagle nest, precious stones, coat of arms, standards, what are we made of? Eternity, limpidity, freshness, beauty, velvet softness. A secret continent of which we would be the body, in golden darkness, moss of spices and vermeil. The kiss of a choirboy on the ring of an archbishop.
Softness and depth, secret in scents where, laying our cheeks we can only dream.”

(press release courtesy of Scenteur d'Ailleurs)

Now, before you get any naughty ideas about the choirboy and the archibishop's ring, I have to add that imaginative imagery has always been at the core of the Lutens canon, so we are to take this as a flight of fancy, a reminiscence about his childhood in Hansel and Gretel land.

And just where is this mythical land? Osmoz says a propos de Chypre Rouge that it "was inspired by Serge Lutens’s memories of fall in his native Vendée region of western France". Native? Please allow me to disagree on that score. Lutens was born in Lille which is quite far from Vendée. In fact as revealed here, he spent his youth in Lille too!
However I am perfectly willing to believe that he had some extended family or friends who stayed there and that his visits were coloured with the sweeping brush of vermeil and purple mentioned.
It is not without importance to note that he was a neglected child whose mother donned black on her second wedding day, perhaps a symbol that rang poignant in his id. The confessional tone, mingled with the religious overtones of the papal purple, hint at a desire to express some secret ache that needs to surface through the catharsis of the artistic. And so Chypre Rouge becomes deeply personal, psychological endoscopisis rendering it difficult to interpret by someone outside the circle.

Upon encountering Chypre Rouge one is hit with the earthy smell of celery. So vivid is the impression that doubting our artistic tendencies we do a double take wondering what came upon them to devise such a -shocking to many- opening. Of course Lutens is no stranger to exagerration and carefully constructed ugliness; which puts the essential final straw on a perfect specimen, like the demonic camphorous Vapo-rub opening of Tubéreuse Criminelle, another daring Chris Sheldrake creation. However the latter is to be distributed directly from Les Salons du Palais Royal being part of the exclusive range, therefore a touch of the outré is not particularly unexpected. Chypre Rouge forms part of the export line and therefore it stroke me as odd that such a choice of top notes was opted for.
The progression to fenugreek and immortelle (the note that accounts for the maple surupy hot sands of a deserted beach of Annick Goutal's Sables and the pronounced curriness in Dior Eau Noire) comes after some minutes to soothe sensibilities and transport into the territory of the spicy with subtle whiffs of flowers, dried, rolled into heaps of curried dust. Mace and coriander raise their beady heads out of this basket that recalls Arabic souks, like most of the Lutens creations, especially Arabie, influenced by his mysterious seraglioat Morocco that no one has ever visited. Named "Al Medina al Hamra", Red City because of its architecture, Marrakesh has served as a rich pool of inspiration for Lutens and his vision of perfume as a homage to a cross-reference of civilisations.
The final phase of caramelised nuts rolled into musky, smooth moss is the least challengening, but by then potential audiences will have either walked away or braved the initial coup in anticipation of the soft nucleus. It is unfortunate that I tend to the former group.

Chypre Rouge launched in 2006 as an Eau de Parfum Haute Concetration, a term that denotes higher concentration of aromatic essences because of the nature of the latter that demand a higher saturation point to be perceptible and is not meant to imply that it is louder in odour volume.

Official notes:
thyme, pine needles, pecans, fruit gums, honey, beeswax, jasmine, patchouli, amber, vanilla, moss and musks.

Instead of further commentary I direct you to Placebo with brilliant Brian Molko and their song "Meds":



(uploaded by dagonsio)

Please remind me to post "The Bitter End" (again by Placebo) if Serge Lutens trully retires from fragrance creation, per rumours.

Top pic from the film Carrie by Brian de Palma (1976)/Filmhai. Ad pic courtesy of autourdeserge.

Labdanum: an important material (in chypre fragrances & not only)

It is well known to our readers by now that chypre perfumes are dependent on a strict formula that juxtaposes bergamot and oakmoss, interlaying labdanum and other earthy elements such as vetiver or patchouli.
Perfume Shrine has already focused on oakmoss extensively (click for relevant article), so the other important material that needed tackling was labdanum. And so here we are today, trying to examine some of its facets.

First of all, what is it? It comes as a sticky dark brown resin exudate from two sources: from the shrubs Cistus ladaniferus (western Mediterranean) and Cistus creticus (eastern Mediterranean), both species of rockrose. Rockrose forms the Cistaceae (or rock-rose family), a rather small family of plants reknowned for their beautiful shrubs, covered by flowers at the time of blossom. It consists of about 170-200 species in eight genera and those are distributed primarily in the temperate areas of Europe and the Mediterranean basin, although they can be found in North and South America too in some instances. The flowers themselves have a faint odour and are not used in perfumery.

Labdanum is a natural oleoresin but it differs slightly from other oleoresins in that it contains more waxes and less volatile oil than most of the other natural oleoresins.

There is an ancient background to labdanum, as its etymology reveals: lôt in Hebrew (coming from a semetic root) which means resinous herb, ladunu in assyrian, lâdhan in Arabic, ledanon in Greek and ladanum/labdanum in Latin. Egyptians used it in their Kyphi mixtures whereas the Hebrews burned it in their temples as incense, so it had a ceremonial character.
It is even referenced in The Bible (as Balm of Gilead): The Ishmaelite caravan coming from Gilead to which Joseph was sold, was transporting labdanum (Genesis 37, 25). Subsequently, Jacob ordered his sons to offer labdanum, along with other local products, to their brother, now an Egyptian dignitary:

"And their father Israel said unto them, If it must be so now, do this; take of the best fruits in the land in your vessels, and carry down the man a present, a little balm, and a little honey, spices, and myrrh, nuts and almonds."

(Genesis 43, 11) {found through Bible fragrances}.

It is believed that the above refers to the resin from the Pink Rockrose as "myrrh", although the two are not interchangeable. Myrrh per se is mentioned in the Bible (Psalm 45:8; Song of Solomon 4:14) and is believed to have been a mixture of natural myrrh (extracted from a tree in Africa and Arabia, like franckincense used to be got as well) and the oleoresin labdanum.

The Japanese use labdanum today in their Neriko mixtures, used during tea ceremony. The tradition is alive!

The use of ladbanum in medicine is well documented. Its high content in polyphenols makes it an excellent food supplement protecting the immune system.
In ancient times it was used for its properties of protection against bacteria and fungi.

It is suggested that the Pharaohs used fake beards made of goat hair (from animals that had grazed upon the resiny bushes) for that reason, but also to surround themselves with an aura of distinction.
Greek physician Hippocrates prescribed "myrrh" (the mixture of natural myrrh and labdanum, as above) for sores and the Romans used it to treat worm infestations, the common cold, coughs, and some infections. Up to 3000 tons of frankincense and myrrh were transported each year during the height of Nabataean trade!
According to Cocker, J. D.; Halsall, T. G.; Bowers, A. (1956). "The chemistry of gum labdanum. I. Some acidic constituents" (Journal of the Chemical Society: 4259-62) and II. The structure of labdanolic acid" (Journal of the Chemical Society: 4262-71):

Labdane is a natural bicyclic diterpene that forms the structural core for a wide variety of natural products collectively known as labdanes or labdane diterpenes. The labdanes were so named because the first members of the class were originally obtained from labdanum, a resin derived from rockrose plants."

while

A variety of biological activities have been determined for labdane diterpenes including antibacterial, antifungal, antiprotozoal, and anti-inflammatory activities.

(Studies in Natural Product Chemistry : Bioactive Natural Products, Part F, Atta-Ur-Rahman)

Theophrastus and Pliny mention labdanum as does Herodotus in his Historia, in the book "Thalia" (one of a total of 9,named after the Muses):

"Ledanum, which the Arabs* call ladanum, is procured in a yet stranger fashion. Found in a most inodorous place, it is the sweetest-scented of all substances. It is gathered from the beards of he-goats, where it is found sticking like gum, having come from the bushes on which they browse. It is used in many sorts of unguents, and is what the Arabs burn chiefly as incense.
Concerning the spices of Arabia let no more be said. The whole country is scented with them, and exhales an odour marvellously sweet."

{*please note that the Arabs referenced by Herodotus are ancient tribes inhabiting the region called Arabia and not today's islamic populace}.

But then why the confusion with opiates? The answer goes back to the Middle Ages and Paracelsus. A famous medical preparation of his own -which included gold, crushed pearls and other ingrendients (Opera, 1658, i. 492/2), but with opium as its chief component. Therefore the term is now used for the alcoholic tincture of opium (q.v.). The name was either invented by Paracelsus from Latin laudare (=to praise), or was a corrupted form of "ladanum" (from Persian ladan), a resinous juice or gum obtained from various kinds of the Cistus shrub, formerly used medicinally in external applications and as a stomach tonic." (Source 1911encyclopedia.org)


Labdanum's odour profile is highly complex. It is balsamlike, with woody, earthy, smoky, and even marshy undertones. Some even desrcibe it as ambergris-like, or leathery and honeylike with hints of plum or oakmoss after a rain. Usually it is referred to as ambery, but it is mostly used to render leather or ambergris notes, the latter especially after its ban on using the real animal-derived material, as there were concerns about the ethical production of it from sperm whales from which it originates (Ambergris is therefore very rare and costly if ethically harvested and is mostly synthesized in the lab. Please read this amber article for more info).

Its complexity is one of the reasons it has fascinated people since antiquity and it has been reported to affect the subconsious in profound ways. Its aromatheurapeutic value is that it is grounding, warming and sensual.

The method of extracting it is unusual and highly entertaing at that. Herodotus and Pliny report that labdanum was collected by combing the beards of goats, which were impregnated with the substance. The goats graze from the branches and the sticky resin gets stuck on their beards. Upon their return, their owners comb the resin our of their beards and extract the resin.

Also a rakelike instrument with long strips of leather attached to it, which they drag across the bushes to collect the resin, is used, called ladanesterion.
To this day labdanum is still gathered in Crete by driving goats into the thick forests overgrown with labdanum bushes. It is difficult work as it is best done in hot weather, under bright sunlight in the summer months. Sises is a Cretan village near Rethymnon, where such work is done to this day (coincidentally also the area from which El Greco/Dominikos Theotokopoulos comes).
You can read amazing detail on this matter on this site by Dimitris Niktaris: Labdanum Gr.

Today modern production is mainly concetrated in Spain and is done through easier means. However there is something to be said about the small, manual labour of cretan production that is of top quality.
The modern method involves boiling the leaves and twigs of this plant in water and the gum being skimmed off the surface and mixed with other resinous matter, which sinks to the bottom of the boiling water, as the resinoid is unsoluble in water. The extraction of the crude or cleaned labdanum gets done with a hydrocarbon solvent, whereas petroleum ether is being used increasingly because it yields a light amber resinoid which contains the most wanted odour principles in high concentration: cinnamon base - (isoeugenol) and labdanum resinoid. An absolute is obtained by solvent extraction whereas an essential oil is produced by steam distillation.

In perfumery it is used in many alloys, chypres notwithstanding and mixes well with hundreds of ingredients, interestingly one of which is lavender, another mediterranean herb.
Labdanum gum may contain up to 20% water, but this should be squeezed off or cautiously dried off. When in its fresh state, it is plastic but not pourable. It hardens on ageing, even to the point of becoming brittle. However if it is so at room temperature, it should be rejected as a starting material for the processing of labdanum derivatives.
Its shelf life is about 36 months and can be used in 10.0000 % in the fragrance concentrate.

One of the fragrances that focus on labdanum is Le Labo's Labdanum 18. Tagged as an enigma, to be used by both sexes, it focuses on the mysterious ambience that labdanum creates, fusing animalic and warm notes that meld on the skin.
Other fragrances that are rich with the note (but no guarantees on it always being naturally derived) are:
Donna Karan Essence Collection Labdanum ,Monia di Orio Lux, Dia for men by Amouage, L'eau Trois by Diptyque, Rien by Etat Libre d'Orange, Andy Tauer L'air du desert marocain ~Click for review~ (and reportedly it will feature in his Incense Duo as well), Patou pour Homme, Tabac Sport by Mäurer & Wirtz, Boucheron Pour Homme, Capucci Pour Homme, ST Dypont Signature pour homme, Eau Sauvage Extrême by Christian Dior, Whole Notes a floriental from Canadian perfumer Lyn Ayre of Coeur d’Esprit Natural Perfume, Prada, Prada Tendre and Prada Amber pour Homme, Mathew Williamson Incense, Ho Hang by Balenciaga, Jacques Bogart One man show, Ayala Moriel natural perfumes Ayalitta, Autumn and Democracy and Anya's Garden natural perfume Pan ~click for review~ that features real billy goat hair tincture.

Pics from bojensen.net, ladanisterion pic originally uploaded by labdanum.gr

Coty Chypre: fragrant pilgrimage and review

By guest writer Denyse Beaulieu/Carmancanada

When friends complained to Pablo Picasso that the portrait of Gertrude Stein he’d just painted didn’t look like her, he answered something along the lines of: “Don’t worry. It will.”

Though the famous portrait was executed in 1904, well before Coty even dreamt of his mythical Chypre – he’d only just come out with his first fragrance, La Rose Jacqueminot, well anchored in the figurative tradition of perfumery at the time – it is what comes to mind when I try to analyse his 1917 Chypre. Does it in any way resemble its long and illustrious line of descendants, from the me-too Millot Crêpe de Chine or Chypre Sauzé to Jacques Guerlain’s two-tiered answer to his rival, Mitsouko and Sous le Vent, the 1946 double-whammy of Germaine Cellier’s leather-laden Bandit and Edmond Roudnitska’s rich, mulled-spice Femme, on to Christian Dior’s masterful trilogy of Miss Dior (Paul Vacher), Diorling and Diorama (both by Roudnitska), culminating it the very épure of Chypre-ity that is Yves Saint Laurent’s first namesake fragrance, Y…
It would. It will.

Smell Coty Chypre as you would scrutinize the sepia photograph of an ancestor and, yes, you will find the bone structure: bergamot, floral heart, oakmoss and labdanum. But the expression of the face, the inscrutable screen of these eyes and what they were gazing upon, what film passed in front of them as the model posed, how can you penetrate that otherness, sunk in another time?

If Chypre had a gaze, it would have seen the last remnants of the ancient order falling apart. The 19th century rotting in the charnel trenches of the Great War still being fought as it was being composed, bottled and sold; as it adorned the wrists and napes of the last Belle Époque beauties.

Yes, with hindsight, Chypre would come to resemble the family to which it gave its name. But it is set in a world lost to us; a world where heavy blows had already been dealt to our vision of things; the blows out of which the 20th century would emerge. And so it hovers between the old, figurative, narrative order of scent and the invention of modern perfumery – of which François Coty can be said to be the father.

Cubism was already going full steam in 1917. Did Coty like the art? His social and political values would express themselves a few years later, when he bought the daily Le Figaro and used it to express his loathing of communism and his admiration for fascism, Italian style. Though Italian Fascism did, at the outset, attract Modernist movements in art and literature, it would repudiate them for the monumental, pompous art favoured by totalitarian regimes. Perhaps Coty, a powerfully instinctive man as well as a visionary industrialist, had no truck with the Cubists and the Fauves who were the toast of Paris but he did, thanks to his intuition, latch on to the same gesture as his artistic contemporaries. He went primitive; he exhumed the archaic to find the face of modern perfumery. Chypre is not a name chosen by chance: apart from being an island with a powerful perfume tradition (something that the Corsican Coty may well have known), it is the abode of the mighty Aphrodite. Neither the naughty philanderer of late Greek and Roman mythology, nor the slender marble nymph of Classic Greek statuary, or the pearly-fleshed shepherdess of 18th century boudoirs: but the old, stern, primitive, man-eating mistress of the spring renewal of vegetation, the impulse to spring life fed on the death of winter. She sleeps on a bed of earthy moss and pungent herbs, anointed with thick redolent oils of jasmine, bathed in the fumes of sizzling golden resin.

But the goddess is also absolutely modern, in the way that Picasso’s Demoiselles d’Avignon are modern, with their hybrid, primitive African masks and lascivious bordello line-up. François Coty was one of the first – not the first, certainly, for the Guerlains father and son had already used coumarin and vanillin – to fully use the properties of the new synthetics. What’s more, his Chypre is the first step towards abstraction in perfume, which would reach its full expression in Chanel N°5. It doesn’t represent a flower or any other natural odorant; it doesn’t tell a story – unlike its contemporaries, say Guerlain Pois de Senteur or Caron N’Aimez que moi, both launched the same year. Coty had already explored that avenue with his wildly successful L’Origan, mother of the floral orientals, with its methyl-ionone (violet) and dianthine (carnation) accord on an “ambréine” base made of coumarin and vanillin. Edmond Roudnitska called it (I paraphrase, having lost the original reference), “the first modern, brutal perfume”.

Chypre belongs to the same brutal, neo-primitive aesthetics. In the flanks of the 1950s sealed flacon I was lucky enough to acquire, the time-distilled, resinous juice releases a scent that only hints to the later developments of the family. The hesperidic top notes have vanished decades ago, leaving the starring role in the “débouché” – to reprise Roudnitska’s beautiful term – to aromatic herbs, kitchen herbs, really: sage and thyme, and quite possibly vetiver. The floral absolute is jasmine, and it is weighed down with concentrated oils, further pulled into the unctuous base of labdanum, patchouli and oakmoss. In this version, and in the condition it is in, the labdanum’s honeyed, amber notes predominate to pull the composition towards the oriental end of the spectrum. But even in the more modern executions – the 60s eau de cologne, for instance – the amber has pride of place, reinforced by the the vanillin and the hay-like sweetness coumarin. The bitterness and fungus-earthiness of the oakmoss hasn’t yet reached the peak it would when exasperated by isobutyl-quinoline (as in Bandit); or perhaps the vanished bergamot provided the balance between tartness and earthiness. Aphrodite, she of the many guises, is a vegetal goddess: infinitely seductive with her sweet, dizzying fragrances, and willing to take on the adornments of modern chemistry to present a new mask. Her archaic ruthlessness is never far, however, from this attractive surface: Chypre is not a dazzlingly smooth composition like her tawny-flanked daughter Femme would be three decades on, but an assemblage of broad contrasting strokes, grounded on an oriental pedestal of remote antiquity. In a way, it’s amazing that she has given so very different children to so many brilliant perfumers… But she crossed the Mediterranean to visit François Coty in Paris. Perhaps, while kissing him, she bestowed the poisonous gift of hubris, the “sin” (though the term was unknown in Ancient Greece) of exceeding measure and reason through ambition… His disastrous far-right politics and catastrophic divorce ruined Coty, once one of the richest men in the world. He died a pauper. And his Chypre lives on only as a myth – the one scent the majority of perfume lovers dream of seeing risen from the mausoleum of discontinued perfumes – and through her abundant spawn. When you bow your head through time to inhale her essences, it is her daughters you seek. She will come to resemble them. But they can never go back to her utter, arrogant statement.
Pic of Maria Callas from the film by Pasolini "Medea".

Read on the rest of the Chypre Series on Perfume Shrine following the links:

Part 1: origin of chypre fragrances

Part 2: chypre fragrance ingredients and formulae

Part 3: "nouveau chypres" or modern "chypre" fragrances

Part 4: chypre perfume aesthetics

Part 5: chypre perfume chronology and the zeitgeist

Part 6: masculine chypres

Part 7: chypre fragrances time forgot

Marble image of Aphrodite, Artemis and Apollo from the Treasure of Siphnians in Delphi, Greece circa 525BC courtesy of arthist.cla.umn.edu

Midnight Poison by Christian Dior: the clock strikes twelve

My subtitle might remind you of a great classic Blue Oyster Cult song, Astronomy and Parfums Christian Dior might be privy to the fact that it has awesome lyrics(click the link to read) able to convey poignant images.
And so Christian Dior proceeded with yet another Poison in the illustrious line, this time named Midnight Poison.

Among perfume circles the fragrances following the original Poison are usually snubbed. Conceived by nose Edouard Flechier in 1985, encased in a flacon the colour of bruise and with a name to entice you to bite the ordoriferous yet faulty apple in the enchanted forest, the original Poison acted as a hand grenade for the nostrils of unsuspecting passerbys, who were too often anaesthetized by the penetrating aroma of this mysky, fruity and oriental concoction. A great thing, despite appearences and the only person I met who wore it well was my dear mother. Probably because she only dabbed two drops behind each ear.

The following versions, Tendre Poison from the early 90s, a greener floral highlightining freesia, and the quite recent Pure Poison with its synthetic orange blossom opening on a bed of musk are fairly tame in comparison. Hypnotic Poison by nose Annick Menardo from 1998, a tripy almondy gourmand, has -for the amove mentioned reasons- its own fans and escapes criticism relatively unscathed.

However this new Midnight Poison has the most gorgeous commercial imaginable and Perfume Shrine considers it its duty to bring those things to you.
So here it is for your delectation:




Directed by Wong Kar-Wai and featuring the wonderful actress Eva Green (Vesper in Casino Royal but also famous due to Bertolucci's film The Dreamers and Ridley Scott's Kingdom of Heaven), it is stylistically superb, if a little gothic-looking. To which Perfume Shrine is not averse to, it might be noted. Of course the hanging from the chandelier puts a playful spin on this, so I guess it is not as gothic as it could be; let's say Tim Burton on a Mars Attacks budget.
References to the Cinderella fairy tale are evident in the depiction of a gigantic Dior clock that is about to chime midnight, the heroine running to the great "palace" to be in time, as well as the shot of the black ankle lace-up boots that adorn Eva's dainty feet. And as the countdown to 12 begins, we see Eva reveal a different self; a self that is brought about by wearing the new Dior fragrance, we infer, as drops of rain -or is it moondrops bursting?- are falling over her porcelain skin and raven black hair...

The song is Space Dementia by Muse, which I am taking the chance to remind you was the group whose song was chosen for the Insolence by Guerlain commercial featuring Hillary Swank. For some reason the line "You make me sick" indeed has a weird overtone in relation to perfume, but of course the whole concept of Poison was to assert itself agressively to the one smelling it, alluding to a dangerous sexuality that is confident in its choices.

What's left is the glorious midnight blue of the couture dress, the mysterious looking bottle, the majestic surroundings and a gorgeous campaign that should be met with an equally daring aroma "like acid and oil on a madman's face".

As to the latter I divert you to this perfume review by Cognoscented.

Clip by Youtube uploaded by museabusedotcom, pics courtesy of Dior campaign

London Calling...part 4: at Roja Dove's place

When one is faced with greatness it manifests itself in no uncertain terms. Awe, amazement and a feeling of having tingles down the spine greet you upon entering one of the sacred altars of perfume, Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie on the 5th floor of Harrod’s, the Titanic of all stores: impressive, astounding in fact and certain to lead you to your doom. Financially speaking, that is.

Roja Dove is no stranger to perfume and his very special place in that Mecca of shoppers is magnificent. Formerly professeur de parfums at Guerlain (a title he gave himself, when they were at a loss on how to call him, as he is not a “nose” ~meaning a practicing perfumer) he is in reality a Roger who spelled his name the way it is pronounced in a heavy-set aristocratic English accent.
Haute Parfumerie was a concept near and dear to his heart, as it is meant to work like a museum and a shop combined: among the myriads of vintage bottles in opulent Bacarrat crystals there are many recreations and infinitesimal versions of favourite smells for customers to pick and choose, so that they are guaranteed to find their perfect holy grail scent or just the latest fling with which to dance the night away. All subject to their taste.

The grand staircase that recalls an Egyptian tomb fit for a Pharaoh in a modern version of Liz Taylor’s "Cleopatra"is nowhere near possible to describe without being unjust and the evocative lighting of the space is akin to entering a shrine to the high priest of perfume indeed. Rows and rows of vintage bottles with impressive names stand in aloof poise, among them the Bacarrat rarity Les Larmes Sacrees de Thebes (=sacred tears of Thebes ~fit for the Egyptian theme!), Nina Ricci’s discontinued classic Coeur Joie (=heart of joy), Ombre Rose by Jean Charles Brosseau with its rich powdery hay and oppoponax base or the individual Caron masterpiece of Ernest Daltroff En Avion, dedicated to aviation and its brave first steps. Indeed they do have many of the Caron urn perfumes: those are the pure parfum/extrait perfumes that the venerable French house only sells from big crystal “vats” at their boutiques by request.
They also have the rare gems of Christian Dior from the days of their illustrious past: Diorama and Diorling. They are too beautiful to dismiss in a single expletive, so they deserve their own space and time in the near future to which you will be treated shortly.

Additionally Roja has created some individual scents for selling there, as I found out for about £2000 a bottle. The price being prohibitive I was reluctant to even try them out for fear I might have to break down and put a little mortgage to acquire one of them. On the other hand he is also launching three more moderately priced yet quality superior feminine scents for the upcoming season (October to be precise). They are based around one fragrance family each and they are named Scandal (a rich white floral), Enslaved(an oriental) and Unspoken (a chypre).

Roja’s theory of why smell is so important to us is interesting though and worth recounting. He maintains that the part of the brain that deals with odour is empty when we are born and we spend the first years of our lives (well into our puberty and beyond, I get to understand) forming preferences and distastes. This might be the reason why babies and small children often do not have a notion of “bad” smells and they venture into skatole-filled adventures that would make us shudder. It might also explain why there are definite preferences in certain aromas when we grow up that we can’t seem to shake off: they just move us on a deeper level, reminiscing of our childhood experiences and memories.

Roja elaborates that this is what is called an “odour profile”, sounding very much like a special FBI agent intent on capturing a serial killer, and in a way, you might want to think that smell is a serial killer, the way it strikes again and again and again with shocking results every single time. This odour profile constitutes what we find appealing and what not and also pinpoints which fragrance families tend to attract us more, giving a glimpse into our personalities in the process. This also coincides with what Mandy Aftel has to say when creating a bespoke fragrance for a client, by the way. She maintains that you can judge somewhat the tendencies of a personality according to the basenotes they choose for their tailor-made fragrance: shy or conventional types go for vanilla; hell-cats go for hay or blond tobacco and so on.
It’s an interesting thought, to be sure.

To revert to the subject at hand though, Roja continues by elaborating on how to choose an appropriate scent for oneself, using the odour profile. First there is some testing to determine which fragrance family is most appealing in general. For general purposes this is three-fold, encompassing floral, chypre and oriental. It is essential to clarify at this point that this is not meant to exclude one from the other or indeed disregard the nuances of cross-pollination that very often happen across families. It is simply a matter of simplifying a basic tendency that might produce more recommendations that would be most suitable. It doesn’t mean that a person can’t very well enjoy certain fragrances from all those families above.
Indeed after establishing a preference, one then goes through a process of elimination and specification that involves smelling separate notes. This is done through the use of scented candles, Diptyque it was from what I recall, and they let you smell the glasses they came in and share your impressions, as those particular candles are single-note based. My own preference for Oak, Oeillet, Jasmine and Pomander resulted in recommendations of Bellodgia, Mitsouko, Bal a Versailles and Coup de Fouet. Oh, dear, I already knew that…, I inwardly think.
Still, the process is fascinating, especially as there is no divulging of what you are smelling till after you have proffered an opinion. Which maintains the quintessential factors of a good test: objectivity and no influence by advertising or packaging.
I highly recommend the trip!

Pic "Favourably inclined" originally uploaded by cishikilauren /flickr

Fahrenheit 32 by Dior: fragrance review

Why was this new men's scent baptised with this weird name? Well, for starters, there was the classic fragrance Fahrenheit by Dior that erupted into the scene in 1988 with all the gusto of an iconoclast along with its female counterpart Dune.
And then, it is exactly 32 degress Fahrenheit that water freezes: equivalent of 0 degrees in the Celsius scale.

This scaling system is quite fascinating if one takes into account another classic of sorts, of a more profound level perhaps: that of the printed word. The dystopian science fiction by Ray Bradbury called "Fahrenheit 451", in which the author describes a future american society that wrapped up in sybaritic living and anti-intellectual tendencies abhors books and goes on to burn them.

The protagonist, Ray Montag, is the very witty antithesis of His Girl Friday of the famous classic era movie, especially since in true german spirit (physicist Daniel Gabriel Fahrenheit was German) "Mondag" means "Monday". And yes, this novel has also been filmed.
Fahrenheit 451 on the other hand is the point of auto-ignition of paper...Semantics, semantics.
For some dark, pessimistic reason I am quite convinced that the state of affairs in the world currently do not distance us too much from this nightmarish Orwellian vision. But perhaps I am digressing.

To revert to the "frozen" aspect of this quite cooler Fahrenheit, mes amis, as you might have surmissed by now, this new offering is what is affectionately called a "flanker": a perfume that follows up the successful anion bearing a variation of the name; yet usually either having nothing whatsoever in common with the genetic pool of the former or alternatively featuring a very slight variation of it, questioning the purpose of its existence apart from the boost that it would bring to the sales of both.
Fahrenheit 32 places itself in the first category. It bears little similarity to the classic fragrance and is intended as a tribute to the synthesized orange blossom that has been explored in men's scent recently also by the wonderful Fleur dy Mâle by Gaultier, reviewed just a little while ago. (click here for full review)
Designed by now former artistic director Heidi Slimane with the collaboration François Demachy it has been concocted by nose Louise Turner of Quest.

The general direction is one of a fresh oriental-woody that intermingles piquant aldehydic touches with orange blossom, light smooth vanilla, and what smells to my nose as delicate synthetic musks. The earthiness and slighty dirty appeal of vetiver does not come to the fore, despite its graceful way of making fragrances cool in every sense of the word.
The description goes like this: fresh top notes, orange blossom and vetiver for the hear nnotes, vanilla and solar notes for the base.
Indeed the freshness is akin to a cooling spray, which is implied by the white bottle that takes the classic one of original Fahrenheit to a new techno trip under strobo lights. It's opalescence and smooth milky texture reminded me a lot of the woman's Pure Poison, which I think is not coincidental, as that too is also based on the same synthesized orange blossom note and delivers itself with a freshness that pierces the nostrils for a while.

Compared to Fleur du Mâle it is not much further apart, yet in a way that one captured me more and retained my interest more avidly. Fahrenheit 32 is very likeable and on the scent strip lingers nicely making one to sniff and resniff to consolidate the memory, but a classical masculine fragrance it can never pose to be. It's again a little too feminine for its own good, which makes it fodder for either adventurous guys or the girlfriends who I am sure will fall under its charms.


Top pic In search of the unicorn by bigbird3/flickr
Pic of fahrenheit 451 by Wikipedia

What do the rich smell of?

It might seem a silly question. And yet, it made me ponder a bit. Intrigued by gut response received upon casual comments on various fora and the amount of controversy that issues of money and class raise even in classless United States, I have been coming to the conclusion that it is indeed a loaded question.

Upon initial shifting the general concensus seems to be that people with loaded pockets and platinum cards with credit limits on the upper echelons really go for the super exclusive, the elusive, the prestigeous and the ridiculously priced.
The recent example of the wedding gift of Clive Christian perfume to Katie Holmes by Tom Cruise, for her to wear on her wedding day is a case in point of the latter. No.1 retails for 600 euros for a 50ml/1.7oz bottle of parfum; which is actually the minimum basic salary in my country. I leave deductions to you...
The real question would be: "is it worth it?" This to me at least has to do solely with content and not presentation. Otherwise one can decant a glorious perfume in the most exquisite Baccarat bottle and enjoy it from there or just use a milk carton, it does not make that big a difference in my mind...
Purpotedly, Clive Christian No.1 for women consists of only the finest, rarest and most precious materials. However there is so much one can put into a perfume in terms of quality, after which point the whole starts to smell overwhelming and bad. I mean, upwards a certain point it does not make any difference because there is so much one can include anyway. And if one cares to look at the list of notes, one stumbles upon the insurmountable block of lily of the valley; a note that cannot be successfuly extracted from nature, a note that has to be recreated with other elements, most common of which are Citronellyl Acetate varietys A and Acetate pure, Geranyl Acetate pure, Lindenol and Terpineol Alpha JAX. As to other notes, the majority of top notes consists of things that do not skyrocket the paycheck for obtaining them: lime, Sicilian mandarin, cardamom, nutmeg, and thyme. And in its floral heart, ylang ylang is the rarity in the cost department of floral essences inventory (meaning it's relatively cheap), hence called "poor man's jasmine". The ambery woods of the base is so vague that it leaves me doubtful as to what exactly goes in the production.
So sorry, I am not convinced the price tag really reflects the content. A certain amount of snobbism is involved as well. And by the way, since the hostorian never really leaves my writing, snob derives from the notification that newly rich young men got upon entering the aristocratic colleges of the old Britain, namely Oxford and Cambridge: s.nob, denoting sine nobilitas, latin for "no nobility". Worth keeping in mind.

Joy by Jean Patou, Henri Alméras' tour de force, was touted as "the costliest perfume in the world" back in its heyday in 1930, affirming the inextricable tie between perfume, luxury and financial abandon. It was actually Elsa Maxwell, venomous gossip queen of the 30s that came up with the infamous moniker about it, the one that sealed its success besides its rich bouquet of the best jasmine and lushest rose. But those were times of recession and ruin after the Wall Street crash of 1929. It was completely irrational then as is Clive Christian now, even though it was initially devised as a less costly means of giving american women a slice of Patou's prestige now that they could no longer afford his couture. The difference though hinged on the pretenciousness that is lacking in Joy's case. Today Joy pure parfum in the 30ml/1oz bottle costs 160£ (british pounds) or 299$ at internet discounters.

Marie Antoinette is well known for her excesses and the recent biopic made by Sofia Coppola has brought her once again in the spotlight. There is a well known tale about how it was her perfume that sent her to the guillotine. On June 20,1791 Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette and their family retinue attempted to escape to eastern France, where troops loyal to the monarchy were waiting after the revolution had gained control of Paris. Their flight however was cut off at Varennes; they were recognised and arrested there and sent off to Paris under escort where they met their demise at the guillotine two years later. There is some speculation that it was the divine quality (and contrast with the rest of the people) of Marie Antoinette's perfumes and pomades that set her apart despite her disguise when they travelled, as 18th century France was a place infested with disease, full of open sewers and all that at a time when talking a bath was not to be indulged in often.
According to The Scotsman, many people have been intrigued by the scent of the decadent royal and an effort to recreate it has resulted in "Sillage de la Reine" (Queen's wake) by Elisabeth de Feydeau, "a writer who stumbled upon the lost recipe, along with the Parisian perfume-maker Francis Kurkdjian. Ms Feydeau was preparing a biography of its inventor, Jean-Louis Fargeon, the court perfumer, when she made the discovery. Mr Kurkdjian agreed that he should try to resurrect the scent using the techniques and ingredients of Fargeon's day "just to see if we could. It was very difficult because although we possess the same primary materials, the environment now is very different." But he was satisfied with the result - a mixture of jasmine, rose, iris, tuberose, lavender, musk, vanilla, ambergris, cedar, sandalwood and other essences. "The perfume is 100 per cent natural, and certainly something that the queen would have worn," he added. Ms Feydeay said smelling the Queen's Wake is "as if you're walking past a magnificent bouquet comprising flowers of every season. It has an incredible fullness." The whole composition has been likened to a precursor of Chanel #5, which begs the question why pay so much for something that can be had for much less, but I guess it's not the super-rich that wil grab those bottles but the super-collectors. You can read about the recreated perfume clicking here

And what do the rich and famous wear? One of my perfume projects is to document a list of perfumes picked up by the rich and famous, some richer than others, some more famous than others and the result can be seen clicking here It seems that among the more exclusive choices they sometimes go for things that are set by trends, or for the ubiquitous Creed fragrance which I largely attribute to Creed's magnificent PR machine, more than their consistent taste. It's interesting and fun to peruse the list however.

What do ordinary people think the rich smell of? I think most folks are judging by what is considered Bon Chic, Bon Genre when they attribute classic Rue Cambon Chanel perfumes, classic and boutique Guerlains and some Goutals to the rich and incidentally classy people. However as we all know rich and classy are not interchangeable and one should leave a leaway for the more vulgar choices. Those latter ones would have a more outspoken and loud personality to go with newly acquired money, elaborate porn-chic french manicures on long talons, bleached hair to an inch of their lives and gaudy jewels when none is required for women, really heavy all-gold watches for men. At least that's the image I freely associate with it and I would be a little coy in naming specific names.
My personal experience tells me that the richer and classier one is, the less inclined he/she is to drown all the others around in the fumes! The really rich people I have known and smelled have all worn light, subtle fragrances that were imperceptible until they leaned for a social shake of hands.
What did I smell? Aqua di Parma original cologne, Diorella and Eau du Cologne Impériale by Guerlain (latter was on a guy).
A couple of others had something on I did not recognise definitely, but still in the same vein. They were ship owners and involved in shipping: loads of money, no doubt about that.

And finally yes, when all is said and done if you're finding yourself savouring the waft from a syrupy potent composition, it's unlikely you're downwind from Princess Caroline of Monaco. I'm sorry.......

Pic comes from Czguest by Slim Aaron

Beautiful bottles in time for Christmas

Just in time for Christmas, perfume companies have issued or re-issued beautiful bottles for their precious fragrances to entice us to buy perfume for ourselves and others. The packaging of perfume does play a part in our choosing a particular fragrance and although I for one would go for my holy grail even if it were packaged in a milk carton, I have to admit that pretty bottles and evocative design does make me daydream. Sometimes the bottle proves to better than the scent, which seems like a disappointment but at least you are left with a beautiful bottle on your dresser, which is better than being left with a bad one (and aren't there lots of those?) That's some sort of consolation for the visual part at least.
Some of the bottles that have caught my eye recently are the following. I amassed them here for your delectation.

First comes the limited editionCaprice de star by Thierry Mugler, the new bottle for his infamous Angel for Chistmas 2006, pictured above. ‘Caprices de Star’ translates as “On the Whims of a Star” and is the bottle for the parfum/extrait. A stunning blue-and-white star-shaped crystal objet which cradles an ultra-concentrated scent (and Angel being what it is, you can only imagine) built around the eau de parfum’s mouth-watering oriental facets. The parfum retails for €160 for 20ml or 2/3 fl.oz. Available from major department stores.

The Dior offering for this Christmas, named Midnight Charm, is a fresh and sparkling departure that mingles Italian mandarin orange with green and fruity notes. The heart reveals a "peach-skin accord" blooming over a floral bouquet of Egyptian jasmine and Moroccan rose. The base has a mouthwatering touch of "glazed chestnut" (a French Christmas specialty; marron glacé which is really really yummy, it makes me salivate as we speak), amber and the musky sweetness of "skin" notes, all enclosed in a bottle that is inspired by the classic Dolce Vita bottle, now interpreted in silver and mauve. Avaialble at major department stores.

For our gentlemen friends the bottle that has captured my fancy is none other than that of Victor and Rolf's Antidote. "While Flowerbomb (for women) is preventive, Antidote is a cure", the advertorial on Osmoz says. Which explains how avant-garde couturiers Viktor & Rolf chose the name for their first foray into men's fragrance. An olfactory extension of their ready-to-wear line Viktor & Rolf Monsieur, Antidote has a complex construction, like a bespoke suit. It blends sensuality, freshness and elegance by using an amber-wood potion; the emerald-hued juice is contained by a black cap with a wax seal that seems about to reach meltdown and is very much to my liking indeed.
Antidote is described as a lush woody Oriental, overloaded with flowers. It has been built around 4 facets. A floral facet, (encompassing a bouquet of jasmine, violet, peony, freesia, orange blossom and more), a spicy facet (blending cinnamon, cardamom, black pepper and nutmeg), a woody, almost leathery facet (blending patchouli, gaiac wood, white cedar, sandalwood and oak moss) and for the final course the amber facet, tinted with vanilla and musk. Fragrance designers: Alienor Massenet and Pierre Wargnye, IFF. Available at major department stores.

The bottle of Nuit d'amour, the latest boutique Guerlain following Plus que Jamais from last year, on the other hand is very exclusive; but it is so old fashioned and heavy in its bacarrat crystal that is bound to procure little cries of excitement by the lucky lady that receives it. The juice purpotedly is not as interesting, which is a shame, but today we are focusing on the packaging and the superficial rejoice of seeing a pretty bottle, so for once I am willing to bypass that. For those interested however it includes notes of pink pepper, lychee, rose, violet, iris, sandalwood, musk. Available from Bergdorf Goodman in the US and directly from the Guerlain boutique in Paris. The baccarat crystal flacon is priced at $2600; while the regular 60 ml size is $390. It might as well stay on the screen for all I care...

On the contrary, the limited edition of Mure et Musc by L'artisan parfumeur is a re-issue of one of their best selling fragrances and the succulent crystal bottle is good enough to eat which prompted them to bring it back again for those interested in adding it to their collection. A very tempting, gorgeous presentation. Available at Aedes in the US and from L'artisan boutique.

Burberry seems to be on an roll with their hugelly successful Brit scent witness the limited edition of Brit Red last year) and for this Christmas they brought out a trully spectacular limited edition bottle with golden tassels on a faceted crystal to resemble the brand's plaid in relief. Available from major departement stores.

The 24 Faubourg extrait is not new, but it is so beautiful in its crystal bottle with the golden drop of the jus inside that it merits a place in this post today. Trully classy scent of orange blossom on a bed of amber and one could not go wrong with getting some. One of the cases when there is no deceptive apperance. A modern classic that never fails. Highly recommended.

And because no crime is accomplished if the starring culprit isn't yet involved, Yves Saint Laurent parfums have gone out of their way to present this smashing new collector's edition of their mesmerising Opium fragrance. Enamel designs of oriental flowers over the solid lacquered black of the bottle, it's eye-catching on the screen as it is live in the shop, making mouths water from the loveliness. Which begs the question: do I need to add this to my massive Opium stash? I guess it does.


Pics come from: Escentual, Amazon, Guerlain rep, L'artisan rep and fashionmag.fr. Many thanks!