Frequent Questions: The Many Versions of Shiseido Zen

When the same name for a fragrance is used through the decades to denote varying scents, things get entangled. Zen by Shiseido is one such characteristic example. To disentangle them here at Perfume Shrine we try to shed some light on what differentiates each version.

There are actually three Zen fragrances, all by Shiseido, in different packaging and smelling rather differently from each other.
The original Zen Eau de Cologne (and parfum) from 1964 comes in a black bottle with hand-sketched gold flowers on it. It's a green spirit with fangs which bite hard! Unsettling and completely unbefitting the serene name, it makes for a thunder entrance: Bitter and sharp, white floral in the heart in the manner of gardenia chypres of old but quite angular still, and with an incense twist somewhere (smoky), while the base is all mosses and bitter leather. Excellent on a guy! In fact probably better than on a woman maybe. The re-issue available at Nordstrom's right now is supposedly very close to the original daring formula and is termed Zen Classic to differentiate it from the following versions. I have also come across an Eau de Parfum mist version of it online.

The chronologically intermediary Zen was encased in a pretty white bottle with rounded, friendly contours in a white box with beautifully tactile, subtly shiny surface. The fragrance was presented in Eau de Parfum Aromatique (that's what it says on the box). Less bitter, more fruity floral with a lovely rose note which Shiseido tells us was allegedly grown in space (the product of careful tending by astronauts aboard the space shuttle), it has no leather-mossy feel but ample musks & woods in the base. It's a soft and lovely rendition which approximates its name much more convincingly than the original version, was completely in tune with the 90s in both concept and visual representation (half pebble, half high-tech gadget) and the general Shiseido aesthetic and has been loved by many. It's now discontinued but still available online.

The new version of Zen was incarnated in a cube bottle, architectural, designesque and downright fancy in 2007. The smell however is nothing like either of the older ones. Modern Zen has a fruity-fresh opening, instead of the characteristic bitter green of the original, seguing to spicy and ambery (ambroxan)-patchouli notes. Although the base is generic and rather non distinctive, the spicy accent is quite pleasant, redeeming it. Still, in a sea of ambery patchouli fragrances with fruity notes it's not marking its territory in any significant radius.

There's also a flanker to that one -i.e. a 4th Zen, affectionately called Zen White- in a different coloured cube, supposedly for summer and more metallic-citrusy in tone. Finally there is Zen for Men in a greyish-blue bottle that follows the cube-shape of the modern Zen for women. Its scent is centered on spicy woods and musk.
All the modern Zen versions are available at department stores wherever Shiseido is carried.

L'Arte di Gucci: fragrance review

The era of tailored chypres has come and gone and the new genre taking their place is smoothing the contours out into woodier and muskier avenues; yet every so often the perfume enthusiast gets a hankering for something that would be akin to grabbing someone by the (leather) lapels and kissing them square on the lips with gusto. L'Arte di Gucci is such a potent, slightly daring, borderline fearsome composition that would have you questioning your sense of appropriateness or fashionable compatibilty possibly (you might as well wear rugby-player's size shoulder-pads, this smells so out of place today), but enjoying every minute of it, nonetheless.

One MakeupAlley member notes: "If Divine's L' Inspiratrice is the good girl who always wears slips beneath her dresses, pearls and heels out to dinner no matter where she goes, and finds red nail polish too garish, L' Arte wears short skirts with heels, winks at all the boys, and never has to buy her own drinks".
By the minute you open up that vicious-looking box (all black opaqueness and glossy finish) and hold the funnily, yet friendly-shaped bottle you realise just what we lost by abandoning the powerhouses of the 1980s for ever; several nose-tingling masterpieces, that's what!

L'Arte is certainly one of the best releases from the Italian house, past and present, coming out rather late, in 1991, so it's probably natural it's tracing its roots in elements already featured in Paloma Picasso Mon parfum (the intensity of leather and the spiced oakmoss and patchouli blend), Niki de Saint Phalle (the herbal accents, starkly green) and most of all Diva by Ungaro (the astoundingly chypre tonality of its lush rose and the powdery clout). No perfumer is known, alas, so if you have this info, fill me in, I'm intrigued.
If you like your roses shaded, dark, thorny and abstractly woody-powdery (nay, "perfume-y" and very expensive smelling!) and if Guerlain's Rose Barbare, Lady Vengeance by Juliette has a Gun, Sisley's Soir de Lune, Rose de Nuit by Lutens and even Voleur de Roses by L'Artisan have hinted at delights which you always meant to further explore, look no further than the Gucci portfolio and this inexplicably underrated gem. Brassier than the above, L'Arte's prolonged dryout of mossy, powdered leatheriness is enigmatic and full of tawny smoothness.

L'Arte di Gucci wraps its intensely rosy heart garlanded with hypnotic, greenish narcissus into a luminous, characteristic aldehyde burst (evoking half part soap and the other part slightly overripe fruit) like a whirlwind into one of my favourite 80s pop tunes, Kim Carne's Betty Davis Eyes; hysky-voiced, with a swagger in her stride, dressing to impress. Yet the astounding thing is those were more innocent times than today, "pure New York snow" and all notwithstanding. I guess this fangled vampire with "lips sweet surprise" and luminous, deeply honeyed eyes which reminds me of tailored curvaceous suits that yes, Betty Davies might wear, preferably after a manipulation or two, is more girly and good than taken credit for.
"And she'll tease you, She'll unease you, All the better just to please you..."

Long discontinued, it can still be found sometimes online (there is a 1oz bottle available at Amazon right now) and on Ebay,although for alarmingly increasing prices.
The unusual bottle was designed by Serge Mansau and is presented in opaque black in the miniatures circulating.

Notes for L'Arte di Gucci: Bergamot, fruits, coriander, aldehydes, greens, rose, jasmine, lily of the valley, mimosa, tuberose, narcissus, geranium, orris, amber, musk, oakmoss, patchouli, leather, vetiver.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Chypres series


Evelyn Tripp by William Klein, photo Smoke & Veil from 1958 Vogue via Loose Leaf Tigers.
Bottle pic via Ebay

Ormonde Jayne Ormonde Woman: fragrance review

"The Chevalier stops, dazzled, at the door: the mirrors covering all the walls multiply their reflections in such a way that suddenly an endless procession of couples are embracing all around them". ~Slowness, Milan Kundera

If you asked me how I knew that the initially named "Ormonde" would be one of my favourites in the Ormonde Jayne line, then I'd tell you that having sampled the lot of them, its languid decay and bittersweet melancholy stood out in my mind for weeks to come and all of a sudden I realised I had to have it! Its dichotomy startled me: Was it dicepherable as that rare genus of a dry woody originally aimed at women (yet men are welcome to borrow) or was it a Sibyllic opaque alloy of contradictions? Ormonde Woman exemplifies admirably what Chandler Burr described: "Ormonde Jayne has created a collection that possesses the quality I most value in perfume: a wonderful and mesmerising strangeness". Pretty, beloved notes take on a grotesque façade that makes them appear convulted in the most arresting way, like figures seen in profile at the mirrors chamber of some far away fun fair through the convulted lens of David Lynch.

A peppery green whisper of Ormonde Woman on a summer day makes me appreciate its haunting, eerie beauty even more, reeling me from the dreary conventionality of mainstream releases into a subtly wicked fairytale. Though woody fragrances are typically pigeonholed in the cooler season, I like to bring out the most understated among them for reveling in their sophisticated embrace even on the sunniest of days. Brooding claustrophobia where no sunlight can penetrate seems to engulf you when woody fragrances unfold in the snow and sleat, and yet wait and luminosity cuts through the enchanted cobwebs, making them sparkle like jewels when cast under the bright morning sun.

The rooty, piney and spicy opening of wet earth and sinister anthropomorphic grasses mingles with a sweet, almost licorice-like violet delicacy in Ormonde Woman's heart, uplifting the composition into a sophisticated enigma; one which cannot be dissected into sexual temptation and loss of innocence, yet one feels they're all there, under the trampled leaves like a not-so-innocent adult Red Riding Hood who strayed off the path to become a she-wolf. The poison cup offered comes in the dangerous guise of black hemlock absolute, a rare essence that the founder Linda Pilkington utilises in rarely foreseen quantities to concoct just the right hypnotic spell. A tireless traveller, Linda has fostered relationships with growers all over the world from Laos and the Philippines to Morocco and France, gaining her remarkable access to the most unusual exotic oils. The drydown of Ormonde Woman bears facets of a dry, non-sweet amber that peters out inivisibly. Fabric Magazine said it well: "Her signature scent Ormonde Woman made from black hemlock is a real femme fatale, all black feathers, felt capes and illicit affairs"

Notes for Ormonde Jayne Ormonde Woman: cardamom, coriander, grass oil, black hemlock, violet, jasmine absolute, vetiver, cedar wood, amber, and sandalwood.

Ormonde Woman can be purchased directly from the official Ormonde Jayne website or at their London boutique.

For our readers an amazing offer: Mail sales@ormondejayne.com with "Perfume Shrine Ormonde Woman" in the title to receive 200 complimentary deluxe samples of Ormonde Woman! The 201st person will get an Ormonde Woman Bathing Beauty Gift Box!!

Clarification after a question to OJ: The new packaging in the square rather than oblong bottle has been raised in price due to costs involved: the costs of essence oils have risen, the caps are in glass instead of plastic and the whole presentation has become even more luxurious!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Ormonde Jayne news, interviews and reviews

Painting Anansi & death by Johanna Uhrman via jonnakonna.com
Mirror picture via guardian.co.uk

Amouage Jubilation 25: fragrance review

My tumultuous love affair with chypres has always been like flipping through the pages of an old family album; grudgingly recognising familiar features reflected on my own visage and looking quizzically yet with admiration on fashions past. Jubilation 25 by Amouage comes as the crowning glory of an introspection in sepia, ascertaining its place as one of my core favourites ever since its launch. In my ever expanding collection it is competing for stage space with the beautiful bell jars of the Parisian exclusives of Serge Lutens, to which it feels like kin.

The comparison with the olfactory seraglio of Lutens comes naturally, Arabia the Felix being at the DNA-helix of both. But whereas Lutens’s elixirs speak beneath dark-kholed lids assuming nevertheless a Japonesque apocryphal coyness, Jubilation 25 flaunts its proud breast in the fabled manner of perpulchra Eleanor of Aquitane astride her horse on the Second Crusade while facing the gates of Damascus.

The Omani uber-luxe brand Amouage released Jubilation 25 in 2007 to celebrate its 25th anniversary with their customary brief: spare no expense! To that effect let’s remind ourselves of the free reign legendary perfumer Guy Robert (Hermès Equipage, the buttery soft Doblis and Calèche, Christian Dior Dioressence, Madame Rochas) received upon the commission of creating the introductory fragrance of the house of Amouage when it was established in 1983 by the Sultan of Oman. Now named Amouage Gold, along with Amouage Dia, for men and women, the scents help prove that opulence acts as a constant in the direction of the venerable and genuinely exotic house.

Composed by Lucas Sieuzac, (Fashion Group International's Rising Star award receiver in 2004), Jubilation 25’s resolutely noble lineage can be traced to the succulent and confidently sexy fruity chypres of yore, like Rochas Femme, hold the exuberance, and Guerlain Mitsouko, hold the wistfulness. Pointedly the antecedent accord in the heart of Jubilation 25 is that of Edmond Roudnitska’s enigmatic Diorella, minus the melon freshness and flanked by a generous side helping of amber and resins. Yet in many ways the Amouage fragrance is a seasoned grand dame whereas Diorella is a budding ingénue of aristocratic pedigree. The intense hedonic character of the fruity nectar is not far removed from the legendary Colony by Jean Patou.

Smelling Jubilation 25, soft billowing layers of rose reveal themselves one after the other as if testing a rich millefeuille, while the sumptuous sensation of liqueur-like essences such as davana compliment the fruitier facets of the floral accord. The beguiling austerity of liturgical essences (frankincense, myrrh) is contrapuntist to the nectarous tonalities and the unmistakably mossy-woody base foiling them ~which makes the chypre accord so complex and intensely memorable. In comparison to Rochas Femme (and especially the 80s reformulated version), Jubilation 25 comes off as more lemony and delicately ambery, less spicy but with a discreet leathery aftertaste. Surprisingly, it exhibits a more cultivated Gallic air than the French-born themselves! Its amazing lasting power is testament to its firm grip on your heartstrings, if you are even remotely attracted by the genre of fruity chypres, of which it is a stellar example.

Amouage Jubilation 25 notes:
Top: tarragon, rose, lemon, and ylang ylang
Heart: davana, labdanum, rose, and frankincense
Base: amber, musk, vetiver, myrrh, and patchouli.

Amouage Jubilation 25 Eau de Parfum comes in 50ml/1.7oz and 100ml/3.4oz bottles and sometimes it’s available in 25ml starter bottles which are excellent value for money considering the high quality of the juice.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Chypre scents, Chypre series.


Pic via wickedhalo.blogspot.com
Clip of The Lion in Winter originally uploaded by Moviemonologues on Youtube.

Une Rose Chypree by Tauer Perfumes: fragrance review & draw

When I was testing Une rose chyprée for the first time, I was eating creamy Greek yoghurt sprinkled with shredded Valhrona 72% dark chocolate on top (an indulgence of my own imagining, highly recommended btw) and releafing through A History of Architecture: Settings and Rituals by Spiro Kostof.

The first impression as the drops of scent hit my skin was that I was actually tasting a bright mandarin-jam-filled chocolate nugget~a fun and intriguing experience which I would suggest you try at some point! Subsequent testing confirmed that the bright halo of clementine (and some linalyl acetate?) which was so unexpected and so deliriously juicy in Incense Rosé as well as in Mandarins Ambrées (the homemade soap Andy makes for the holidays) is making its appearence again. In the memorable words of Luca Turin on the former "The combination of rose, cardamom, and mandarin is so warm, so welcoming, you feel as if you’ve just heard a piece of good news you cannot quite remember."
Same goes for the affectionately called "Tauerade", a chord comprised of orris root/irone alpha and woody ambergris, which seems to weave through his work, the signature trait of an artist who has his own distinct style. That style has been loved by many fragrance aficionados starting with his masterful L'air du desert marocain and has progressed into a genuine cult, catapulting Tauer into the pantheon of independent perfumers worth of intently watching today.

But where is the rose?, you might be asking. The rose is there, but forget everything you have ever heard about your grandma's sour flower water, the toilet refresher that has you pinch your nose with its citral and geraniol intensity and the dusty pot-pourri that has been sitting on the mantelpiece begging for mercy into being thrown in the dust-bin already! None of those impressions is here and may I say it loud: "Thank God!". The diffuculty of working with rose is exactly the cultural associations with hygiene products that smell like sour wine and mouldy, crumbled pot-pouri bought by people who randomly heard about home fragrancing circa the early 1980s. Very few compositions get away with smelling like rose yet avoiding the miasma of the above, either by accenting the powdery violet ionones aspects ~such as Paris by Yves Saint Laurent and Creed's Fleurs de Thé Rose Bulgare~ or highlighting the jamminess of the fruitier facets of rose ~like in Liaisons Dangereuses by Kilian. Alternatively they can go the more covert chypre way, resulting in Cabaret (Grès), Aromatics Elixir (Clinique), Rose de Nuit (Serge Lutens), Diabolo Rose and Un Zéphir de Rose (parfums de Rosine). Andy has successfully solved the problem of working with rose and none of his fragrances evoke unpleasant images; only opulence.

The chypre accord of Une rose chyprée is built around oakmoss, patchouli, labdanum, and bergamot, while Tauer also uses treemoss in a balanced ratio resulting in a composition that is obviously chypre. The clearly perceptible vanillic undercurrent with a drop of Tolu balsam on the other hand gives an oriental nod, providing a soft, thick, envelopping mantle fitting both genders in its velvety embrace. A lightly "clean" effect is surfacing along with gentle spiciness like clothes clean, starched and pressed with a hot iron, a nod to his Vetiver Dance and the unreleased Eau d’épices. I asked Andy about the interesting effect, thinking that it could be the Lilial (which is very obvious in Vetiver Dance), but he told me that it might be the Givaudan aroma-chemical Okoumal, also present in some detergents: "It adds a vibrant undertone and is extremely lifting, especially to otherwise dark and stuffy woody resins".
The overall feeling of the fragrance is of a "thick" scent although it doesn't become stuffy. The lasting power is way beyond average, the fragrance stayed vibrant on my skin for a good 8 hours.


According to Andy Tauer

"Une rose chyprée is an oriental rose on a chypre base. It is built around two natural extracts from rosa damascena, the absolute and the steam distilled essential oil. Its heart is lifted by spices (Bay and cinnamon) and a fresh accord built around bergamot, lemon and clementine. Green Bourbon geranium oil lets the rose petals shine and contrasts with the dark resinous accord in the base, built around labdanum, oakmoss, patchouli, vetiver and vanilla".

Une rose chyprée is the first scent of a series of things to come, namely the special line Tauer Perfumes "mémorables" (please note it's Tauer Perfumes and mémorables; not "perfumes mémorables" which would mix the two languages!). The aim is to present small size fragrances (0.5oz/15ml) like a sweet praline to be savoured. All of them will either be eau de parfum or parfum concentration (Une Rose Chyprée comes as an eau de parfum), none of them limited editions. The funny little bottles, resembling nail treatments, are practical and come packaged and tied with deep yellow ribbon, finished entirely by hand. I like Tauer's philosophy by which he doesn't put the emphasis on the outside or the details of fancy names and such but on the inside; namely the juice!

Andy had been working on this scent for a year and you can read his thoughts and problematics following his blog. Une rose chyprée will launch officially on July 1st, available through Tauer Perfumes (price 65 CHF and 20CHF shipping worldwide), Aedes, First in Fragrance and Luckyscent.

I have two samples to send to two lucky readers. State your interest in the comments!

In the interests of disclosure I was sent the small 15ml bottle by Tauer himself this time. If my previous dedication is any indication, you know my tastes have not been swayed.

Photo of Yoghurt and Valhrona Shreds © by Perfumeshrine. Kirsten Dunst from Miu Miu 08 via IamFashion.blogspot.com Bottle via Tauer.

Guerlain Parure: fragrance review and history

"She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. She only loved that, she felt made for that. She had such a desire to please, to be envied, to be seductive and sophisticated..."
~Guy de Maupassant La Parure

Much like Madame Loisel, the wife of a civil servant in Guy de Maupassant's novelette, who wants to live the good life, Parure by Guerlain (1975) stands as a precious commodity to be cherished; an ornament that lifts its wearer beyond the mundane and "l'air pauvre au millieu de femmes riches" (looking poor among rich women).
Parure radiates an outgoing feeling of luxury and refinement. One doesn't wear Parure to communicate their feelings, as they would with Chant d'Arômes or Vol de Nuit; or to entangle someone in a seductive web in the manner of Shalimar; but instead one wears Parure to show one's self and to be adored for everything she represents. It's therefore not an accident that it is the signature scent of Kim Catrall, the glamazonian and sexually uninhibited Samantha in Sex & the City, who upon hearing news of its discontinuation declared she has bought "every available bottle on earth" (clearly not, but it shows how loyal a following Parure produces).
In the tale by Maupassant, Madame Loisel borrows the coveted parure jewels from her rich acquaintance Madame Forestier to wear at a grand ball in which she has a truly memorable time but loses the necklace in the process. Ashamed to admit the truth to her friend, she is forced to buy a replacement and thus enter in heavy debt that will entail years of sacrifice and toil. Years later, as the two women meet on the street by chance, the moment of truth comes as Madame Loisel finally admits the circumstances, yet she hears crestfallen that the necklace was made of paste and not diamonds and therefore all her sacrifices to get herself out of the colossal debt had been unnecessary... Contrary to the above story, Parure glistens with the real shine of precious essences and imaginative artistry.

Parure etymologically comes from the Old French, meaning adornment, from the verb parer: to adorn, to prepare. According to Encyclopedia Britannica, parure thus denotes "a matched set of jewelry consisting of such pieces as earrings, bracelet, brooch, necklace, and ring". In fact the complicated suite might include such diverse items such as a necklace, a comb, a tiara, a diadem, a bandeau, a pair of bracelets, pins, rings, drop earrings or cluster-stud earrings, a brooch and even a belt clasp to be worn over an evening gown. Parures rose in popularity from the 17th century onwards in Europe and were mainly reserved for royalty and the really rich, denoting status, strength and the political power of its wearers. Napoléon loved lavishing these gem suites on Joséphine, for her to wear at state functions, while he gave similar sets to his second wife, Marie-Louise, later on. Court members and the higher social ranks vied for the best jewelers with orders for them to create elaborate and original suites that had the clever and intricate characteristic of modularity so that they could be remade into more fashionable, au courant jewels. Therefore necklaces could be worn intact or disassembled into bracelets, pendants, hair ornaments or brooches by incorporating smart interchangeable components and locking systems.

Ever since Guerlain had created the ultimate fruity chypre in the guise of the mysterious Mitsouko in 1919, they sought to create another memorable chypre for their customers. Jean Paul Guerlain, heartned by the success of Chant d'Arômes (1962) and Chamade (1969), tried to accomplish just that in 1975 with Parure. Although Guerlain themselves classify the scent under "floral chypre", Parure is a porthole into fruity chypres with a polished woodfloor background that according to Luca Turin evoke an oriental mood more than anything.

Guerlain's Parure opens on an effusive and noble interlay of bright and dark elements of golden bergamot and sharp greens that soon cede to the spicy notes in its heart that recall the cinnamon touch (due to styrax) that appears in Mitsouko as well. The ripeness of plummy goodness almost as if steeped in rum (comparable to the damascones in Lutens' Bois et Fruits or Feminité du Bois by Shiseido) evokes spring gatherings in stately houses: The floors polished to a shiny, waxy sheen, the curtains of damask draw;, vases full of narcotic lilacs; bright lights illuminating French windows that give way to a majestic view of the woods across the green lawn. Balsamic notes finish off the dinner as if a baba au rhum laced with delicate vanilla pods extract is being savoured while the gentlemen of the company are smoking cigars in the antecedent chamber.
Although Parure is a very radiant, self-confident composition that is not difficult to wear due to its smooth and lush generosity of nature, I find myself drawn more to the mysterious contemplation and sadness of Mitsouko. Those who find the latter hard to tame, full of sharp impediments however, might have better luck with the former. The eau de toilette of Parure is exceptionally lasting as well, especially in the vintage formula.

Notes for Guerlain Parure
Top: bergamot, clary sage, galbanum
Middle: plum, lilac, rose, jasmine
Base: oakmoss, earthy forest notes, spices, vetiver, styrax, Peru balsam, wood

The original Parure extrait de parfum flacon, made by sculptor Robert Granai, took pride of place among the most luxurious of the Guerlain presentations: A round bottle topped by a 'slightly outrageous stopper' (per Jean Paul Guerlain), a delicate dentelle of crystal the inspiration behind which was a glowing sea-view sunset. The Eau de Cologne concentration circulated in the classic "disk" bottles with the pyramidal stopper. Later on, the Eau de Toilette concentration was bottled in simpler architectural flacons with horizontal ribbing, a classical boule diaphanous stopper and a round red and orange label with the name Parure on the body, encased in a box with geometric designs in matching colours. A reformulation that skewed the scent was implemented when the scent was rebottled in the classic "bee" flacons some years ago, but in comparison to the older eau de toilette it is of inferior quality.
In the end Parure was discontinued by Guerlain altogether some years ago due to low demand and is sometimes found online in auctions or at shops with old stock. Instead Guerlain decided to re-use the glorious, copyrighted name for a range of their makeup items. Let's hope that as long as the keep property of that name, there is some chance that the fragrance might be resurrected.

A sample of vintage Parure will be given to a lucky reader to experience this discontinued fragrance! State your interest.

Ad pic through parfum de pub. Bottle pics through Fragrantica and Ebay. Angelina Jolie photo from the Oliver Stone film Alexander.

Sous le Vent by Guerlain: fragrance review (vintage vs.re-issue)

"Funny business, a woman's career. The things you drop on your way up the ladder so you can move faster. You forget you'll need them when you get back to being a woman." The apothecary splash bottle of Sous le Vent by Guerlain resting atop my dresser with its black, disk-shaped label with gold lettering encircling it, makes me think of the logos of old cinematic companies long defunct starring dramatic heroines with high cheekbones hissing deathly lines clad in impeccable tweeds or gala-time smooth silks. Betty Davies in "All About Eve" comes to my mind as she utters those lines, her character in stark contrast to the outwardly maudlin yet steel-hearted assistant-cum-antagonist Eve Harrington.

Although a literal translation would indicate "in the wind", Sous le Vent is French for "leeward" after the name of the tropical Leeward Isles of the lesser Antilles in the Caribbean: indeed the islands are divided into Windward and Leeward groups. Many among those "greener than a dream" isles were colonised by the French, accounting for an interesting, non-coincidental analogy ~the fruit of the Americas which has been Frenchified into Créole. Sous le Vent was composed by Jacques Guerlain for Joséphine Baker in 1933, according to the charming pamphlet provided by the boutique, as a pick-me up for applying after her notorious dance performances in which she often appeared in nothing more than an all too brief skirt made out of bananas on a string. Strutting her proud gazelle frame in the streets of Paris with a pet leopard in tow made everyone forget about Freda Josephine McDonald's humble St.Louis, Missouri birthplace and her vaudeville beginnings, evoking instead the glamourised image of a jungle animal: fierce, supple, ready to leap! And long before Angelina Jolie and Mia Farrow, she had adopted her own Rainbow Tribe: 12 multi-ethnic orphans, proving that titillation of the public and activism aren't mutually exclusive.

It is of interest to note in the iconography of Guerlain print material on their 20s and 30s scents that Sous Le Vent was featured in characteristic illustrations in the "Are you her type" series that included Mitsouko, Vol de Nuit , Liù and Shalimar, indicating that its eclipse among the classics in subsequent years was not due to a lack of intent. Les garçonnes were its natural audience but the ravages of WWII brought other sensibilities to the fore making an angular androgyne scent antithetical to the femme totemism of the new epoch in which the purring, slightly breathless tones of Marilyn Monroe caressed weary ears. It took Guerlain decades to re-issue it; finally a propos the refurbishing of the 68 Champs Elysées flagship store it was the second one to join the legacy collection affectionally called "il était une fois" (=once upon a time) in 2006 after Véga.

I am in the lucky position to be able to compare an older batch of extrait de parfum with my own bottle of the re-issued juice, and although Luca Turin in his latest book claims that the new is very different from his recollection questioning whether it is his memory or Guerlain's "that is at fault", I can attest that the two are certainly not dramatically different. Being a favourite of the black Venus of the merry times between two world wars, should give us a hint that Sous le Vent is a strong-minded affair of great sophistication and caliber. Difficult to wear as a scent to seduce or invite people to come and linger closer due to its acquiline nature, but very fitting as an unconscious weapon for a woman about to close a difficult business deal, embark on a divorce case or hire a professional assassin. It transpires strength! To that effect the vintage parfum offers rich verdancy, a mollified fond de coeur that is perhaps justified by the very nature of the more concentrated, less top-note-heavy coumpound needed for making the extrait or the diminuation of the effervescent citrus top notes. The modern eau de toilette is a little brighter, a little more streamlined and surprisingly a little sweeter in its final stages, yet quite excellent, making it a scent that always puts me in an energetic good mood wherever I apply it lavinshly -because it is alas rather fleeting- from the bottle.

Technically a chypre, yet poised between that and an aromatic fougère* to me, Sous le Vent bears no great relation to the mysterious guiles of Guerlain's Mitsouko but instead harkens back to the original inspiration behind it, Chypre de Coty, but also to another Guerlain thoroughbred ~Jicky (especially on what concerns the aromatic facet of lavender in the latter's eau de toilette concentration). Sous le Vent is both greener and fresher than Mitsouko and Jicky nevertheless, as it eschews the obvious animalic leapings yet retains the cinnamon/clove accent which will later be found in the fantastically "dirty" and underappreciated Eau d'Hermès. All the while however the piquancy that makes Coty's iconic oeuvre as well as Jicky so compelling is unmistakeably there.

Sous le Vent starts with a rush of subtly medicinal top notes of herbs that smell like lavender, rosemary and tarragon, a full spectrum of Provençal aromata. A tart bergamot note along with what seems like bitterly green galbanum skyrocket the scent into the territory of freshness and a smart "clean". Its next stage encompasses dry accords, soon mollified by the heart chord of a classic chypre composition of dusty moss with the sweet tonality of generous flowers that evoke the banana fruit: ylang ylang notably and jasmine sambac. In the final stages I seem to perceive the dusky foliage of patchouli.

Potent and assertive thought it first appears to be, a take-no-prisoners affair for a lady who was known to dance with only a skirt of bananas on, leaving her country for France and being idolized by all social strata, it screams of individualism and élan; yet strangely Sous le Vent, especially the gangly new version, doesn't invoke the scandalising side of Josephine nor her exuberant nature. Complex and elusive, it is certainly not an easy option for today’s women's sensibilities; it is rather too cerebral, too intelligent for its own good, not sexy enough. These qualities however would make it a wonderful masculine addition to a cocky fellow's repertoire. This travel back into more glamorous and individual times is worth the price of admission. Wear it if you are really interesting as a person, it will only enhance that quality.

Notes for Sous le Vent:
Top: bergamot, lavender, tarragon
Middle: jasmine, carnation, green notes
Base: iris, foresty notes, woody notes

The vintage parfum can be found on Ebay from time to time. The current re-issue in Eau de Toilette concentration is part of the Il était une fois collection exclusively sold at boutiques Guerlain and the éspace Guerlain at Bergdorf Goodman, housed in an apothecary style cylindrical bottle of 125ml with a gold thread securing a seal on the cap.

A sample of the modern re-issue will be given to a random lucky reader!

*Fougère is a classic olfactory family -mainly of masculine scents- that relies on a chord of lavender-coumarin-oakmoss.

Pic of Sous le Vent advertisement courtesy of femina.fr
Pic of Josephine Baker costumed for the Danse banane from the Folies Bergère production Un Vent de Folie in Paris (1927) courtesy of Wikimedia commons.

Guerlain Gourmand Coquin, Chypre Fatal, Oriental Brulant: fragrance reviews and musings

Like probably half the female population of the affluent West with about 40 minutes to kill on a winter's week evening ~nails filed at advertising breaks~ I used to watch the comedic escapades of four women on the verge of breakdown (which rarely resulted in stylistic mishaps) as they struted their proud frames along the avenues of Manhattan in Sex & the City.
In the last season's finale Carrie, the marginally emancipated singleton with a shoe fixation, abandonds her beloved New York for Paris to follow her Russian "lovah" who happens to be an artist. Eager to explore the mystique of Paris she dreams of drinking dark-roasts and smoking Gitanes where Sartre smoked, read under the trees in Boulevard Saint-Germain and live the life of a woman in love in the city of romanticism. In view of all that, she mysteriously doesn't go after perfumes (what??) or Lucien Pellat Finet but rather chooses to slip and fall on her face in the Dior boutique instead, which begs the question: do the French wax their marbles to a slippery shine? Ruining her shoes stepping into poo and having a young kid stick her tongue out at her are the reality checks of the god of small things. Suffice to say Paris doesn't really prove like she hoped it would be and in a Dorothy-out-of-Oz conclusion she retraces her path back to Mr.Big who "rescues" her and to the Big Apple.

Guerlain is like the emblematic Paris in the mind of a fragrance fanatic: if it's not good there, it can't be good anywhere. Or so we're led to think. And what do they do about that, you ask? Lately they often present us with the glowing facade of shinning marble to let us fall flat on our face on the disillusionment of shattered expectations with no poo note in there to soften the blow.

Their new trio Elixirs Charnels (Carnal Elixirs) in marshmallow shades have appeared on the horizon of exclusive ~aka expensive~ launches that have otherwise sane people salivating with the anticipation of exquisite rare pearls of non pareil spherical shape to realise that for all their pretty veneer they hide a somewhat lackluster core, chipped by nails that will handle them repeatedly. The idea of perfumer Christine Nagel and artistic director Sylvaine Delacourte of women choosing roles according to moods helps intrigue the consumer, subliminally hinting that they might serve variable purposes; which is exactly the good ole' concept of a "fragrance wardrobe". Nevertheless, although they pose as contrasting personae (the playful woman-child, the icy femme fatale of a Hitchcokian thriller or the hyper-hormoned bombshell that bursts at the seams) they more or less offer a similarly tame exposition of feminine pleasantry. Well-made technically and very approachable, they part ways with Guerlain's older classics being resolutely modern and instantly appealing. Are they sexy? Let's not forget Chris Sheldrake's quote: "In our industry, 'bedroom smell' means the sensuality of jasmine, a powdery, musky soft entity - something that makes the wearer comfortable - and with a comfortable smell that pleases. It means not too violet or too rose or too animalic or too mossy." Let's repeat: not too violet or too rose or...etc.

Gourmand Coquin reprises the caramellic tonalities of Spiritueuse Double Vanille with less depth, possibly with a burnt cotton-candy note more than anything else bringing it close to Aquolina's Pink Sugar and L'artisan's Vanilia. Sweet is as sweet does and I predict this fluffy confectionary pastry that has no bitterness of Valhrona chunks, but only milky lappings of ganache (but less than Iris Ganache) will become very popular.

Chypre Fatal is poised in the venerable cloak of chypre bearing the burden of fatality when the most it could do would be to slap you with the peeled skin of a peach. Not exactly in the mould of modern chypres à la Narciso Rodriguez (which Nagel co-authored) ~those are rather woodies with sanitized patcouli notes~ but not a classic chypre either, Chypre Fatal takes fruitiness into the realm of a clean, if unexciting, musky scent that can be effortlessly worn by even the most meak. This kitten purrs rather than hisses.

Oriental Brûlant is the one closer to the orientalia tradition of Guerlain, if only because it contains that ambery powdery Woofer surround that is the trademark of a recognisably erotic fragrance, in which the French house has excelled for so long. It also manages to smell at once comforting and confident with its hazy almondy tonalities and a silken thread of cool that ties it to Ambra del Nepal by I Profumi di Firenze and Ambre Fétiche by Goutal, as well as the attractive interplay between cool and warm facets of Sonia Rykiel Women- not for men! Oriental Brûlant might not be terribly innovative, but it's quite fetching! Try to forget the advertising scenario and picture it as a personal amulet on days of torpor.

Ultimately, Guerlain's Carnal Elixirs, much like that season finale showed, prove that not everything is as you expect it. And in the end, that's "Abso-fuckin'-lutely" OK.

Official notes:
Gourmand Coquin notes: black pepper, rose, rum, chocolate.
Chypre Fatal notes: white peach, rose, patchouli, vanilla.
Oriental Brûlant notes: clementine, almond, tonka beans, vanilla.

Guerlain Carnal Elixirs are currently available in Eau de Parfum oblong bottles of 75 ml at 165 € via La Maison Guerlain, 68 Avenue des Champs-Elysées, Paris or Begdrof Goodman in New York.

Pic of Sarah Jessica Parker courtesy of HBO. Bottle pics via Le critique du parfum.

Chant d'Aromes by Guerlain: fragrance review

As I lay my hands on the black and ivory keyboard of my Pleyel, fingering Le Lac de Côme, I can't but feel the optimism and bright sunshine of a summer's day that Chant d’Arômes by Guerlain evokes in me as well. One of the lesser known Guerlains, it is akin to an innocent young love that is blossoming into the happiness of womanhood. This summer I happily rediscovered this old flame of mine and have been enjoying its tender peachiness and delicate, caressing powderiness anew.

Chant d’Arômes was created in 1962 by young Jean Paul Guerlain for his future wife, who was so loyal to her favorite Ma Griffe by Carven that she didn't wear any of the fragrances of the house her fiancé was about to inherit! In a getting even roundabout way, Jean Paul created this peachy, lactonic, floral chypre to lure her into wearing a Guerlain and thus made his first foray into the illustrious line of creations of the historical house.
Erroneously translated as "Language of Flowers" sometimes, its French name in fact has the elegiac meaning of "Song of Aromas" which beautifully echoes its oneiric musical cadenzas.

The translucent opening of Chant d’Arômes ~with what seems like a dash of mandarin~ is not unlike the older version of Ma Griffe which was much brighter due to lots of bergamot and aldehydes or Chanel No.22 with its incense touch, lending a sparkling and intriguing character to the composition. It very soon melts into the embrace of the undecalactone of peach skin ~soft, fuzzy and completely mesmerising; tender like the hand of a mother, loving like the gaze of a lover in the first throes of romance. The flowers are all subdued and well blended into a medley of harmonious arpeggios, revealing little hints of this or that at the most unexpected turns, never heady, never loud. Through it all, there sings the brassy contralto of cinnamon, accountable to benzoin, but also reminiscent of the styrax ambience of vintage Ma Griffe's drydown. You would be hard pressed to distinguish any single ingredient as they all sing together with the smoothness of a choir performing Pachelbel's Canon in D; optimistic, lightly sweet, but with the slightest mossy autumnal background, a debt to the unsurpassable Vol de Nuit.
And yet Chant d’Arômes does not aim to be a link in the Guerlain chain, but making a fresh, ever young start it takes us into the realm of the eternally sunny. Although officially classified as a chypre floral by Guerlain, I find that its chypré qualities do not make it difficult, but on the contrary it serves as the perfect choice between floral and chypre for those who do not like the extremes of either category. Its innocence fondles the mystery of youth.



According to Luca Turin in Perfumes, the Guide, it got reformulated in the early 90s to an aldehydic floral of less distinguished nuances, but it has reverted to almost full its peachy glory in 2007 in the famous bee bottles.
Extrait de Parfum was discontinued at one point but is now available at the Paris flagship boutique in Les Parisiennes line; worth pursueing for those who find that the Eau de Toilette lacks the desired staying power.
I have found that the latter performs much better in the sunny and warm weather it naturally evokes, rather than the colder days of the year, and it never fails to put me in a bright and happy mood no matter what might have intervened.

Notes:
top: mirabelle, gardenia, aldehydes, fruits
heart: rose, jasmine, honeysuckle, ylang-ylang
base: benzoin, musk, vetiver, heliotrope, moss, olibanum

Clip "Le Lac de Come" by C.Galos, Op.24, originally uploaded by PSearPianist on Youtube. Pic originally uploaded by MizLiz211 on MUA.

Patou Ma Collection: part 6 ~Colony, L'Heure Attendue, Caline reviews

“The exotic image of the deepest jungle, lush vegetation, powerful spices borne over amethyst seas and strange girls in distant sun-kissed ports.” Thus is described Colony in the booklet which accompanies Patou’s Ma Collection.

In 1938, amid the threat of impending war, Jean Patou chose Colony to evoke the tropics and to suggest a carefree, more prosperous time. A fetid and round fruity chypre, Patou’s Colony is comprised of succulent and non-sweet pineapple as well as heady ylang ylang from Nossi-Be starting on an almost herbal, boozy accord pinching your nose, which needs humidity and the warmth of skin to open up. Under the thick netting covering fruits one can feel unfolding earthy tonalities juxtaposed with what seems like leather and musk in a game of chiaroscuro.

The languorous Colony prowls like Lauren Bacall did in "To Have and Have Not", as Marie "Slim" Browning, a resistance sympathizer and a sassy singer in a Martinique club; the perfect “strange girl in distant sun-kissed ports”. Curvaceous clothes cinched at the waist hold her graceful gazelle form as she leans her long neck to give a sideways aloof look at those who catch her attention.
And she knows full well how to entice Steve: “You know you don't have to act with me, Steve. You don't have to say anything, and you don't have to do anything. Not a thing. Oh, maybe just whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and... blow”.



Colony by Patou possesses that same husky and nostalgic voice which beckons you to whistle invitingly.
Notes for Colony: fruits, pineapple, ylang ylang, iris, carnation, oakmoss, vetiver and spices.

On the other hand, L'heure Attendue is more like the wistful Ilsa played by Ingrid Bergman in "Casablanca". When the Nazi occupation of Paris came indeed at an end, Jean Patou celebrated with “the longed-for hour”, L’heure Attendue; a soft, rather sweet, powdery and woody perfume with creamy taste, embodying elegance, restraint and dutiful sacrifice; it speaks in the melodious tones of a warm-hearted woman.

With shades of Almeras's style in the heart, L'Heure Attendue is sober yet sparkling, all big expressive eyes, smiling yet with a melancholy of realising what all this entailed. The flowers, interweaved into an inseparable posy, are creamy and tender unfolding into a spicy/woodsy drydown which epitomizes classic elegance. One can imagine it worn with the perfect classic tailleur or trench coat, a broad-brimmed hat perched on smooth hair atop softly arched eyebrows. Inside its core a warm, loving heart will forever be pulsating in the beat of happy days spent in Paris.

Notes for L’Heure Attendue: lily of the valley, geranium, lilac; ylang-ylang, jasmine, rose, opopanax; Mysore sandalwood, vanilla, patchouli.

Câline, composed by then in-house perfumer Henri Giboulet, was released by Jean Patou in 1964 as “the first perfume dedicated to teenage girls”. Which means it is unfathomable on anyone who is considered so today! This unblushing aphorism might provoke a flood of inner dialogue in which two sides of consience passionately argue about older and younger mores and how times have irrevocably changed. But the epoch from which Câline hails was by all accounts the era in which young girls aspired to become mature ladies pretty soon, not pigtailed 50-year-olds who carry Hello Kitty bags. There was validation in becoming a grown-up, an antithetical mood to the hysteria of the youth cult which catapulted itself into our consiousness after the 60s. There was nothing apologetic about being older, like there wasn’t either about being younger. Angst and ennui were notions that were just beginning to morph in a world which had healed at long last its WWII scars and envisioned a prosperous future full of the latest technological advancements.

The greenly fresh aldehydic sophistication and malleable primness of Patou’s Câline remind me of Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina, after her European trip in which she becomes a proper “lady”, almost unrecognizable to those who knew her as merely the chauffer’s daughter to the rich family. That je ne sais quoi, which her stay in Paris to amend her broken heart polished her with, is reflected in the refined and discreet trail that Câline leaves behind like a reminder of decorum; or the murmur of enchanting and yet bounded femininity expressed in shadowy iris and insouciant orange blossom, underscored by earthy mossy tones which simultaneously recall shades of Ma Griffe and Ivoire. The piquancy of a basil spicy-like note along with coriander put the finishing touch in its image: It’s poised, ladylike in her kitten-heels and too eager to don the classic pearl necklace with a desire that borders on the ironically saucy.

Not to be confused with Gres Caline from 2005 (nor its flankers, Caline Night and Caline Sweet Appeal)

Notes for Câline: green citrus, spices, jasmin, ylang-ylang, cedarwood, moss, musk.

Clip originally uploaded by zegoar on Youtube. Lauren Bacall and Casablanca pic via Wikipedia. Audrey Hepburn pic via Audrey1. Bottle pics courtesy of Basenotes.

Who's the Chypriest of Them All? ~Y by Saint Laurent: fragrance review

I can recall down to the minute when I became entangled into Yves Saint Laurent’s vision. It was even before I saw his amazing couture on Betty Catroux and Talitha Getty in the photos of the glossy magazines that my mother used to buy and cut out clippings of when she deemed beautiful; and before I leafed through my father’s art-books with the colorful, geometrical Mondrian and trapezoid Braque paintings.

Specifically the trigger had been an olfactory one: stepping into a taxi out of which a woman wearing Opium had just left. My puerile ears had the good fortune of catching the driver’s phrase “My God, this Opium scent is everywhere and it’s so strong!” My mother nodded her beautiful head in silent demi-assent as she always did when she was too polite to disagree or further an argument. Myself I was not yet capable of discerning nuances of speech so as to differentiate a positive from a negative one. I only seem to recall that that was the most exquisite scent I had ever smelled, I was straining to absorb every single molecule I could attach to my nostrils’ Velcro and I was already seriously longing for it as soon as I stepped out of that taxi. I can’t really recall where we were going, whether our purpose was a practical or social one or what we were wearing or how the driver looked like. My memory obliterated all those things, choosing to cherish only the precious memento of first smelling Opium off the sillage of a complete stranger. Such is the power of fragrance!
It haunted me for years and as soon as I had pocket money or could request gifts of beauty I knew what my little heart desired: the forbidden elixir encased in the cinnabar bottle with the black tassel. Other perfumes came and went and I amassed whatever I could lay my hands on, but Yves Saint Laurent became my first fashion icon through Opium.

Blossoming into a woman I personally discovered other creations of his, which brightened my life with their beauty and style. One of them was Y, his first fragrance for women. Named after his initial, I imagine it also allied to the French pronoun for “there”, since it is definitely very much there: it imposed its presence with elegance and the endurance of a true classic.
Y was issued in 1964 (2 years after Yves's first YSL collection) and was composed by nose Jean Amic in a beautiful, solid, architectural bottle designed by Pierre Dinard.

Exactly two years before Yves was rocking the catwalks with the Norman Smock, a garment debuting more than 1,000 years ago but serving as an inspiration for YSL peasant-looking shirts, Russian tunics, Chinese coats, boho artist's jacket, or even the jacket of a gabardine pantsuit over the years: Yves was already doing what he considered style ~the reference that provides a solidarity to one’s wardrobe away from the dictations of currency. Clothes should be made to last and speak through the years.
Much like his fluid fashions of 1964, with languorous gowns, gracious pantsuits and flowing tunics that draped curves rather than suppressed them, Y the fragrance became the emblem of la maison Laurent: flamboyant if you look at the prism from an angle that the sun catches it producing a vivid rainbow on the wall, restrained if you look at it from an angle where it shines with the natural incandescence of clear crystal.

In many ways Y was a departure from the prim and tasteful aldehydic fragrances of the times such as Le Dix or Madame Rochas, proposing a greener, more subversive, emancipated chypre that would herald the onset of the powerful chypres of the 70s. And yet it did so with elegance, without the shock value of Bandit or the intensity of Aromatics Elixir, yet without betraying the bedrock of the genre’s character. “Which is the chypriest of them all?” And possibly the chirpiest…
Y took the powdery aldehydic notes of previous beauties and gave them a retouch of bluish grey dense brushstrokes of shadow-y depth that mollify the sparkling honeysuckle and the heady hyacinth heart into something that approximates Marc Franz paintings: the striking and angular happily coexist with the curvaceous. Above all, Y highlights oakmoss in perhaps the last composition –up to the time of writing- to retain some semblance of fidelity to the rotting frisée of the parasitic lichen that laces itself upon the mighty oak. Its animalic but classy echo is heard through the urban forests to the pursuit of discerning suitors.
If you have loved Ma Griffe for its spicy emerald song, Chanel No.19 for its audacious herbal iris, the vintage Miss Dior for its naughty seduction under wraps and 31 Rue Cambon as a bastard descendant of the greats who pays a visit when the need strikes and you haven’t tested Y by Yves Saint Laurent yet, serious amiss should be amended before it is utterly ruined.

Notes:
Top: aldehydes, peach, gardenia, mirabelle and honey suckle.
Middle: Bulgarian rose, jasmine, tuberose, ylang ylang, orris and hyacinth.
Base: oak moss, amber, patchouli, sandalwood, vetiver, civet, benzoin and styrax.

Y by Yves Saint Laurent is easily available at department stores and online.

Update on reformulation: the newest Eau de toilette bottles have a gold cap and the Y straight up and down versus a white cap and an italicised Y for the older ones. The name on the bottom of the bottle is Sanofi Beaute for the older ones, the group that YSL Parfums joined in 1993. Sanofi Beaute however was acquired by Gucci Group in 1999 and Yves Saint Laurent has been recently acquired by L'oreal, heralding further tampering with the formula.

Pics provided by "Armanis", posted in fond admiration

Caught In Her Clutches ~Ma Griffe by Carven: fragrance review

Mademoiselle Carven defined her fragrant prototype as "an outdoor perfume that needs to give up its heady character", resembling her, hence the name and the packaging: "white for innocence, youth, and freshness; green because to me it's the most beautiful colour in the world". The creation was none other than Ma Griffe (my signature), the legendary 1946 masterpiece of -by then- already anosmic Jean Carles, for which a startlingly different advertising campaign was devised: parachuting Trocadero in Paris with thousands of sample bottles! What a wonderful idea!

But Carven wasn't born so. Petite to extremis, Mademoiselle Carmen de Tomaso founded a fashion house at ni6, Rond Point des Champs Elysées to cater to dainty women's needs like her own, among them Michelle Morgan and Edith Piaf. She decided very early on that her Spanish-sounding name was not on a par in the Paris scene; so she went through the whole alphabet substituting consonants till she stumbled upon V. Carven it would be, alors! From then on she produced frocks as well as frags, from Vert et Blanc and the iconic men's Vétiver to the trio of Robe d'un Jour, Robe d'un Soir and Robe d'un Rêve (a dress for day, a dress for evening and a dress for a dream).

Ma Griffe is referenced in Janet Fitch's novel White Oleander , a story about dysfunctional foster care, as the signature scent of Olivia Johnstone, a stylish and agreeable prostitute next door who befriends the young narrator Astrid and later gives her a bottle of Penhaligon's, a metaphor for their relationship. Fitch had an aunt who was an actress, spoke French and traveled to Paris, so when "a really chic French perfume" was needed, Ma Griffe came to mind.

True to form, Ma Griffe is a very Parisian idea of a springtime and summer fragrance, très élegant, its cooling freshness contrasting with warmth underneath, powdery as nothing else can be and starkly green. The gardenia note is constructed on styralyll acetate, same as in Miss Dior one year later on a formula by Jean Carles perfectioned by Paul Vacher. Generally floral chypres of the times relied on the heady greenness of this synthesized aroma for their kick of feminine guiles, before progressing to jasmolactone and the tiglates of today.
Like I had written when composing the Chypre Series, Ma Griffe was conceived to be "very powdery dry and quite spicy thanks to the weird note of styrax, [...and] managed to be assertive in its name (it means "my signature", but also "my talon") and supremely sparkly and feminine in its aroma. It marked the introduction of chypres into the arena of professional women. Those were not factory workers of the war or flappers; they were secretaries at the new firms; twin set in place, string of pearls and a slick of lipstick on impeccably powdered faces. The psychology of those new chypres talked about women who earned their living by themselves, but did not manifest themselves as sexual predators: There is a sense of detachment and intelligence".


Sadly, Ma Griffe has changed its colours like a cornered chameleon over the years, due to change of ownership of the brand, resulting in the occasional cheapening of the formula, opposing opinions and confusion when trying to locate a bottle that prompts the djin to come out. The formula has indeed been reworked multiple times since its birth, ending with the latest version of 2006 eau de parfum being a one-dimensional soapy floral. Current owndership of Arco International is reportedly trying to reposition it. Let's hope so!

Maria, also known as Bittergrace to her accomplishes in pagan reversion, critters' photography, political wit and artistic smuttiness, had been most kind in sending me a round of vintage versions for me to compare and contrast with my own and the memories of the women in my family who have worn Ma Griffe faithfully.

The oldest, coming from the 70s in a splash bottle smells intensely citrusy, with an aldehydic fizz that makes a sparkling overture to the floral green proceedings. Since bergamot was one of the first photo sensitizers to be heavily restricted, I assume the second batch in a clear swirl-capped bottle, which comes from the 80s, has lost its shining citrus tang due to that. In addition it is heavily powdery and more assertive, in accordance to the times perhaps, with a pleasing off note that manages to remind me of the impossibly chic fragrance my grandmother wore. Last, but not least, an early to mid-90s formula of parfum de toilette reveals facets of the 80s vintage but less potent, while still not as bright as the first one, but quite good.
Maria warned me about the 'eau de toilette' in a broad-shouldered bottle with a green plastic cap, describing it as "just unbelievably awful. Avoid it like the plague!" Duly noted, Maria!

Originally Ma Griffe was marketed as a young scent at a time when the youth segment had not been catered for. Ironically one of the most common complaints is it smells old. Myself, I ascribe that only to changed perceptions and vogues.
Ma Griffe can be traced on online discounters, certain shops and on Ebay. Careful attention to packaging and bottles as well as sampling from different periods might help you find the version you prefer.

Notes:
Top: Gardenia, Galbanum, Aldehydes, Clary sage
Middle: Jasmine, Ylang-Ylang, Rose, Sandal, Vetiver
Base: Styrax, Cinnamon, Benzoin, Tonka Bean, Labdanum, Musk

Pics courtesy of parfum de pub. Clip originally uploaded by courageousjohnny on Youtube