Cerruti 1881: fragrance review

The realm of soapy fragrances is huge, probably because "cleanliness is next to godliness" in several cultures. Therefore buying at least one fragrance that would prolong that feeling of freshness and would broadcast one's good intentions and respectability all around is probably necessary in an inclusive and nuanced fragrance wardrobe.

Fenella Chudoba by Zhang Jingna via

Within this vast field there is a spectrum: some soapy nuances come from fatty aldehydes, accounting for classic aldehydic florals like Chanel no.5 and Arpege, some come with powdery accents like Caleche, while some with their own dry but at the same time soothing, innocent elements. Cerruti 1881 belongs to this latter category with "flour de lin" its signature core note, as per perfumer Claire Cain.

The note of chamomile is the dominant one, however, throughout Cerruti 1881 For Women, a soothing note of German chamomile tisane, almost soporific, though the dryness of the composition retains it from becoming too juvenile and keeps it in the adult world.  Herbal without being green or aromatic, it projects like an imaginary linen flower, tactile and smooth.
A section of iris projects starchy and ironed, like a shirt that has been pressed, while the accompanying, powerful note of mimosa is that touch of innocence that prolongs the feeling of the chamomile. Mimosa has light heliotrope-like and honeyed-sugared aspects, and it naturally includes farnesol which acts as an insect pheromone within the blossom, but as a fixative and floralizer in perfumery. It almost gives a linden tree impression, which further reinforces the soothing properties of chamomile.

In short, it's hard to be seen as dangerous in something like Cerruti 1881, but its dry elegance makes it a suitable fragrance for innocuous occasions and office wear. Its light, starched florals quality makes for an easy like from most people.

Estee Lauder Pleasures: fragrance review

Can there be a fragrance "fit for every woman in every season and at every moment"? A long, long time ago, this held true through the notion of the "signature scent", the olfactory equivalent of a calling card. During the 1990s - smack in the middle of which Pleasures was launched by American champion of the cosmetics counter, Estee Lauder - this notion had fallen sideways in favor of the cash-bringing concept of a "fragrance wardrobe".

photo by Edward Steichen via

Much as the hereby contradicting brief therefore foretold of a foible in capturing "the moment", the commercial success of Pleasures was cemented in reinforced concrete. And even the scent somewhat hints at the smell of concrete itself. But let me explain.

A fragrance for every season and every moment, for every woman, is by definition somewhat inoffensive, crowd pleasing, middle of the road. No big ripples, no histrionics, but no soft whisper either; it should be recognizably shared, coveted as the mark of the Aristotelean kalos kagathos. Alberto Morillas is the perfumers' equivalent of kalos kagathos, in the very best sense. Or maybe he's just got the touch of Midas, everything he touches turns to gold; there's that, too.

Pleasures owes its immaculate sheen to a preponderance of aldehydes, those frothy, citrusy, soapy materials handed down from mother's and grandmother's perfume, soaked into copious amounts of musk for clean starchiness that recalls the smell of wet concrete after the rain. It's Morillas's Spanish background (with a hand from Annie Byzantian) that is the rock-bed on which the double notion of clean yet piquant rests, and which forms the reigning glory of Pleasures. The rising peppery warmth (highlighted on an already warm skin) thanks to the unusual but tiny addition of the mesmerizing and pricey karo-karounde extract and the soft pink pepper (i.e. baie rose) add to the more prim aspects to create something that is beyond scrubbed clean, it's handsome.

You can also read about one of the print advertisements of Pleasures seen through an Art History lens on this link.