Chanel Coco by Chanel: fragrance review

Coco by Chanel must be among a handful of fragrances on the market to have not only one, but two flankers without being a spectacular market success to begin with. Flankers are supporting fragrances coat-tailing on the success of the original perfume, borrowing part of the name of the original as well as the bottle mould, but differing in scent and target demographics. Coco has two: Coco Mademoiselle, an alarmingly successful best-seller for youngish women that has far eclipsed the original, and Coco Noir, a woody fragrance of recent crop with dubious presence on the market as yet. Today Coco seems old fashioned and aimed only at mature women, fading-to-market-black, but soon after it came out it profited of a marketing campaign that positioned it as a sexy debutante scent, fronted by then teenager Vanessa Paradis! Funny how perceptions change and we used to wear Ungaro Diva and the like when not yet out of high school, right?

The most astounding personal association I have with Coco has always been one that pertains to its market share, not the scent itself: In all my many years of perfume observation & appreciation I have never met in real life a person owning a bottle of Coco, a fact which had always struck me as weird considering the continued presence of the perfume on the counters. Chanel No.19 is also an undivided presence on the local counters (and a steady seller according to SAs), but I actually know people who wear it, I smell it on the street from time to time and I have seen bathroom shelves with a bottle of it proudly displayed more than once or twice. Someone must be buying Coco too, then, right?
But let's take things at the top.

Aiming to capture a more Baroque side of Chanel, taking the sobriquet given to Gabrielle Chanel by her escapee father and inspired by Gabrielle's Rue Cambon apartment with its casket-like rooms full of Venetian glass, Chinoiserie panels and leather bound books, house perfumer Jacques Polge set out to compose a true 1980s perfume following the commercial smash hit of YSL Opium: bold, brash, take no prisoners. And he succeeded in the most part.

The fragrant secrets of Coco by Chanel
One of the peculiarities of Coco is that it was among the first perfumes to be conceived not as an extrait de parfum first but rather envisioned in its diluted form of eau de parfum. The market had gone away from the more discreet, more intimate use of parfum extrait and demanded a really powerful spray that would announced the wearer before she was seen; ergo the eau de parfum (and sometimes the parfum de toilette) concentration, less expensive than extrait but rivaling its lasting power, while at the same time being extra loud thanks to the volatility boost via the spraying mechanism.

The secret ingredient in the formula of Coco by Chanel is the inclusion of the base Prunol*, a rich and dark "dried fruits & spices" mélange famously exalted in Rochas Femme by Edmond Roudnitska, which gives Coco a burnished hint of raisin. The cascade of honeyed spices immediately asserts itself: pimento, cardamom, cinnamon, cumin and clove, while the overall feeling is one of amber plush and resinous warmth (with a wink of leather) with the flowers folded into a rich batter and undiscernable. The patchouli (tucked into the Prunol base) gives a whiff of chocolate, though, in the words of Susan Irvine, not even a fashion innovator of the magnitude of Chanel would have considered a note reminiscent of a bedtime drink as worthy of consideration in fine fragrance. (One would perversely wish she had lived through present fruitchouli-infested times to see how she'd chuckle under her smartly cuffed sleeve.)

A Perfume Apart
Coco by Chanel enjoys something of a revered status among perfumistas, so it's not clear whether it should be considered an "underrated perfume" in the first place, but my inclusion in the Underrated Perfume Day series isn't totally random as it would appear on first sight nevertheless. First of all it was demanded by quite a lot of readers. Secondly, this is the kind of perfume that I should be theoretically crazy about (a spicy oriental in the mold of my beloved YSL vintage Opium, Cinnabar, Feminité du Bois and Krizia Teatro alla Scala) and yet I am not. Indeed I have been trying it on and off for decades now.

However when married with a huge bottle of Coco (extrait de parfum in spray no less) I had the following peculiar problem, for something so -allegedly- admired: I could NOT swap it with other interested perfumephiles no matter what! I tried everything: stooping to suggesting I'd trade for inexpensive eaux de toilette from mainstream brands, offering to supplement with generous niche samples, pleading "please take it off my hands, it's a shame it should collect dust, just take it already". No one wanted it. I finally gifted it off to a women's shelter where its whereabouts have been lost to me. The perfume lover who had sold it to me in the first place recounted to me the exact same problem: "I spent two years trying to get this thing off my hands; when you came along and showed an interest I couldn't believe it".

Is Coco by Chanel something that perfumistas like to reference but rarely -if ever- wear? Are its wearers merely nostalgic for the 1980s, a time they were young and more optimistic, and therefore owning a little bottle is just that, a memento of carefree times? Is it, finally, past its due and not that spectacular to begin with? I think a bit of all those things. One thing however that it did magnificently well was its advertising by Jean Paul Goude: Vanessa Paradis as an exotic bird in a cage whistling to the meowing of a big greedy cat outside and "l' ésprit de Chanel" as the tag line. Coco Chanel would have been proud.

For more perfume reviews of such fragrances check out the Underrated Perfume Day feature and scroll for more musings. 

*For modern takes on the Prunol type base in perfumes, look no further than Bottega Veneta eau de parfum, Chinatown by Bond no.9 and Mon Parfum Chéri by Camille (Annick Goutal).

Jil Sander No.4: fragrance review & history & free perfume giveaway

Although No.4 by Jil Sander comes nowhere near the novelty of Maxwell's laws of electrodynamics, it is despite its in the wings presence rather memorable to me both for its expansive radius of spicy oriental scent and the fact that its relative success condoned an infamous scented catastrophe just one year later, Spellbound by Estee Lauder (1991). But whereas you'd have to dig a moat around the house that kept a bottle of Spellbound (even in a remote drawer, under lock and key in a wooden box), Jil Sander No.4, although a characteristic 1980s-style powerhouse that would challenge the best of the lot in radiance, thrived on a somewhat less carnivorous attitude, This is exactly what makes it worthwhile of rediscovering it nowadays that we crave more flesh-eating perfumes after a prolonged 20 year-lasting perfume diet of either strict veganism or one for severe hypoglycemia. It's a the Lana del Ray effect: there's something trashy retro about her, but refreshingly different from the average pop singer too which makes it very "now and happening".

Tomb of Talma by Helmut Newton, Pere Lachaise cemetary  Paris 1977, via Pinterest

Coming out in 1990, No.4 by Jil Sander had both accumulated the gist of the big orientals that dominated the decade of carnage (and emulated their core elements), such as YSL Opium, CK Obsession, Dior Poison and to a lesser degree Cinnabar and Cacharel Loulou, but had also devised a way to give an impression of quiet animalism, an aura of worn elegance that was antithetical to the distance that the quarterback shoulder pads of these fragrances evoked at the same time.

It's utterly meaningless to try to differentiate "notes" in this perfume, as the weaving of each thread in this complex macramé is so intricate and complex that it would be more of an exercise in author's vanity than an actual helpful breakdown. The notes read like there's everything and the kitchen sink in it. It'd be much more practical to say that No.4 by Jil Sander is warm, perceptibly spicy with anise and what I sense as clove-coriander (a whiff of pomander), with a tuberose heart winking to Poison's direction. And more importantly it has the sort of oriental base that characterizes big 1980s classics: big, proud, Amazonian, sounding its barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.

If you like that sort of nyctophyliac thing, you will like this sort of thing, but it's worth keeping in mind these are bombastic perfumes worthy of a mini Katrina in radius; be sparing and considerate of your fellow human beings when applying, don't ambush them in the morning train to work.
If you enjoy anise and clove orientals but want something more contemporary (with a much higher price tag), you can look into Noir Epices by Frederic Malle for an alternative. If you'd rather settle for the under-appreciated underdog, No.4 can be found online for a decent price.

I have a vintage boxed miniature to share with a lucky reader. Please comment below this post with your impressions/opinions/questions to enter the draw. Draw is open internationally till Sunday midnight and winner will be announced some time on Monday.

Notes for Jil Sander No.4:
Top: geranium, peach, bergamot, plum, anise
Heart: rose, violet, jasmine, tuberose, heliotrope, ylang ylang, coriander
Base: amber, sandalwood, oakmoss, patchouli, vanilla, musk, civet, cedar, tonka bean.

Related reading on PerfumeShrine:
Underrated Perfume Day (reviews of forgotten fragrances),
Oriental Perfume Basics.

La Belle Epoque in Clove-Scented Buds & Modern Carnation Fragrances

There's something about the imaginary buds of pepper and clove that conjure the drawing rooms of La Belle Epoque, where carnation bouquets were bursting off their vases, and of funereal wreaths heaving with the sadness of the vanished; an illusion, an unaccountable stay of execution, the carnation blossoms. This tightly swirled affair of fragrant petals, so disregarded, so pedestrian, so much of a filler flower. And yet...From deep beneath its corolla comes the scent of a bygone era and the remnants of romance; a spicy effluvium that speaks of anticipative prom corsages as much as of hidden passions.

Source: 29.media.tumblr.com via S H E L L I E on Pinterest

REFLECTIONS ON AN WEARY EYE

Oscar Wilde himself, king of hidden passions, was infamous for his allegiance to the curly blossom which decorated his groomed attire, as much as his homoerotic proclivities; it was "The Green Carnation", a short-lived but widely read scandalous novel from 1894 that supposedly reprised the illicit love affair of the Irish author with Lord Alfred Douglas, which damaged his reputation beyond repair and was held against him in a court of law. Subsequent lore even goes as far as to suggest that the green carnation on his lapel was a nod to the Parisian pederast scene, and yet there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that it was so; in fact were there any shred of truth in that claim it would have been presented during his libel trial regarding the Marquess of Queensbury. But such is the nature of the flower; it provokes with both its voluptuous appearance and its spicy bouquet which removes it from the realm of the chaste and the virginal into the territory of the fierce. After all, in the language of flowers a deep red carnation stands for mad love and affection. Pink and white carnations on the other hand represent a mother's love, enshrined into becoming the official Mother's Day blossom, inspired by the religious tale of having sprang from the earth from the tears of the Virgin Mary weeping for her son on the cross.

If your only acquaintance with carnations (Dianthus caryophyllus) is the refrigerated, florist shop, overbred kind that fills bouquets of more posh flowers in need of a larger budget, or sad, funeral wreaths, the jolting into smelling the vanilla-laced yet oddly phenolic, smoky pepperiness of a good garden variety -such as the Sweet William or the revived Malmaison carnations (reprised in the now discontinued Floris fragrance by the very name), huge and headily fragrant- is enough to make you reconsider.

Most carnation scents harken back to old days quite factually. The incontestable Poivre and the diluée Coup de Fouet, both Caron, are badges of another era, when a Cruella Deville warmth emanating from a plush fur coat was considered the height of chic instead of an invasion of private space and asinine disregard for animal rights. Bellodgia, another Caron, this time more romantic rather than baroque, with its sweetish, soft halo was a huge success when it came out in 1927, reminiscent of Italian vacations. Today it is considered nostalgically retro, too signora for today's signorinas. Ernest Daltroff, the maverick perfumer and founder of the French house, was extremely fond of carnation, nevertheless, injecting it along with his equally beloved Mousse de Saxe like a stealth superpower in almost everything he made. It is unfathomable to speak of carnation fragrances without mentioning the Caron canon; En Avion, Or et Noir, Le Troisieme Homme...there's no end. Even in modern Caron releases, such as the liturgical leaning Parfum Sacre, carnation plays an important role, it's a true fetish!

The prime of carnation fragrances came in the 1920s and all the fragrances of the period are specimens constructed on cloves, with which carnations share facets, as we will see further on. This genre, a, harmonious spicy blend, was considered evocative of the tropics, fanned on cardamom, coriander, cinnamon, cloves and pepper, alongside heady, narcotic flowers, in tune with the Orientalism that pervaded the roaring 20s. Guerlain even revisited this idea with their modern Terracota Voile d'Ete a while ago. Most of those fragrances however, like Oeillet Fane by Grenoville, Patou's Adieu Sagesse or Lancome's Fleches, have all but disappeared with (almost) no trace. Blue Carnation by Roger & Gallet was very popular, ensuring a continued existence, but it finally capitulated; the 1937 scent's been discontinued to the dismay of many; at least the soap survives. If we know and recognize a carnation in a complex blend today we owe it most of all to the enduring success of L'Air du Temps by Nina Ricci, the fragrance which in 1947 consolidated what Coty's L'Origan had inaugurated in 1905 and which L'Heure Bleue made impossibly romantic, the spicy floral. Indeed L'Air du Temps owes a lot to the spicy chord inside its complex, nuanced heart, making the fragrance piquant instead of merely soft and pretty.

Source: powder-blue-birdie.blogspot.com via Justine on Pinterest

This trick is carried over to other fragrances, sometimes NOT specifically within the soliflore category, following the Ricci paradigm: Charlie (Revlon), Norell (Norell and later Revlon), Balahe (Leonard), all take carnation to the bosom to inject a much needed accent, even in greener compositions. Some even take things further, proposing the spicy floral in an orientalized blend, such as Vol de Nuit (Guerlain), Dioressence (Dior) Opium (Yves Saint Laurent), Cinnabar and Spellbound (both Lauder) the original Poison (Dior), Roma (Laura Biagotti)..... The carnation there imparts a fresh spiciness amidst the heftier elements. We might as well see the breakthrough of this latter trend in the potent carnation direction of Tabu by perfumer Jean Carles.

Contemporary creators are not indifferent to such a fierce adherence to this passionate note: Jar's Golgonda behaves like a grand-daughter to Coup de Fouet, clotted cream inside the fieriness, one can almost picture it on the proverbial feisty red-head. Diamond Water is still carnation, but lighter and more transient, with a metallic quality, like a cross between Parfum Sacre and Bellodgia. Garofano, dense and almost thorny to wade through, by Lorenzo Villoresi, is a successor of the hefty tradition. Modern fragrances with a rather light-hearted, unisex character include Dianthus by Etro and Comme des Garcons Carnation from Series 2 Red. Masculine scents, incontestably virile, also utilize carnation for good measure: look no further than Equipage by Hermes, Cacharel pour Homme, Tabac Original (Mauer & Wirtz), Worth Pour Homme and the classic standby Old Spice.

THE PERFUMER'S ART

Eugenol and isoeugenol are practically inseparable in nature so it makes sense to use both when constructing a carnation accord. The former appears prominently in cloves, as well as in allspice and bay leaf, but also in basil and floral essences (rose, ylang ylang, jasmine), while the latter (detectable in nutmeg and mace) is more floral-balsamic, accounting for a truer "carnation blossom" scent.

L'Artisan Parfumeur's wondrously natural-smelling and deliciously soft carnation scent, sadly discontinued, Oeillet Sauvage, was based on two main floral components: rose and ylang ylang, no doubt aided by spicy accents. Etro's dianthus is a similar take. Guerlain experimented in Metallica, renamed Metalys, when the band objected. The whole exercise proved unpopular however, making the remaining bottles rare collectibles. Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Soie Rouge is a rich, satisfying carnation with a generous side of good materials. Prada has Oeillet in the boutique exclusive line.

originally taken by Dimitri Dimitriades (sorceryofscent.com)

Source: Uploaded by user via PerfumeShrine on Pinterest

"Natural rose extract and ylang essential oils are the real thing: rich in depth and volume, varying in quality and ...expensive. Especially the rose oil. The "cheat" there is to use nice and cheaper rose and ylang bases provided by industry. Mostly synthetic, but doing the trick for the large scale markets." says Andy Tauer of niche line Tauer Perfumes. Rose is exactly the trick in Eternity by Calvin Klein; the scent smells like carnations, but is built on roses.

The molecule 4-vinyl guiacacol, coming from grape-drived percursors in yeast and must, is an interesting proposition: in white wines it has the double edge of appearing like a fresh carnation in dilution or a dense clove off-note in concentration. The crucial percentage is dependent on grape variety, yeast strain used and the fermentation process, a delicate balance which shows the secret bond between carnation and cloves best of all.

Regardless of carnations falling out of fashion, the sweet-spicy note is frequently part of both women's and men's fragrances, and will remain so in the future. A number of compounds with a carnation character have been invented, supplementing the above stated naturals. Benzyl isoeugenol, or 2-methoxy-1-(phenylmethoxy)-4-(1-propenyl)benzene, a solid with a balsamic note and a powdery carnation-like sweetness, and Methyl Diantilis ® (Givaudan), or 2-ethoxy-4-(methoxymethyl)phenol, which has a sweet-smoky odor with powdery aspects reminiscent of carnation are two of the most popular ones.

The main constituents in the spicy bouquet of carnation are eugenol and isoeugenol. It is therefore unfortunate and foreboding that these substances are greatly rationed in the recent specifications of the SCCS and IFRA directives, signaling a recalibration of how a carnation accord is constructed in perfumery. But not all is blek: Eugenol is strong enough, even in the 0.5% limit in the final formula and new discoveries promise to preserve this retro spicy note.
Lately carnation is revisited anew: Vitriol d'Oeillet is a very recent release by Serge Lutens, steeped into the gothic and mystical ambience for which the maestro is known. If Lutens is doing it, everyone will soon be doing it.

Caron Bellodgia: fragrance review & history

Much like Caron's Pour un Homme is a study in lavender, done in a simple equation style giving so much more in perceived value, so Bellodgia is Caron's study of carnations, but in all their rich depth. I am not surprised many perfume lovers like Bellodgia, even floral haters. Unlike its reputation for a soliflore (the fragrance that reproduces the scent of a single flower, carnation in this case) it's really complex and not simplistic. Loving carnations sincerely, I had to have this perfume in my collection. Carnations have a scent that is not really floral, but definitely spicy and richly intimate. Who in their right mind deemed them "humble" for offering is beyond me. That spiciness is the reason I like storks also; another not quite so chic flower with its intense skatole quota (Skatole is the predominant molecule in excrement, its name deriving from the Greek word for shit; oh well, nothing is as it appears.)

Bellodgia seems the definitive carnation scent exactly because of its spiciness and complexity of its quality essences (allegedly its top note alone comprises 100 essences, a claim I find rather hard to believe); yet it is really a somewhat orientalized spicy perfume, rich in peppery notes that give a jangling quality to begin with, then segue into carnation richness with nuances of vanilla and woods warmth, which lasts incredibly well. The current eau de toilette opens with a note of incense comparable to Caron's Nuit de Noel and Parfum Sacre. The clove tint is a living remnant of retro perfumery of the turn of the 20th century, when carnations were recreated with flower notes (ylang ylang and rose) and cloves. At the time the buoyancy of the combination that resulted in a soapy, inedible impression signified perfume, a sign of wealth and status.

 The heady, not so innocent kick of carnation is baroque-like in Bellodgia, like the sheen of brocade cloth, where every change of the light brings out hidden reflections in the fabric. Similarly, the longer this Caron perfume stays on, the more it gains in creaminess and powder facets, prone to be deemed "old lady smelling" by those consumers who dismiss by that derogative term anything that isn't reminiscent of cake batter or linen drawers. The classical turn can smell a bit dated, a fact that shouldn't deter the male of the species grabbing it in an effort to turn what can be predictable and ageing for one gender into an unexpected burst of good news for the other, if they dare. The vintage formulation of Bellodgia is perhaps guiltier in the rich powderiness and the floral impact (aka more ladylike), while the modern versions are sheeting everything in the envelope of warm skin-scent musks, but more so in eau de toilette than in eau de parfum, the latter more floral and denser overall and more lasting. It's easy to spot the difference: the latest bottles have a purple label (or are encased in the shagreen tubes that the whole line has progressed onto, this time in purple), the older ones sport a white one.
The extrait de parfum is smoother than both but the problems with sandalwood supply in later years have subtly changed its base note over the last decade.

 Created in 1927, Bellodgia was the result of the collaboration of Caron founder Ernest Daltroff and one-time dress maker Felicie Vanpouille, who lent her fashion expertise to the company's scents. Specifically it was inspired by Italy and its countryside of wild carnation fields, particularly the picturesque town of Bellagio, perched high above the incredibly beautiful Lake Como, it smells sunny yet deep. Full of classical drama? Indeed. It is perhaps its assertion and its projection that accounts with its popularity over past decades with American customers. Bellodgia is a masterful blend of floral essences, so it needs some time to be blocked and some repeated exposure for it to be really appreciated, much like a good Bordeaux. And for those who sorta like Bellodgia, but want a smooth spices carnation without the powdery floralcy? Try Caron's Tabac Blond. You'll thank me later...

  Notes for Caron Bellodgia: lily of the valley, rose, carnation, violet, jasmine, clove, musk, vanilla and sandalwood.

Worthy of a read: One woman's love affair with Bellodgia.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Caron news & fragrance reviews.
vintage ads via polyvore and  the non blonde

Caron Poivre & Coup de Fouet: fragrance reviews & comparison

Poivre by Caron plays out like J.S Bach's double concerto for 2 violins in D minor, 1st movement: Two complimenting themes, carnation and clove, in contrapuntal dialogue, one finishing off the phrase of another in a leitmotif which manages to punctuate time with its own special seal. Despite its name, which means pepper in French, and the vicious-looking studded with peppercorns bottle, Poivre features the hot "king of spice" in a supporting role. To bring the musical analogy full circle, let's just say pepper in Poivre is the basso continuo.

Poivre is the kind of fragrance that creates the feeling J.S Bach compositions stir in my soul and has been a longtime companion for as far back as I was aware of Caron; if not as far back as Bach. There is such contextualised coherence that everything in the world seems at its rightful place, everything in perfect, clashing harmony. If the composer once walked 200 miles to hear Dieterich Buxtehude play the organ, I'd walk on hot coals to get an ounce of Poivre parfum in its vintage state.

History of Creation
In 1953, Félicie Wanpouille -savvy of the emergence of a different aesthetic inaugarated with the New Look by Dior- asked perfumer Michel Morsetti for a fragrance that would be out of whack with its times. Morsetti had already created (at least 2) classics in the Caron stable: Farnesiana (1947), Rose (1949), and Muguet du Bonheur (1952).  The fifties were all about good-mannered lactonic florals and sheer floral chypres continuing from the late 1940s. Only Youth Dew was braving the wave, making it possible later for Cinnabar, Opium and all the rest of the Medina-spice caravan-brocard tapestry orientals that followed. Michel Morsetti obliged and in 1954 Poivre emerged; impulsive, rich, sinful, drop dead sexy! "Parfum de la femme moderne" as per the vintage advertisements: the perfume of the modern woman.
The bottle design with the peppercorn studs was no doubt a throwback to classic pomanders which relied on cloves for their antimicrobial prophylactic properties; perfume as medicine...

Scent Description 
The original 1950s advertisements featured a Chinese-style dragon, in tune with the firecracking pyrotechnics of the fragrance's fiery breath.  The daredevil spices open the scene, intense clove, flanked by pepper, and they come back again and again in an endless recycling and expansion of the leitmotif, a structure that is reminiscent of older ways of composing, but maxed out to orgiastic effect. The lush floral chord is built on carnation and ylang ylang, the peppery bite of one falling into the solar embrace of the other. As the scent progresses, there is a hint of vanilla, hazy opoponax and leather on the skin, a soft focus camera lens on a racy subject. The combination of carnation and leather brings to mind another Caron legend, En Avion, dedicated to women in aviation.

Coup de Fouet & comparison with Poivre
Poivre was conceived as the original extrait de parfum creation out of which Coup de Fouet (a most brilliant & fitting name, "crack of the whip") emerged as a diluted Eau de Cologne Poivrée. The theme is similar, the effect somewhat lighter in the weaker concentration, with a boosted effect of rose that is orientalised, spicy and raspy, still mighty impressive. Coup de Fouet is as warm as a fur coat and as commanding attention. It prompted writer Susan Irvine to  state it's "what Cruella de Vil would have worn"; so if you're the soft type crying over those poor 101 Dalmatians and can't manage a streak of bitchiness, don't even bother.
Coup de Fouet nowadays is offered at Caron boutiques as the Eau de Parfum analogue of Poivre extrait, the latter also available there from the fabulous crystal samovars affectionately referred to as "urns".
Both concentrations are totally passable (nay, downright alluring!) on men as well.

Reformulation of Poivre and Coup de Fouet
Contemporary batches of both fragrances seem to insist on a mustier, soapy rose and have less of a spicy oriental character, falling into the limbo state of floriental. Sadly Poivre (and Coup de Fouet as well, since they share those notes) faces IFRA restrictions on spicy materials which no doubt will leave future generations wondering what all the fuss was about anyway. Tragic, in view of Poivre (in the classic peppercorn flacon in Baccarat crystal) ranking as #3 of "top most expensive perfumes in the world" [$2,000 for 2 oz]....
When this happens the dragon loses its fire, the whole world gets out of whack and Bach isn't be there to save the day.

Notes for Caron Poivre: (add rose for Coup de Fouet)

Red pepper, black pepper, clou de girofle (clove), carnation, ylang ylang, jasmine, opoponax, cedar, sandalwood, vetiver, oakmoss, musk.



Painting "The Sense of Hearing" by Jan Brueghel the Elder. Ads via beckerstreet.com and vintageadbrowser.com

Balenciaga Cialenga: fragrance review & history

Some women float over the floor rather than walk on it. There's a sweeping elegance and drama about them that you almost think all motion stops when they pass under the doorframe. Cialenga by Balenciaga is like that: Classically beautiful, aloofly superior, it's arresting and mysterious, but never going for outright wiles of seduction. This isn't a hearty blonde to laught out loud at your joke, but an icy cool Hitchockian heroine. Possibly with thick arched brows and a grey suit, besides a shady past, to show. Don't let the smile fool you...

History
Cialenga was launched by Balenciaga in 1973, composed by perfumer Jacques Jantzen. The name is rather cryptic; his only other known credential is collaboration on another Balenciaga perfume, Ho Hang for men (1971). But his history spans decades of shrouded work: His is Helena Rubinstein's 1946 Command Performance. 
The green chypres with floral hearts signified a more assertive and sophisticated angularity than the curvier lactonic florals of the 1950s and early 1960s and ushered in the new woman, the one who worked, took the pill and wore the pants. The dry, somewhat acrid quality of this genre is expressed in a dark manner in Cialenga, manifesting itself as among the more noir of the lot with a balance of green, spice and wood, just like a well judged cocktail of Martini wits, kinky sex references and sharply-cut tailleurs.

Comparison with Other Fragrances & Scent Description
The most apt comparison of Cialenga with any well-known perfume would be with vintage No.19 by Chanel. The way No.19 used to be, before being somewhat declawed. In Cialenga the green harmony is more aldehydic (recalling that segment from Paco Rabanne's Calandre) and soapy, while the overall character is decidely mustier than the Chanel and with quite a bit of spice added (clove and coriander prominently to my nose). The jasmine takes on a nuance between creamy and soapy, with no sugar floralcy as in more familiar sketches of floral chypres; the aldehydes do not take center stage.
The angularity of the green notes recalls the top note of Vent Vert in the vintage parfum (so full of galbanum), while the spicy warmth with an added myrrh tonality is all dark corners of a Spanish monastery in the New World and dangerous brunettes turned blondes with a death wish.

The familiar sophisticated refinement of Balenciaga perfumes (I'm referring to the vintages, though the modern Balenciaga Paris and L'Essence aren't half bad) is there all right in Cialenga. Think of Michelle, that ultra aloof tuberose parfum by the same Spanish designer or La Fuite des Heures! Being highly in tune with its times, Cialenga vaguely recalls other fragrances in the genre of a similar retro time-frame: Y by Yves Saint Laurent, Coriandre by Jean Couturier, the first Jean Louis Scherrer. The citrusy and black-currant segment might even recall the refreshing facets of Amazone.

Availability 

A little goes a long way and it's trailing at least down the elevator doors, so a small quantity should last you a long time; good thing, as Cialegna, like all vintage Balenciaga perfumes, is discontinued and nowadays quite rare.  Few specimens crop up on ebay from time to time.

Notes for Balenciaga Cialenga:
Top: citrus, black currant,green notes
Heart: iris, jasmine, ylang-ylang, clove, tincture of rose and lily
Base: vetiver, sandalwood, patchouli, oakmoss and Virginia cedar.

photo still of Kim Novak in Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo via the ace black blog 

This review is dedicated to Armani/Michael who introduced me to this fragrance and who had a thing for Kim Novak's brows in Vertigo :-)

Serge Lutens Vitriol d'Oeillet: fragrance review & draw

"Sometimes he frets his instrument with the back of a kitchen knife or even a metal lipstick holder, giving it the clangy virility of the primitive country blues men".  This descriptor for Bob Dylan's style fits the newest Serge Lutens creation to a T: clangy, virile in a rugged way, disruptive, angry and unusual are all characteristics of Vitriol d'Oeillet (meaning vitriol of carnation); an uncharacteristic carnation fragrance which breaks the mould of old fashioned powdery florals of the start of the 20th century, offering a futurist angry woody floral. In Vitriol d'Oeillet Lutens alludes to carnation via intense, corosive pepper and lily and invites us to think of carnations of red, feisty under the intense sun of Provence, and at the same time of the London fog hiding a gentleman killer à la Jack the Ripper, who sports a carnation in his buttonhole.

There's something to be said about 19th century and its fixation with death & violence, a kind of violence beyond the funereal association so many people have with carnations. The ethereally romantic image of the era gets shattered when we read Honoré de Balzac for instance: Madame Cibot is a widow twice-over, when her husband Rémonencq accidentally consumes the chalice of vitriol he was intending for his wife (in Cousin Pons)...Oil of vitriol features in many a 19th novella, not just Balzac.
Two especially memorable scenes have the caustic sulphuric acid unceremoniously thrown on a face (the acid works by releasing acids from their salts, i.e.sulphides); namely in George Gissing's The Nether World (1889) and Robert Louis Stevenson's The Ebb-Tide (1894). Perhaps what inspired those writers into using vitriol in fiction scene stealers as an aussault (an aussault to injustice, poverty and degradation), as well as a metonym for realism (a late 19th century claim to the explosive!), is what inspired Lutens himself; a desire to break loose with preconceptions about how a carnation fragrance should be: pretty, prim, feminine, dainty? Vitriol d'Oeillet is nothing of the sort!
But there's something to be said about Vitriol being in tune with Moorish sensibilities too, of which Lutens has long been an accolyte. Blue vitriol is copper (Cu), green vitriol is iron (Fe), and white vitriol is zinc (Zn), all Hermetic references for the initiated. Sulphuric acid (historically known as 'oil of vitriol') was formerly prepared from green vitriol in a ritual that crossed into the alchemical. The Moors sold vitriol preparations as an antiseptic panaceia. There's this thing in Shi'ism called ta'wil, it's this idea where "you take anything back to its root significance, its original self". A cleanse going for the bone!

On the other hand, in late 19th century carnations were innocent, popular buttonhole flowers; Oscar Wilde was said to sport one and companies producing such fragrances were a dime a dozen, rendering the carnation soliflore a dominating fragrance trend of the Victorian era. The dandified character of carnation scents has persisted: from old-image Floris Malmaison to Roger &Gallet's ever popular ~but ultimately discontinued~ Blue Carnation all the way to modern-day retro Dianthus by Etro.

The opening of Serge Lutens Vitriol d'Oeillet is sharp, caustic as befits the name though not smelling of sulphur, without the dense powdery note that surrounds the rich floral heart of retro carnations such as Caron's Bellodgia. After all, clove, the main spicy component in creating a carnation accord in perfumery, is called clou de girofle in French, same as a pointy "nail". But despite the disruptive nails on a chalkboard of the opening of the new Lutens fragrance, the progression of Vitriol d'Oeillet softens gradually; much like Tubéreuse Criminelle hides a silken polished floral embrace beneath the mentholated stage fright. In Vitriol d'Oeillet's case Serge hides the heart of a lush lily inside the spicy mantle. Indeed it is more of a lily than a carnation fragrance, as per the usual interpretation of carnation in perfumery.

The spices almost strangle the lily notes under cruel fingers: black pepper, pimento, nutmeg, cayenne pepper, pink pepper with its rosy hue, paprika and clove; in Serge Noire and Louve the spices serve as a panoramic "lift" to the other notes, here they reinforce what was a hint in the flower. The woody backdrop of cedar is softening the base, but lovers of Serge's and Sheldrake's candied-fruit-compote-in-a-cedar-bowl will not find the sweet oriental they have grown to expect. Vitriol d'Oeillet is resolutely spicy, rendered in woody floral tonalities that only slightly turn powdery towards the very end.

To give perfume comparisons: If you have always found Secret Mélange, from Les Caprices du Dandy collection by Maître Parfumeur et Gantier (a fragrance which dared to mix cold spices and flowers and harmonize the accord with warm woods) quite intriguing, you have good chances of liking the jarring nature of Vitriol d'Oeillet. So might lovers of Caron's Poivre (which is vastly superior nevertheless) or of the dark, suffused imagescape of Garofano by Lorenzo Villoresi and E.Lauder's intense Spellbound. If you were looking for a classic, dense, feminine carnation floral or a minimal contemporary treatment oif the note such as in Oeillet Sauvage by L'Artisan Parfumeur, you might be scared by this violent yet diaphanous offering.

Oddly for the actual formula, since it's chartreuse liqueur which is infused with carnation petals and alchemically it is green vitriol which hides the greatest power, Vitriol d'Oeillet if of a greyish-lilac tint which looks someplace between funereal and alluringly gothic-romantic. The sillage is well-behaved, indeed subtle, perhaps because vitriol derives from the Latin vitrium, meaning glass, therefore denoting a certain transparency and lightness. Vitriol d'Oeillet is androgynous with great lasting power that seems to grow in depth, becoming a little bit sweeter and woodier as time passes.

Serge Lutens Vitriol d'Oeillet belongs to the export line, available at select stockists around the world and at the official Lutens site, 95euros for 50ml of Eau de Parfum. The limited edition engraved bottles depicted cost much more.

A generous-sized decant is available for one lucky reader. Draw is now closed, thank you!

What is it you find intriguing about the concept?

Puredistance I & Puredistance M, master perfumes: fragrance reviews

The ultra-exclusive (and ultra-expensive) Puredistance perfumes prove that not all such claims are bogus: Here are fragrances worth the trouble of going to lengths to sample them at the very least: They're rich, smooth, very luxurious-feeling indeed and even if the campaign is positioned to extol the exclusivity factor, the jus does deliver each and every time. The current collection includes Puredistance I, Puredistance M and Antonia, the latter of which I intend to come back to in the near future.

Puredistance the brand was founded by Jan Ewoud Vos in Vienna, Austria. If you have ever been to Vienna, you can't have failed to notice how it's probably the most civilized place on planet earth: a place where music flows forth endlessly from every street corner, people smile to each other in the streets in greeting (I'm talking perfect strangers here) and the elegant center of art attracts artists and free thinkers from all over the world in peaceful co-existence of different idiosyncrasies. The world famous Wiener Werkstätte (a production community of visual artists founded in 1903 by the artists Josef Hoffmann and Koloman Moser) is characterized by pure lines and minimal decoration and it is this which provided the inspiration for Puredistance lean lines in Swarovski crystal for their bottles.
Jan Ewoud Vos says: "Since several decades, people have conceived a very distinct image of what a perfume is about. And that image does not fit Puredistance. This will make it harder for us to be noticed. Puredistance is not made to last for a few years, like most new perfumes do, it’s made to last forever. Therein also lies strength. We don’t need to rush things. It will take time, but it will happen. For as I’m concerned: also this is predestinated. Real beauty will never go unnoticed.".

Before you start rolling your eyes like I was before actually testing them out, let me state this once again: These are quality fragrances that last especially long, come in parfum concentration that is delightfully smooth-smelling and provide that can't-knock-it feeling like a million bucks mood. Now let's get down and start salivating over the details.

Puredistance I is the first creation of the Puredistance company; a floral oriental, which was created by Annie Buzantian from Firmenich, NY, on a formula she had been working for years. Byzantian considers it her favorite perfume and her personal Masterpiece, which should be a foregone conclusion as it began as a quest for creating her own personal scent. Puredistance I feels like Chanel No.5, Guerlain's Cruel Gardénia and Narciso Musk for Her (the precious oil parfum) fused into one crystal clear and delightfully "clean", lightly soapy-lightly powdery melody on skin. It's practically purring with delight on my arms, its cool and warm facets competing for center stage all the while. That element which makes No.5 so compelling, the muskiness that exalts the idea of freshly scrubbed bodies which exude their own natural scent, is reprised here in a composition that infuses a little powderiness into the fresh almost ozone top notes that surprises and enchants. Annie Byzantian eschewed the traditional "luxe" techniques (raw materials that scream "I'm expensive", heavy character to denote richness etc) and instead provided a streamlines, seamless formula that feels timeless. You don't have to stink to high heavens to prove your mettle as a perfume aficionado: Here is proof that a subtle, elegant, "fluted" approach is just as memorable.
The composition is a sophisticated floriental with fresh opening (magnolia and an ozone-watery lily of the valley accord) and an overall floral and soft character which shimmers delicately like rose gold set with tiny diamonds on lily-like fingers. The more you leave it on skin the more it gains in soapy-powdery feel, quite delicate and feminine to the core, like exploring a woman's intimate secrets revealed only in the quiet of the night. The white musk and sandalwood are what remains poised when the sing of the birds at dawn has echoed through the night chambers and the sweet embraces are over.

Notes for Puredistance I include tangerine blossom, cassis, neroli bigarade, magnolia, rose wardia, jasmine, parmenthia, natural mimosa, amber, vetiver and white musk.
The perfume extract contains 32 % perfume oil which makes for a very long-lasting experience; you will wake up to the beautiful scent still lingering on your pillow.
The limited edition Crystal Masterpiece is available as:
A Crystal & 24 carat Gold version - 2048 pieces (2750 Euro retail)
A Crystal & high-grade Steel version - 4824 pieces (1750 Euro retail)
The separately available refill, a 17.5 ml. perfume spray (165 Euro)

Thankfully Puredistance DO sell the refills without you having to fork out so much cash for the crystal flacons, beautiful as they are, so if you're just after the juice, here's the option: just ask them for details & stockists (site info on the bottom)


Puredistance M is a wonderful leather fragrance that is perfectly unisex (M can stand for male, but it could also be thought of as upside down, aka W, aka, for women!). Conceived as giving the luxurious sensation of sitting snugly inside the new leather interior of a grey Aston Martin, preferably on Her Majesty's Secret Service, it feels exactly like that: warm, comfortable, expensive, very satisfied with itself. Puredistance M Perfume was made in London by Roja Dove, famous for his own bespoke and semi-bespoke line at Harrods where he directs the Haute Parfumerie, as well as his position at Guerlain for years. Puredistance M is made from a high concentration of perfume oil (25%) and available as a 17.5 ml. perfume spray in a metal grey giftbox or a leather case for the purse (or that glove compartment of that grey Aston Martin!) besides the more expensive crystal presentations.

To me Puredistance M feels like a clove-y leather fragrance reminiscent of retro fragrances that hard-core aficionados appreciate, such as En Avion by Caron; it's delightfully sensuous and uncompromising with a smoother underside than the Caron forebearer, all tactile satisfaction caressing the plush. In the first moments the spicy cinnamon-clove tinge embracing a discernible rose, is prominent, creating a vintage ambience with the slightly bitter nuances of leather in the mix, while the more it stays on skin the more it softens and becomes a skin scent with a faint whiff of ambery-musky sweetness that is delectable.

I know these are not Austrian images I'm going to conjure, but it's like the best things about 1960s Sean Connery and Michael Kaine in Alfie rolled into one and they produced an imaginary super-child that would smell of Puredistance M. I'm totally smitten!

Notes for Puredistance M include bergamot, Amalfi lemon, jasmine, rose, carnation, cinnamon, cloves, vetiver, patchouli, French cistus labdanum, oakmoss, musk, woods, and leather.

The Puredistance perfumes are available on the official Puredistance site, Harrods at London, Lianne Tio's boutique in Rotherdam (the one famous for her Goutal fragrances), at The Scent Bar in Los Angeles and other boutiques around the world (Find a complete list of retailers here).

Pics of Catherine Deneuve and Michael Kaine via Life magazine.
Disclosure: I was sent tiny samples of the perfumes from the manufacturer.

Knize Knize Ten: fragrance review

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

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

by guest writer Carmencanada

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

Krizia Teatro alla Scala: fragrance review

Revisiting a spicy oriental amidst the heat and turpor of the big metropolis when it's 38C outside is not exactly conductive to proper thinking. All that density might go to one's head and have bystanders get murderous thoughts! And yet, Teatro alla Scala, a forgotten masterpiece by Krizia, doesn't produce any of those effects. All right, it's not citrusy, it's not a clean musk, it's not even a tropical floral. It's an effing spicy oriental! But you know what, sometimes that's what the doctor ordered. The spice is so jolting that it manages to create the impression of cleaness, if you can believe it!

A similar effect was first explored in Caron's Poivre and Yves Saint Laurent's now changed Opium. Some spices in collaboration with aldehydes create a hot-cold effect (non mentholated, it's a different vibe), reminiscent of the feel you get after the passage of a hot iron over clean cotton or linen. The scent also brings to mind the vibrancy of Coco by Chanel (the original oriental from the mid-1980s, specifically the vintage Eau de Parfum) minus the leathery facets. It stands to reason, Teatro came out in 1986, two years after Coco. Another kinship could be argued to be with the original Fendi, but I personally always found that one to be denser and more masculine and definitely only suitable for the coldest nights of winter. I don't know who the perfumer is and couldn't find it in my guides, but it feels like a Jacques Polge extension of his Coco mods. The Krizia outfit is rather underappreciated in perfume circles, although they produce fabulous things (even sparkling and dry wines!), another fragrance worth noting the cool, mossy and all around lovely K by Krizia, more of which on a later day.

Suffice to say Teatro alla Scala is discontinued (Murphy's Law, all the good ones eventually seem to head that way; or else they're mutilated through multiple Joan-Rivers-worth facelifts...). I sourced mine through a swap. The ratio of phenylpropanoid eugenol (a gigantic clove-peppery note) is just the sort of thing that would have the current IFRA-police erupt in hives and have it ostracized to outer space. Then again fate and time saw to that before they did. In a way, I'm thankful: It means each Art Deco style bottle surfacing would be the good stuff; it saves us the trouble of going through endless deliberations on bottle styles changes, packaging design and searching all surfaces of bottle and box for tiny printed or etched codes denoting different batches. Even at the heights of its popularity it wasn't distributed in France, which makes me think there are some great things in perfumery that even the French fail to appreciate. Even if it evokes the paradisal nights spent at the famous Milanese theater. Does anyone still wear it and appreciate this scent? I'd be interested to find out.

The opening of Teatro alla Scala cuts through a wall of bricks with its symphonic spicy note of clove and pepper while the flowers emerge slowly, with assuredness and without any distraction from the majestic track troden. Many orientals cede into plush amber notes that engulf you in tentacles of sweetness and powderiness, which comforting though it might be on ocassion, sometimes reminds of big bosom-heavy aunts hugging too enthusiastically which unfortunately can put the "sexy" out of the window once the thought crosses your mind. This one is certainly not gaunty, the way some cerebral chypres or medicinal orientals can be ~more brains than heart~ but instead has a fine, sculpted feminine figure, the incense and moss at the base restraining the honeyed, sweeter notes, the naughty, "dirty" civet bringing out the carnation at the heart underscored by a soupçon of cool rose. Yet it never vulgarises itself through too much cleavage or low tricks, it's always classy. Almost begs for an encore after the performance.
Its perfect, sultry proportions slink through simple, bold evening dresses for a big night out. Yes, even if it's a hot night, as long as you know how to use only one spray over your navel...

Notes for Krizia Teatro alla Scala:
Top: aldehydes, coriander, fruity notes and bergamot
Heart: carnation, tuberose, orris root, jasmine, beeswax, ylang-ylang, rose and geranium.
Base: patchouli, musk, benzoin, civet, oakmoss, vetiver and incense.

Photograph of Anna Magnani via iiclegrado.esteri.it

Coty Imprevu: fragrance review

One of the major pitfalls that awaits a perfume enthusiast is for them to disregard valued, glamorous specimens of the past due to the merely trendy attire of the brand hosting them in the present. Coty and their Imprévu is a case in point! Miles away from the current celebuttante fruit-salads they serve now, Imprévu is a meaty course that still retains a degree of refinement; it's fine veal served with silver tableware. The delicious name, meaning "unforeseen", predisposes for a surprising impression and indeed this feminine leathery woody chypre from 1965 is unprecedented, unique and surprising in more than one way. They had it right when they advertised: "Beyond all expectations"!

The timing in which Imprévu was introduced is crucial: On the one hand the Coty house had passed through the Symplegades of both the Great Depression and World War II and emerged still resilient, if diminished in radiance. François Coty's divorced wife had a brother-in-law, Philippe Cotnareanu, who was immersed in the business. Cotnareanu changed his name to Philip Cortney and under that pseudonym took rein of the colossal portfolio. Coty and Coty International were eventually sold to Chas. Pfizer & Co. for about $26 million in 1963, thus becoming divisions in the pharmaceuticals company's consumer products group. The 1965 launch was Coty's new perfume in 25 years! Success was almost immediate: By the end of 1968 Imprévu became the leading Coty fragrance.
On the other hand, Imprévu, composed by an unsung perfumer, also came at an opportune time in the global perfume zeitgeist: A time when greener and aldehydic scents were very popular: Yves St. Laurent had launched his glorious Y in 1964, while Guy Laroche issued the green tropical Fidji in 1966. The older favourites, Chanel No.5 and Miss Dior, were still best-sellers. But the not so griffe market presented considerable competition as well: Avon was going strong with Topaze, and Fabergé with the antithetical earthy Woodhue. Imprévu was perfect for the moment!
It's an irony and a testament to the changing tastes in fashion however that rather soon the strike of gold was at an end: Emeraude, L'Origan and L'Aimant became the long-standing classics in the Coty portfolio after the 1980s, condemning Imprévu in the disgrace of being practically given away at drugstores who sold it at seriously discounted prices. The above nevertheless is no reflection on the fragrance's value whatsoever.

Imprévu (pronounced ahm-pre-VHU) by Coty is decidedly adult, like a long sip of extra dry martini when you know you really shouldn't or the deliberate "poisonous" smear of lipstick on a man's colar. It explores several themes of yore and does so with unrefuted elegance: From the aldehydic boosting of the crisp citrus (bergamot, bitter orange) opening, reminiscent of Coty's own Chypre (the latter is fresher and somewhat more piquant overall), to the mildly leathery heart, all the way down to the foresty conifers that hide beneath the abstract flowers. Like some classic fragrances in the cuir family (notably Tabac Blond by Caron) the tannic facet of leather is boosted and contrasted by the merest touch of cloves, registered to the mind as carnation. Overall fresh in that mossy way that classic chypres are fresh rather than cloying, the scent is very well-mannered despite the earthy oakmoss inclusion. What stays on the skin poised for long when the other elements have dissipated is the creamy woodiness of that drydown phase of Bois des Îles by Chanel.

Neither too woody nor leathery, nor too chypre, but striking a perfect balance between all those elements, Imprévu comes as the unexpected state of grace when you simply don't know what to choose and just need something that is truly unique and smells good at the same time. Even though marketed as a feminine, men who are adventurous wouldn't have trouble getting away with it.

Although the usual bottle in which it is presented is the one depicted here and in the ads (which show the extrait de parfum version), other styles were also circulating, notably one with a simple gold-toned cap and a simple glass flacon with gold-tone lettering or another one with a simple plastic blue cover (especially for the versions circulating in Europe)
Imprévu by Coty has been discontinued for a long time now, with no plans by the company to bring it back as per our latest communication. Occasional sighthings are made on Ebay at elevated prices.



Photos from Ebay

Mona di Orio Carnation: fragrance review

The Mona di Orio line is something like the Meet the Parents' (the Fockers that is) "inner circle of trust": You have to really give your whole before you get past the distrurbing opening to see what lies beneath. What you do past that point is up to you, but the journey there is full of apocalyptic awe and a few surprises.

Ravaged ~on an almost personal level~ by Turania, who apparently paid so little attention that they even misunderstood the very name (Carnation being the one which "blooms not in a flower bed but on a woman's cheeck"), one would have thought that the perfume's and the perfumer's fate seemed sealed to belong to the 9th circle of Dante's Inferno. Perhaps this is an eminent case of the adage "there's no such thing as bad publicity" and "say whatever you want about me as long as you spell my name right" because Mona di Orio not only sufaced victorious ~after a distribution problem~ and is referenced in a gazillion of publications, but she is also producing new perfumes and has participated to great aplomb in the recent Firenze Fragranza No.7 exhibition (Another independent perfumer, Andy Tauer was very appreciative and vocal about it, which is so graceful and so him).

Part of the initial triptych including Lux and Nuit Noire from 2006, Carnation is meant to evoke a tender embrace after a day spent in the sun and although it's a very individual scent and one that probably gets some getting used to (and no doubt some of you won't get used to it no matter what), I find myself most fascinated by its almost leathery impression, despite the description of it being a floriental. It is a par excellence musky fragrance on far drydown, both "dirty" and delicate, more than a little carnal, with mildly spicy accents on a bed of cream (provided by the floral notes). Mona dedicated it to Colette, a woman very attuned to cosmetic and fragrant preparations as well as the sensual world (Her Flower and Fruits book is a good companion).
Carnation's beauty lies in its "flaws": The initial spicy accent (resulting from the giroflée, the plant that produces cloves) is just a tad medicinal, which combined with the woodier elements and the kid's-glue-like complimentary styrax produces an arresting impression of a dentist's office nurse with the wickedly smiling face of Béatrice Dalle, her gap between front teeth an ironic exclamation mark on the artistry of said doctor.
The lasting power is very good, sillage is pleasantly there but non intruding and it should fit both sexes and most seasons (hold August).


Although Mona sat with Edmond Roudnitska, it is true that her style does not necessarily reflect the same aesthetic choices or sparseness of style. She even proclaims herself that the siren of Serge Lutens lured her into a different path of orientalia that diverted from the classic French mold, on which Roudnitska has put his final seal. Her Italian/Spanish heritage might have something to do with it. People who have met her in the flesh comment on her sparkling personality and struggling English, so it might not be so easy to translate her Damascene metamorphosis. To my mind, her imaginative Lux and of course Carnation present opposing impressions of the same coin: luminosity and crepuscular shadows, one after the other in quick succession and prove that a little exploring of her creations is highly recommended to all.

Notes for Mona di Orio Carnation:
Top: Bergamot, girofle, geranium Bourbon
Heart: ylang-ylang, violet, jasmine, precious woods
Base: musk, amber, styrax


Carnation is presented in the trademark cork-top faceted flacon of Mona di Orio's line in Eau de Parfum and is available for purchase in the US at Spafumerie: 2nd Ave. and 48th st, NYC. Tel: 212 644-9525 Email: thespa@spafumerie2.com Fax: 212 644-9529
In Europe Les Senteurs in London carries the fragrance ~as of this minute~ both in store and online, as does Aus Liebe Zum Duft.

Pics of autographed Mona di Orio Carnation bottle ©by Elena Vosnaki
Beatrice Dalle pic via nathalie-agency.blogspot.com

Melomakarona and Kourambiedes: the aromata of Greek Christmas holidays

The word άρωμα (aroma) means several things in Greek: It denotes personal fragrance as a medium of enhancing one's aura, it evokes the content of bottles encapsuling precious essences to be used for aromatizing of various aims, but also it means the lingering smell in the air that might be coming off a fragrant kitchen, busy in preparation for a traditional feast; a feast that is more of a gregarious social and sensuous event than merely a casual gathering. Food and the hearth have always been at the core of Greek culture (the hearth, Εστία, had been an ancient Greek goddess, no less) and savouring the aromata (plural for aroma) in every step of the process is half the fun!
The celebration of the end of the year, including Christmas and the New Year's Eve, is forever in my mind steeped in the sweet smells emanating through the door of an oven while baking the traditional and idiosyncratic cookies of the season: μελομακάρονα/melomakarona and κουραμπιέδες/kourambiedes. Although there are other delicacies around and everyone has to have something sweet on hand for the kid-carolers who come to the house on the morning of each celebration's Eve (caramelised nuts and raisins, marrons glacés and marrons déguisés in chocolate, candied orange rind, and δίπλες/"deeples" or "diples", that is Greek Honey Curls: pieces of fried and suryped dough sprinkled with chopped nuts, supposedly looking like Christ's swaddling clothes) it's those two mentioned above that are most popular and characteristic, found in every home from the most humble to the most extravagant.

So here are the recipes I use, handed down from my mother and grandmothers (excellent cooks all of them) for you to recreate the homely and sensuous atmosphere of this little corner of the world. They're easy to make and very flavourful!

Melomakarona (pronounced Meh-lo-ma-KA-row-na) Recipe
Ingredients for the dough
1 cup Extra Virgin olive oil
1/2 cup white sugar
2 juiced oranges
1/2 juiced lemon
1 egg yolk
3 cups self-raising flour
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground clove
1 1/3 cups chopped walnuts

Ingredients for the syrup
1 cup white sugar
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup boiling water
1 cinnamon stick
4 cloves
1/2 juiced lemon

1.Preheat oven to 180°C/350°F/gas mark 4 and line 2 flat baking trays with baking paper.
2. Beat oil, sugar, 1/2 cup orange juice and 2 tablespoons lemon juice. You can do this by hand (I do) or use an electric mixer on high speed until thick and creamy.
3.Add egg yolk and beat again, but not too much this time (you want to trap in air so that it raises when baking).
4.Sift flour and add half the cinnamon and the clove to the oil mixture. Fold gently to combine (it should have a doughy texture).
5.Using your flour-dusted hands (so dough doesn't stick)hands, roll the mixture into oval shapes without pressing them too much. Dough should make about 32 pieces. Place on prepared trays without touching one another (as they will expand while baking).
6.Bake for 25 minutes or until firm to the touch and then allow to cool on trays.
7.To make the syrup combine all ingredients in a saucepan over medium to high heat, stirring to dissolve the sugar at first and bring to the boil. Then reduce heat to medium-low. Simmer for 4 minutes or until syrup thickens slightly: you want it to form "drops" when you pour it from a spoon.
8.Using a slotted spoon, dip the cool cookies, 1 at a time, into the hot syrup for about 30 seconds (no more or they become very sweet and sticky!), turning over until well coated. Return to trays. The cool cookie, hot suryp is the secret that makes them absorb the suryp best and thus remain delectably moist and soft.
9.Combine chopped walnuts and remaining ground cinnamon. Sprinkle over cookies: the suryp should make them mostly "stick" on top. Allow to cool completely and they're ready to serve.

Melomakarona are also called Φοινίκια (phoenekia), especially when they're shaped like fingers, in some regions of Greece (mainly where Greek refugees from the -now Turkish- Smyna and Constantinople came to). They keep for a long time (up to a month, although you're sure to consume them long before that!) outside of the fridge thanks to the high sugar ratio; just keep them in an air-tight biscuit box so they don't become dry due to air exposure.
Their clove-y smell is captured in a wonderfully indulgent little solid scent by Pacifica: Madagascar Spice.

Kourambiedes (pronounced koo-rah-bee-YEH-thess) Recipe


Ingredients
4 cups of sheep's butter (cow's can be substituted, but the traditional method calls for sheep)
2 cups of confectioner's sugar
2 egg yolks
2 teaspoons of vanilla extract
2 teaspoons of baking powder
3 tablespoons of brandy liquor or ouzo (or orange juice, if you don't want to use alcohol)
1 cup of coarsely chopped roasted almonds
12 cups (1 1/2 kg or 3 1/3 lbs) of all-purpose flour
2 cups of confectioner's sugar (for dusting)
rose water or orange blossom water (about half a cup)

1.Preheat oven to 180°C/350°F/gas mark 4 and line 2 flat baking trays with baking paper.
2.Cream the butter (at room temperature) and sugar in a mixing bowl by hand, until white.
3.Dissolve the baking powder in the brandy/ouzo/orange juice and fold into the mixture, along with the egg yolks, vanilla, and almonds, one by one.
3.Gradually add flour without beating too much.
4.Knead the dough gently by hand until malleable. You don't want to let air escape, as it will contribute to making the cookies fluffy and soft.
5.Rolling the dough on flour-dusted hands (so it doesn't stick) roll the mixture into dome-shaped circles (thick like a pinkie finger). The dough should make about 50pieces. Place them on baking sheet without touching one another (as they will expand while baking).
6.Bake in preheated oven for 20 minutes or until cookies barely turn to golden brown. Get them out of the oven and allow to cool completely.
7.Sift confectioner's sugar onto a large tray or cookie sheet. As soon as the cookies are done, sprinkle them with the rose water or orange blossom water and dust them with the sugar. When all the cookies have been coated once, repeat (without sprinkling them in any liquid this time)cool.
8.Serve them in layers on a serving platter that has been dusted with sugar.

These buttery Greek Shortbread Cookies were also given in weddings and christenings once upon a time, because they look pure white, a symbol of new beginnings. They melt in the mouth and are very soft and fragile, so handle them gently!
Kourabiedes will keep for a couple of months thanks to the sugar if stored in an air-tight container. Make sure there's a dusting of powdered sugar on the bottom of the container, then layer cookies as above, each layer with a covering of sugar. Wait one day after baking to cover with an airtight lid, though.

If you're left with too much uncooked dough, you can wrap it well in plastic wrap, put in the freezer and it will keep for up to two months. When ready to use, remove and let the dough sit a while till malleable. Beat with the mixer briefly to aerate the dough ands you're ready to follow steps 5-8.

Happy Holidays!

Pic of Melomakarona by Steve Brown via taste.com.au, pic of Kourambiedes via dianasdesserts.com