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).

Perfume Primers: Orientals for Beginners (and not only)

Oriental fragrances draw upon the lore and mystery of the first perfumes used by man, full of materials derived from plants and tree resins, the thick and sacred unguents conceived and used in ancient Egypt, Greece and Cyprus, Mesopotamia and classical Rome. On the wall of the temple of Horos, at Edfu, perfumed mixes appear, among which the scared Kyphi, burnt in early morning and at evening. In Exodus God gives Moses instructions on how to compose a holy perfume for him and another one for his priests. The tear-shaped drops of the myrrh resin stand in Greek mythology for the tears of a girl transmuted into a tree by the gods. Leaning over my archeological notes, I'm never less than amazed by the wealth of scented concoctions used for sacred but also for purely hedonistic purposes by the ancients.

The invention of the "modern" oriental however is an olfactory trope of the late 19th century, made possible by the invention of two important synthetics: vanillin and coumarin. The coupling of ladbanum/cistus (a traditional resinous plant material from the rockrose, used since antiquity) and of vanillin produced what we refer to as the "amber" note. (You can read all the data on amber in perfumery on this link). Coumarin was synthesized from tonka beans; it has a sweetly herbaceous, cut hay scent.

The timing was crucial: The first oriental perfume to really capture the market was Guerlain's Shalimar although Coty's Emeraude is also a prime contenstant (In fact the two were launched in the same year, but Shalimar had a  legal battle with another firm, making the formula into a numerically-tagged bottle for the space of 4 years before relaunching with the original Sanskrit name).
The roaring 1920s were a decade when society in Europe was really taken with the orient. The East conjured up images of unbridled passion, exoticism, khol-eyed beauties and addictive substances. It was the time when Herman Hesse published Siddharta, the West's first glimpse of Buddhism, and F.Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby, a paean to the newly established American prosperity and its pitfalls. Theda Bara had already lain the path to cinematic vamps to follow, such as Pola Negri and Clara Bow with her bloody-red dark cupid's lips immortalised on black and white vignettes, while Paul Poiret had produced his own phantoms of the harem paving the way to modern fashions. It was the time of Les Ballets Russes, set to music by Stravinsky and Poulenc with sets painted by Picasso and Georges Braque. In short Orient was meeting Occident at the seams.

Historically modern oriental fragrances are roughly divided in two groups in terms of their formula: those that are based on the "ambreine" accord and those based on the "mellis" accord. An "accord" is an harmonious blend of fragrant materials that are smelled together, like a musical chord, producing a seamless, unified impression, something more than the sum of their parts. It's very useful for the perfumer to have at the ready a few thought-out harmonies as a building block for the composition they're working on.

  The "ambreine accord" is a harmonious blend constructed through the juxtaposition of fresh bergamot, sweet vanillin (synthetic vanilla; ethyl vanillin which is 4 times more potent can also be used, as in Shalimar), coumarin (smelling like mown hay), and warm civet (originally an animal-derived secretion from the civet cat with a very erotic nuance), plus woody notes and rose essences. The perfumes which are constructed on this basic structure include the legendary Guerlain Shalimar, Must de Cartier and Calvin Klein Obsession.

NB. Please note the "ambreine accord" is NOT to be confused with the ambrein molecule, i.e. the chief scent element of "ambergris", the material produced by sperm whales found floating in the ocean. [Refer to this link for details on ambergris.] Interestingly enough the ambrein used in perfumery is extracted from purified labdanum [1], hence the confusion between the scents of amber and ambergris for many people.  

  The "mellis accord" on the other hand is constructed through the tension between benzyl salicylate (a compound with a faint sweet-floral-veering-into-musky scent, often included in "beach/suntan lotion" smells), patchouli (essence of exotic patchouli leaves), spicy clove (via eugenol) and lily of the valley (traditionally via the aromachemical hydroxycitronellal). This is boosted with other spices (notably cinnamon), woody notes and coumarin (a crystal derived from tonka beans).
Perfumes composed around the mellis accord include Estee Lauder Youth Dew, Taby by Dana, Yves Saint Laurent Opium, Krizia Teatro alla Scalla and Coco by Chanel. Perfume professionals refer to this group as "mellis" perfumes, but since this is difficult to communicate to the consumer, and because the eugenol (sometimes communicated as clove and sometimes as carnation) and cinnamon give a spicy tonality, these oriental perfumes are classified into a sub-genre called "spicy orientals".

To the above "accords" other elements can be added to further emphasize the exotic and warm character of the composition. These include more ambery notes (based on labdanum), sweetly balsamic notes (utilizing materials such as benzoin, opoponax and Tolu balsam) as well as castoreum (another pungent animal-derived note, this time from beavers) and rose & other flowers' (jasmine etc) essences.

These are historically important olfactory harmonies that have resulted in classics and some modern classics. The combination of two accords within the same formula or the invention of new accords coupled with the previously used ones is producing novel experiences and pushes perfumery forward. This is how perfumers have come up with new sub-categories within the oriental family of fragrances, such as the gourmand perfumes etc. But we will tackle those in an upcoming perfume primer.

Ref.
[1] New Perfume Handbook, N.Groom 1997

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfume Primers: concise intros for beginners