Samarinda was an unexpected surprise in my mailbox replete with an eco-benefit (more on which below) and it was a pleasant one which prompted this review. Independent perfumers come with the benefit of being able to both experiment with no concern of focus groups and with the passion that comes with doing what you believe you should do instead of what you know you should do in order to sell well. Not that artisanal perfumers are beyond the scope of a true business, if they have leaped off the amateur description concocting elixirs in their back kitchen, but you know what I mean; wouldn't you rather have someone disregard trends, likability stakes, IFRA restrictions and focus on what seems "like a good idea, let's try it out and see"? Charna Ethier of Providence Perfume Co. is one such.
Ethier is a botanical perfumer, working with natural essences and what I believe are extractions from materials not common in mainstream (and even niche) perfumery, such as choya nakh, a roasted seashell essence which is truly unique and which I personally find captivating thanks to its evocation of the animalic marine world. Samarinda is using this essence, alongside many others which initially seem incongruous (the above mentioned choya nakh side by side with Sumatran coffee alongside jasmine rice, oakwood, leather, rum ether and flowers), but the blend is quite astonishingly tempered and uplifting. The cardamom note on top is so fitting to coffee that it transports me instantly to a warm morning sipping a demitasse in a middle-eastern setting. But there's further along the map that this perfume can take us…
The sweetish floriental has a delectable boozy (richly rum-like for armchair travelers on the high seas seeking pearls in oysters down the depths of the Indian Ocean) and a lightly smoky vibe which engulfs you with none of the intensely floral -and then magically dissipating- pong of some all natural perfumes. Maybe the choice to do an orientalized take on Indonesia, as Samarinda aimed to do, is a wise choice olfactory-speaking, or maybe Ethier came up with just the right balance in her palette; the result is that Samarinda is a joy to wear on skin from the lightly spicy, juicy opening with its vanillic underpinning right down to the smoky-warm woods of the drydown. It's certainly smelling better than actual Indonesia with its yeasty trail in the air.
And what's the eco-benefit? 5% of all sales of Samarinda will be donated to the World Wildlife Fund to promote the protection efforts in Borneo and Sumatra, home of hundreds of endangered rhinos, tigers, elephants and orangutans and thousands of identified and as yet unidentified plants.
In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample vial by the perfumer directly.
I'm starting with the really spectacular: We have a giveaway on Perfume Shrine, one winner will win TWO free perfume bottles of the newest creations by La Via del Profumo straight from Italy, one of Milano Caffé and one of Venezia Giardini Secreti (the first two fragrances in the new Italian Series). The draw is open to all till Wednesday 19th midnight and all you need to do is comment in the comment section below to be eligible. The winner will be announced on Thursday.
Now that we got this off our chest, let's concentrate on the gorgeous fragrances themselves!
La via del Profumo, an authentically artisanal line of exquisitely crafted fragrances, composed by natural perfumer Abdes Salaam Attar (Dominique Dubrana) in Italy, is proud to present the new "Italian Series," an homage to five great Italian cities (Milan, Venice, Florence, Rome and Naples) and the Italian country as a whole.
MILANO CAFFE
A sybarite fragrance needs the proper mind-frame to work and Italy with its languid climate and smooth contours of land naturally lends itself to it. The pervading and intoxicating scent of freshly ground coffee is one small part of this luxury of letting time slip by. The mingling of chocolate in the composition of Milano Caffé recalls the dusting of cocoa powder on the white "caplet" of a hearty and filling cappuccino, drunk leisurely with a view of the impressive Duomo before taking a stroll down the Via Montenapoleone for some serious window shopping. The Milanese are nothing if not sticklers for detail, from their dog's collar to their impeccable shoes, and I can feel in Milano Caffé the vibrancy of the elegant woody and spicy background which hums underneath the culinary notes of the top. Coffee is naturally a complex smell, comprised of caramelized & smoky/acrid facets on one end, of woody, like freshly sharpened pencils, on the other.
The dry quality of the fragrance despite the tonka bean and ambery richness elevates the composition into classic resinous-balsamic level; one mistakes smelling Milano Caffé for a full-bodied vintage that peels layer after layer after layer. In fact, what is most surprising is finding a hint of the cocoa-facet of orris and something which reminds me of the fluff, the flou quality of the resin opoponax, amidst the proceedings. This caress under the dark and bitterish flavor of coffee only serves to consolidate the infiltrating appeal of that highly prized bean, that elixir of life, the coffea arabica, cutting its slightly acidic character. Although the spicy woodiness might make Milano Caffé more conventionally masculine in direction, its richness and cuddly chocolate note makes it a great choice for the woman who doesn't follow trends but rather sets them herself. After all, it is no accident that coffee and coffee shops were seen as the nursery of revolution and of anarchy, and that both Ottoman Turkey in the 17th century and the Ethiopian church banned the exotic bean's secular consumption; it's that stimulating!
VENEZIA GIARDINI SECRETI
Venezia Giardini Secreti is inspired by the small "pockets" within Venice and the tales of the very popular in Italy Corto Maltese cartoon books, specifically "Favola di Venezia" ("Tale of Venice"). Venice is also the abode of Chevalier de Seingalt, more commonly known as the greatest womanizer of them all...
The solace of the shady gardens breeds flights of fancy and the escape of the intrigue of the political world: "When the Venetians are tired of the constituted authorities, they hid in these three secret places, these doors at the bottom of the secret passages opening to beautiful places and other stories ..." Whatever the story is, Venezia Giardini Secreti is redolent of the sweetly intoxicating scent of blooming jasmine and of rose blossoming in the summertime, allied to the mysticism and the marine signature of ambergris, an emblem of the naval tradition of "La Republicca Marinara".
In a way there is a kinship betweenTawaf, La Via del Profumo's jasmine fragrance from the Arabian Series, which is redolent of the jasmine sambac variety, rich, heady, like an aching pleasure and a call of beauty, and the latest offering in the Italian Series. And yet in Venezia Giardini Segreti the direction veers into less of a resinous floriental, with the anchoring of the base providing the softest pungency, an animalic hint more than a mysterious, apocryphal rite. For all the secrecy of the passages under the canals—which lead to gardens of a hundred delights and of the erotically charged tales of Casanova—the elegance and grace of Venezia Giardini Segreti is manifested in a touch of soft leather, a hint of motherly milk, a whiff of salty sea ...
Few are the males ~and the masculine fragrances to accompany them~ that indulge into tipping their long toes (with a few stray hairs on them) into the gourmand pool where vanilla reigns supreme like a giant mother's breast offering precious comfort. Breast and beast don't mix. Or do they? Rochas Man (1999), no less because of its super suggestive bottle designed by Franzrudolf Lehnert and Michael Fõrster, which looks halfway between a rocket, a frosted glass tit-statue and a futuristic sex toy, proves otherwise.
The secret, woven by master perfumer Maurice Roucel, lies into constrasting the warmer, sweeter elements of vanilla with aromatic lavender (its medicinal and caramelic ends both exploited) and a dark-roast coffee note which he seems to have transported into his Bond No.9 New Haarlem composition. Thus he creates a hybrid: the gourmand fougère! I'm of course being creative; the fougère is a pliable enough fragrance family to include both warmer and cooler interpretations and its core of coumarin is sweet by itself.
Roucel is nothing if not one for opulence, but he manages to make even potentially cloying compositions (Hermes 24 Faubourg, Guerlain L'Instant pour Femme) shimmer and radiate rather than choke and oppress. Rochas Man, aimed at men but worn with intense pleasure by discerning women (especially those who like things like Dior Dune and L de Lolita Lempicka), takes the restrained qualities Roucel displayed in Kenzo Air and weaves in a hint of the animalic sensuality of his infamous Musc Ravageur. The touch of tang (which smells like Frambinone to me) further restrains the sweetness, while the distinct patchouli facets create intrigue in the final stages of the fragrance on the skin, giving an edge to the sweet notes. But if I were to compare it to something smelling similar, I'd peg the New Haarlem as a closer match (and a fifth of the price!) with a slice off Serge Lutens' lavender musky, sweet fougère in Fourreau Noir. Plus, in its toys for boys bottle, I hereby solemnly dub it "the Rocket Man Fragrance".
This Rochas is quite unlike the gentrified citrusy & peaty Rochas Moustache, engaging into more overt, urban foreplay. Its main advantage however is staying as close to the skin as is necessary for you to order another round of shots at the bar, prolonging the flirting enough to ensure that the female target is fully enraptured by your scented aura. She'll be smitten!
Available in department stores as eau de toilette, last I checked, and on many etailers for ridiculous prices.
still from the film Dr.Strangelove or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Bomb by Stanley Kubrick via kubrickfilms.tripod.com
"Fit for nuns and virgins"is as enticing a description of fragrance [1] for some of us as talking of a scent weaving a web of seduction the way a femme fatale would. Clearly, it's not because we belong to either category, but rather that its programmatic unconventionality of what feminine fragrance should stand for makes it ripe for personal exploration. It's so easy to underestimate a fragrance just because it's widely available and comes from a brand that doesn't have haute or luxe pretentions such as Cacharel and Noa. I bet good money that were Noa issued by a niche company into some fancy-named contraption and fronted by a du jour perfumer it would elicit more enthusiastic response. Despite Cacharel's fashion presence and their rather large input in fragrance history (a pre-emptying floral in Anais Anais, a magical retro heliotrope in Loulou, the first aquatic fruit-oriental in Eden, a good effort at tobacco-laced feminine in discontinued Gloria) they fly under the radar on what concerns hard-core perfume lovers. Which is why we're here and have been reviewing the Cacharel canon for a little while now on Perfume Shrine.
Noa is an underappreciated little gem that didn't deserve the lack of attention it receives and which spawned somewhat less noteworthy flankers, called Noa Fleur (2003) and Noa Perle (2006). But let's see the strong and weak points of each and compare them.
The original Noa by Cacharel (1998) was composed by perfumer Olivier Cresp, the fragrance encased in a diaphanous bubble of a bottle, a zen approach to the spiritual 1990s (hence the tag line "the gifted fragrance", one would almost expect a Messiah in a bottle), designed by Annegret Beier. The passage of a few minutes results in a slight recalibration of one's original view of Noa, which would have been of an aquatic floral: it's really a floral musk with a hint of powder and soapiness and a delightfully unexpected smoky wood top note. The initially detectable ylang-ylang blends into the background, while the soapy aspect of the musk intensifies as the minutes pass by, boosted perhaps by some aldehyde. This produces both a smooth, clean scent, but also a reduction in volume, making Noa appear "light" and "fresh", although don't let that fool you into thinking it doesn't last; it does.The musks are fuzzy, cozy, warmish and comfortable, accented by a small note of spice like coffee laced with cardamom. Tania Sanchez identifies the spice as cilantro.
Noa Fleur by Cacharel came next in 2003 and its take is more unisex than its rosy character would suggest. Essentially a clean, rather screechy floral, flanked by musky notes like hibiscus and white musks, plus pale balsam and indeterminate notes that project with a faint powderiness, it's predictable and pliable. The inclusion of black currants gives a rather fruity facet to the proceedings, but there is no denying this is a rose fragrance with more woodiness than a typical soli-rose. This would make it fit for those occasions when you just don't know what to wear; rushing out of the door to get the kids on the school bus, going shopping impromptu, having a last-minute "wanna pick you up?" date when you're uncertain of your date's tastes...But you could do better than that: Grab Gucci Eau de Parfum II or Miracle So Magic.
Cacharel's Noa Perle (2006) was co-authored by perfumer Domitille Bertier and Olivier Polge. The formula was reprised, resulting in a more fruity floral mold, in which however the distinctive note of hazelnut swifts things to a slightly more interesting direction than the average fruity floral. The opening is lightly sweet citrus reminiscent of clementines with that standard "clean" floral that companies peg as peony nowadays; the drydown is an inoffensive powdery musk plus milky woods. Noa Perle is a nice enough if completely inadventurous scent, but for the price and the lack of pretence, it's still a better option than many out there. Points taken for the glaringly fake "pearl" inside, made from 100% plastic. With a name like that...
"She curls up on the couch like a luxuriating cat, lights a cigarette with a vengeance": this is how I have always envisioned pleasure smoking to be like ~decadent, indulgent, nonchalant. Instead, most people I see smoking do it in a perfunctory way which actually repels rather than attracts: none of the silver screen magnetism. It's also rare to smell a really good blend. Fragrances however with their charming attribute of bringing back the best of things to memory manage to make me appreciate tobacco.
But let's take things from the top. This tobacco vignette was instigated by smelling Bell'Antonio, part of a new niche line by Hilde Soliani. Perfume Shrine is proud to get the exclusive for its discerning readers: the new line Teatro Olfattivo Di Parma by Italian jewellery and fragrance designer Hilde Soliani has just launched in Italy with plans to bring it to the US by the end of the year, hopefully. The first line of Hilde Soliani Profumi, comprising scents which form the acronym Ti Amo (I love you) have been hosted on these pages, available at New London Pharmacy and they garnered lots of interest in mails; so I am hoping that you will be interested in this one as well. The scents have been inspired by experiences and feelings produced at the Teatro di Regio di Parma as well as Lenz Rifrazioni, where Hilda sometimes performs herself.
The line includes the following:
SIPARIOis inspired by piña colada, a sweet, rum-based cocktail made with light rum, coconut cream, and pineapple juice, and replicates the sweet yet refreshingly tingiling sensation of sipping one yourself (Notes of rum, coconut and pineapple). STECCA embraces the unusual note of tomato leaf, first explored in Eau de Campagne and Folavril and still very individual and unique in the fragrance world. The name playfully derives from Italian, in which stecca means error, because it was not unheard of for people to actually throw tomatoes upon a bad performance once upon a time (thankfully we have moved on!) Its refreshing bitterness is great for summer. MANGIAMI DOPO TEATRO(eating out after the theatre) is a fruity scent with emphasis on melon, typical of Parma. Hilde divulges that the inspiration came from eating out with friends after the theatrical performances, a bit of camaraderie and good fun. A succulent fruity, but not only. BELL'ANTONIO (beautiful Antonio): tobacco and coffee notes, dedicated to Hilde's father who is named Antonio; inspired by her love of drinking coffee and smoking after the theatre. A true masterpiece! VECCHI ROSETTI-ARIA DI PARMA is the most nostalgic of the lot, reminiscent of the smell of the old camerino theatre including the makeup, the woodfloor polish and the air of solitude yet plentifulness that an empty theatre produces after you have watched a splendid performance. The powdery iris and vanilla are flanked by bergamot on top and what seems like the dark, sensual mossy greenery of oakmoss. {You can buy samples directly using Paypal mailing Hilde at hildesol@tin.it }
Bell' Antonio managed to immediately snare me into its lair, as unsuspecting of its wiles I put it on my skin with the lackadaisical mode of sampling fragrances a seasoned aficionado professes faced with drawers full of small vials of smelly liquids. Nary had two seconds passed, when I was woken out of my lethargy with a sledgehammer wake-up call that this was something seriously good and to be taken note of! The smell of tobacco in itself is wonderfully rich and evocative of many things, like gingerbread, honey, dried fruits and boozy whiskey as well as the cut hay and distant marzipan smell of coumarin. Somehow in this day and age when smoking has become the object of dire prohibition and consequently fetishisation, tobacco fragrances might be the only way one has the chance to savour the wonderful aroma of pipe tobacco or a quality maduro.
The allure of smoke goes back to antiquity: Herodotus described Scythians inhaling the fumes of burning leaves to induce intoxication; although in their case it must have been cannabis rather than Nicotiana, I suppose. The Arabic tabbaq, a word reportedly dating to the 9th century, was the name of various herbs used for smoking and probably predates the westernised tobacco, a word said to be brought to Europe by Bartolome de Las Casas. Barring actual smoking however, from the classic Habanita and Caron's Tabac Blond to the new niche of New Haarlem by Bond no.9, the rich aroma of tobacco has inspired perfumers to come up with arresting compositions.
Bell' Antonio highlights all the tobacco aspects with proficiency, lacing them with a cordon of black espresso stretto, the wonderful aroma of freshly grated, roasted coffee beans to make you swoon with pleasure, nostrils quivering. Having never set eyes on Hilde's father I imagine him of the suave Antonio Banderas type, the bronzed southern type who grows five o'clock shadows before it's time for lunch and who drags his cigar with nonchalance and panache. If only actual smoking were that good...
I have samples of Bell'Antonio and Sipario to give to two lucky winners (chance draw for which goes to who). Please state your interest in the comments. Pics courtesy of H.Soliani and Wikipedia
"The ghosts return at night, little lights for unredeemed souls And if you gaze up at the barricades, you’ll see figures looking back at you And it’s then that a complaint wanders you through the cobblestone alleys Of Constantinople, a lover from yore, whom you find in someone else’s embrace".
~"Vosporos", by Nikos Zoudiaris, sung by Alkinoos Ioannidis
Travel Memoirs begins with one of the most sensuous destinations: Istanbul ~the Ottoman name under which the former capital of the Byzantine Empire, Constantinople, is known today.
Initially the city was named after the Roman emperor Constantine the Great who made it Nova Roma, over the site of the ancient Greek colony founded by Megara citizens simply named Byzantium. Yet the name Istanbul itself is based on the common Greek usage of referring to Constantinople simply as “The City”, because it was the crown jewel of medieval cities with a population and grandeur that exceeded many western European cities, such as London, Paris and Rome, for centuries. It derives from the phrase "εις την Πόλιν" or "στην Πόλη" {(i)stimboli(n)}, both meaning "in the city" or "to the city".
And it is no surprise that in an Empire whose majority of the population was Greek or speaking Greek, there is still a strong Greek element running through the fabric of memory when one sets foot on Istanbul’s soil. But the Ottoman heritage is none the less interesting to witness: minarets and mosques, majestic palaces, bazaars, carpet dealers and salep sellers on the street peppered with excellent cuisine and suggestive dancing render the visitor captive of its charms. It’s this fusion between Occidental and Oriental that gives Istanbul its extraordinary character. A character of strange melancholy: perhaps it’s the ancestral call…
Passing through the arabesque cobblestone on Istiklal across from the fish market, one enters the Cukurcuma district, full of antique shops, lazy cats sunning their bellies and the aroma of slowly roasted, dark coffee on hot sand, Turkish coffee (Türk kahvesi), made the traditional way. The preparation begins by boiling finely powdered roast coffee beans in a copper ibrik, the shape of a tiny ewer, with the addition of cardamom and (optionally) sugar. The thick liquid boils and boils again ceremoniously, emitting the aroma beyond the scope of the little terraces where it is served. Made one cup (fildžan) at a time, where the dregs settle and a thick golden cream forms on top, the köpük, it is a process of slow anticipation, a largo of animation. And also a journey into the past and the future. In this small fildžan I can almost glimpse the Levantine Arabs bringing the fruit of coffea bush to Constantinople. The Ottoman chronicler İbrahim Peçevi reports the opening of the first coffeehouse in İstanbul:
“Until the year 962 (1554-55), in the High, God-Guarded city of Constantinople, as well as in Ottoman lands generally, coffee and coffeehouses did not exist. About that year, a fellow called Hakam from Aleppo and a wag called Shams from Damascus, came to the city: they each opened a large shop in the district called Tahtalkala, and began to purvey coffee.”
~ Cemal Kafadar, "A History of Coffee", Economic History Congress XIII (Buenos Aires, 2002)
But I can also forsee the future: those sludgy grounds left at the bottom serve for tasseography, an old tradition of fortune telling. The cup is turned onto the saucer and the symbols formed are deciphered by some older woman.The flavour of cardamom and sometimes kakule (pistachio grains whole seed "pods", pistachio-looking like of the cardamom plant) settles in the mouth, lingering for a long time, like the prophecies revealed by the symbols on the cup. “Will they ever come true?”, one wonders gallivanting through the medieval alleys.
In Kapali Carci (the Grand Bazaar with the 1000 shops) one comes across all kinds of scented products. Fragrant balms for the hair, henna paste for body and hair, oils of rare plants and fossilised resins, like lumps of gum benjamin (benzoin), Turkish sweetgum (Liquidabar orientalis) and all the spices of Arabia. If one persists there are manuscripts, or should I say copies of old manuscripts posing as older than they are, with recipes using them. One of them is "Theriaca Andromachi Senioris", a Venice treacle recipe that uses benzoin appearing in the 1686 d'Amsterdammer Apotheek, a honey- or molasses-based alexipharmic composition once thought to be effective against venom. First developed in Italy, then exported throughout Europe from Venice and ending in Constantinople. If only the offered manuscript were authentic…
And of course there is Anatolian rose Otto (from Ottoman) which leaves an intense trail of almost fruity scent to one’s hands after handling the precious little bottles, with the name Gül (Rose) written on the label. I try to recall if any commercial fragrance captures the intense, decadent and yet also fresh odour of such an essence and come up with none. One is hard pressed not to haggle with the local sellers who are expecting so and the little treasure is secured into a handbag, folded with a silk handkerchief depicting seagulls. It will linger in a drawer with old, frayed photos of ancestors, impregnating their precious memory with the essence of the place they begrudgingly had to leave.
To be continued....
Pic shows Ortaköy Mosque (officially Büyük Mecidiye Camii, the Grand Imperial Mosque of Sultan Abdülmecid) and the Bosphorus Bridge by cafefernando.com.
Translation of lyrics by the author.
Clip from the intro of Greek-Turkish film Politiki Kouzina, uploaded on Youtube by JasonSeaman1.
This is the time to test your span of attention, dear readers. Remember how I had talked about the upcoming new fragrance from Sonia Rykiel, madame de tricot, full of anticipation, back in the day? It was last October on my previous venue, on another host. You can read what I had written and the official info on the new perfume here. Today I will occupy myself with accounting my actual sniffing experience for your delectation.
Sonia Rykiel is a true Parisian eccentric lady with elegant daughter Nathalie as precious accomplice in their adventures in knit, navy clothes Breton-style and the ubiquitous black. Her signature frizzy red mane is only a hint of her willingness to participate in outré concepts like their new boutique with all the naughty props... In perfumery she hasn't made any faux pas, starting their fragrant stable with the great dry woody Sonia Rykiel Le parfum in 1993. It was as late as 1997 that they issued their next one, named simply Sonia Rykiel in the sweater torso bottle with the strass on the chest, boxed in an orange rectangle and smelling of sweet fruits mingled with vanilla and caramel, inspired by the success of Angel, making this one for gourmands in every sense of the word. The following year saw L'eau de Sonia Rykiel, a predictably aquatic "blue" scent to satisfy the end of the market that had moved on from L'eau d'Issey because of its mass popularity and wanted something a little more private and subtle; while 2000 was the year Rykiel catered for men as well with her dark Rykiel Homme. The collection now seemed complete. However when something is good saleswise, perfume houses and marketing teams want to capitalize on that: enter Rykiel Rose (2000) in a version of the original sweater bottle, this time tinged in a very becoming pink hue, redolent of succulent tarter fruits and a sparkling interpretation of the king of flowers (for most folks, I'm not one of them!) By the same token Rykiel Grey (2003) was a male tart and sexy musky version in another sweater bottle, while the true masterpiece came out that same year and was emphatically and irrevocably destined for women: Rykiel Woman, not for men!(in eau de parfum; the eau de toilette that launched two years later is sadly different and not on a par).
The newest Belle en Rykiel , created by nose Jean Pierre Bethouart (working for Firmenich), crossed my path for real this time like an accidental rencontre with someone you had heard lots about half-remembering what that someone was like. Time had passed and I did not remember any notes or description, just that it was a promising new release from the designer who captured my heart with Rykiel Woman,not for men! rich crayons of a dusky, musky hue. I was therefore a complete virgin in regards to sampling it when the genuine surprise of seeing the heavy architectural bottle subsided. Surprise, because although I had been informed that it had already launched since last autumn I had not yet located a tester. This is an irritating phenomenon that has to stop: how is it possible to sell something, a new product on top of that, without a tester available for the buyer to sample from? Some mysterious clairvoyant act of genius must transpire, I guess...
The official description promised an aromatic oriental, presumambly because of the inclusion of one of the most traditional aromatics in perfumery that has done a comeback -much like the also for long forgotten violet note- that is lavender. Now, lavender is usually a masculine element, both because of its traditional and somewhat expected inclusion in so many men's scents, from Grey Flannel to Goutal's Eau de Lavande. And to tell you the truth it is not my personal favourite note in a women's perfume, because if it is the real stuff it smells quite medicinal which I find offputting, and if it is not it's even worse; a travesty smothered in easy to swallow vanilla cream like kid's pills. If you have to have something, be a man and take it as it is, is my motto! However, truth be told, in Belle en Rykiel it smells neither very prominent, nor masculine. Its celebral coupling with incense, as promised by the promotion text, gave me an idea that maybe it would be an echo of Encens et Lavande by Serge Lutens, a Paris exclusive with the most gorgeous drydown (final phase) of smooth olibanum/frankincense that recalls the heavy damasc drapery of a baroque cathedral in the time of the Spanish Inquisition. However in Belle en Rykiel, I am a little disappointed to report that the final impression is not as dramatic or richly evocative of similar decadence with the resplendour of such historical periods.
Upon spraying the light golden liquid on my wrists the tartness of mandarin and berry overtook any possible medicinal tendency lavender has, with a projection that at first seemed a bit strong for my taste. It took a while for it to unfold the powdery and sweet heliotropin which emerged triumphantly in the middle along with a garland of light incense that is nowhere near the eclesiastical dense cloud of Avignon or the sheer drama of Norma Kamali Incense. Patchouli seems like such an ubiquitous element in half of today's perfumes that frankly, although I love its aroma, it's getting me a little bored. Here it offers its sweet ambience in compliance to the amber, never overstagging it. The bois d'acajou (mahogany) note listed is something to which I am unfamiliar with, excluding the eponymous limited edion by Etro and furniture of course, but admittedly the composition smells more like a woody oriental to me than an aromatic one. On the whole, although Belle en Rykiel starts with somewhat of a blast it soon becomes soft and subtly sweet staying close to the skin the way another sensual Lutens scent, Chergui, does or even evoking the baked skin of L de Lolita Lempicka, the whole lasting quite a while.
Would I rush out and buy a bottle? Probably not, because I feel that it is not terribly original to warrant a purchase since I have similar things in my collection already; however it would not disappoint the woman who is tired of fruity florals or overtly foody scents and out to purchase a modern oriental that would never garner comments of it being out of synch with today's sensibilities, yet manage to smell feminine and inviting.
Belle en Rykiel comes in Eau de parfum concentration in 40, 75 and 100ml priced 40, 60 and 75 euros respectively. Available from major department stores in Europe. Soon to be released in the US and rest of the world.
Pic came uncredited to me via email, probably courtesy of Lavazza calendar campaign.
What perfume does a film noir heroine wear? More importantly: what perfume does a film noir cinephile wear? If the twists of plot found in a good noir are you cup of tea (or, in this case, coffee), then Film Noir by Ayala Moriel perfumes might be your hot ticket to a ride of pleasure for the evening. And many more evenings to come, if you are lucky and smart. But let's concentrate on your smarts, pal.
Ayala Moriel is dedicated to the art of natural perfumery, a niche that is witnessing a renaissance lately. Perfume Designer Ayala Moriel creates handcrafted perfumes from 100% precious botanical essences. On her site, she describes Film Noir thus:
"This perfume is as dark as a Film Noir plot; as dark as a dim-lit alley in Chinatown and musty as the sewer in The Third Man where the ambivalent heroes and heroines find their inevitable death, over and over again. Film Noir is as dark as the soul of the genre's script writers, directors, actors and viewers. In fact, it is so dark that it includes only the darkest base notes: cruelly luscious dark cacao absolute, musty-sweet patchouli and the mysterious bitterness of myrrh. "
Built around the noble essences of dark-roast coffee and the bitterest Valhrona chocolate they combine with patchouli to render a surprising gourmand that catches the darkest images. If you have sampled the wonder that is Serge Luten's Borneo 1834, then you are already familiar with the weird attraction that such scents produce in the limbic system of the person smelling them. Although the depth is somehow bitter and musty, as if glimpsing the jaws of hell, it manages to also recall memories of cosiness and comfort in woolly seperates on a very cold day. Film Noir might have been inspired by such an olfactory memory and created to pay homage to all those inwardly dark heroines (even if they are blondes) that fester the imagination of screenplayers from the dawn of cinema but only culminated in the 40s and early 50s . The breathy voice of Lauren Bacall in "To have and have not" and her gaze as she takes the matches from Bogart. The intricate plot of "The Maltese Flacon" and the wit of "The Third man". And the great "Chinatown", the noir that summarises all the great traits of the classics without copying any of them. And then the recent greats, even if they break some cardinal rules to accomplish it: "LA Confidential" and "Sin City". Venomous and razor sharp, the heroines emit a female mystique that leaves you shivering from the iciness and hot and bothered by the promise of fiery sex. But you'd have to sleep with a revolver under your pillow, you never know...
The dark ambery liquid reveals its assets early on, as a drop on the skin is more than enough. It then unfolds the notes with the gusto of a cutthroat assasin draped in a killer tweed suit. They did it oh so glamourously back then! Patchouli lingers in the base making it very lasting. The veil of Faye Dunaway is not raised, not will it be raised ever, the dark glasses remain firmly in place, hiding her gaze. Is it happy, is it sad? is she shedding a tear? We will never know. The mysterious aroma will linger in your memory for ever, like the infamous lines in Roman Polanski's film Chinatown when the secret is revealed between heavy slaps: "She's my daughter. She's my sister".Film Noir is our dark sister. And the daughter we should be quite worried to have.
You can read about natural perfumery and her creations and get Film Noir by visiting Ayala Moriel perfumes clicking here
Top pic is from Black Dahlia, the movie based on James Ellroy book. Pic of Faye Dunaway by Helmut Newton courtesy of temple.edu
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