Down in the Bowels of London

One of my favourite readers, Minette of Scent Signals, sent me the following link which guides us down to the London...sewers! The Guardian video follows Rob Smith, head flusher at Thames Water, who explains how 'fat bergs' (amalgamations of illegally dumped cooking oil and wet wipes) are the culprits for frequent blockage and even flooding. But some more pleasant emanations are still possible, as he attests!

Not a pleasant subject on the whole you might say, even though those sewers have inspired writers Robotham, Gaiman and Updale (Lost, Neverwhere and Montmorency series respectively) as well as video games, with their dark and sinister atmosphere. But the interesting thing is that the London sewer system goes back to the Victorian Age. In the 1850s over 400000 tonnes of sewage were flushed into the River Thames each day, thus rendering the river biologically dead. The ...stinky culmination came in the summer of 1858, during which the smell of untreated human waste was extraordinarily potent in central London, forever giving the time frame the nickname "the Great Stink" and reinforcing the theory of "miasmatic air" as a cause for cholera to last well until at least the 1880s, when Koch re-discovered the bacterium responsible for the disease. (The predominance of the theory of the air carrying miasmata through odours is well documented in Alain Corbin's book The Fragrant and the Foul). Soon Joseph Bazalgette was commissioned chief engineer to oversee the construction of the new London sewage system in 1859.

The London sewers are stratographed in regions of class demarcations, nevertheless; certainly a distinction obvious in British society in general in the past, less so now, except for the respective...effluvium, so to speak. The fearless in the eye of dirt Rob Smith describes the emanations that bypass methane for a more pleasant odour as those coming from the "affluent effluent" ~the stuck remnants of perfumed body oils and bath washes which are used by the richer folks; certain areas smell of expensive oils that carry their aromatic heritage down the drain...
The London sewage system holds a special fascination apparently, a mix of the Gothic tradition with the metamodern V for Vendetta flair for underground scheming: With such names of "hot spots" as Devil's Gate, Itself, Labyrinth, and Rubix, is it any wonder perfume managed to sneak in there too?


Next post will be a review & lucky draw for a new niche perfume. Stay tuned!

sketch of Faraday and Father Thames via wikimedia commons

Hermes Eau d'Hermes: fragrance review

The official site introduces Eau d'Hermès as "For me. For you. His and hers" and if an androgynous sensibility is already simpatico to you, the special Eau has the potential to surprise in other ways. Notoriously refered to as "that stinky Hermès" among perfume aficionados, this cologne has had a somewhat dimmed profile for many years, ever since its introduction in 1951 by renowned perfumer Edmond Roudnitska and still to this day enjoys a rather underground cult status.



The ~originally proficient in saddlery and leather goods~ luxury house has some of the most interesting Eaux around anyway, with the latest Eau de Pamplemousse Rose and Eau de Gentiane Blanche having me rave recently for their unassuming spontaneity and unassuming intellectualism, with the ultra-popular Eau de Merveilles with its saline note of ambergris and the mouthwatering Eau d'Orange Verte rounding out the edges. But the original Eau from 1951 is still a small marvel because it manages to recalibrate the Eau formula (a traditional recipe of herbs and hesperidia) into a dazzling kaleidoscope combining frank animal notes, spices, and the illusion of tobacco, a mirage that’s at once textured, elegant and "skanky". In some ways there is a bond with the famous fougère by Guerlain, Jicky: The proper lavender touch, the unabashed sexiness of civet, the contrast of old money and an almost cubist outlook. Only the sequence in Eau d'Hermès is in reverse ~first the objectionable part, then the sumptuous, dignified drydown! There is also kinship with some of the older lovely masculines in the line-up: Équipage and Bel Ami, which I also like very much.

Frankly I don't get much of the "dirty" vibe for which Eau d'Hermès is referenced myself, meaning it doesn't smell either really sweaty (rich though it is in cumin, the usual culprit as per received wisdom) or diaper-like/fecal (copious amounts of civet tend to do that). I get a finely tuned citrus-leather violin and piano duet with some white flowers peeking underneath discreetly. This might have to do with either my skank-eating skin or my seriously wrapped-up perception of what "dirty" really is (Apparently my threshold is rather raised in comparison to the average WASP sensibility, I've been told.) My money is on the second hypothesis, at any rate, and most Roudnitska creations with their improper parts always peeking through the layers seem to perform well. But as usual, try before you buy, because perception is everything when it comes to perfume appreciation and what's fine with me might be unbearable bathroom ambience to you. And cumino-phobiacs*, please beware!

The first bottle of Eau d'Hermès in my life was a gift from an artist friend who has a high brow in art issues and a low brow in matters of everyday commodities; which even now befundles me as to which end of the intellectual and aesthetic spectrum predominated when the choice for this gift was made! Eau d'Hermès is perfectly legible as a composition that doesn't trumpet its credentials in your face (there are luxury ingredients in it, but they never show off the bill, if you know what I mean), it nevertheless has some unusual streak which reminds me of another friend, a writer who hails from an old family tracing roots in the Byzantine Empire, and who likes to wear little hats cocked off-kilter and combine odd socks with her evening outfits. Bottom line, it conjures images of non-prim respectability, like an old, faded aristocrat who has the pissoir jugs displayed alongside the family china.

Notes for Eau d'Hermes: citrus, cumin, birchwood, moss, cedar, sandalwood, vanilla

Please take care not to confuse Eau d'Hermès with the semi-oriental Parfum d'Hermès from 1984 (in the round disk bottle) which is a completely different fragrance. The newest version rerworked by in-house perfumer Jean Claude Ellena is a bit more refined, a little more brainy and airy than the vintage, but still fantastically marvellous and arresting in the most incospicuous way. It is sold in all Hermes boutiques at an Eau de Toilette concentration, just ask for it.

Three different commemorative limited editions of Eau d'Hermès have circulated over the years, highly collectible and beautiful to look at. One is from 1993, depicted above, showing a rider upon a horse. Another is from 1994 with an etched Pegasus on the bottle depicted on the left, the other depicting the sun-carriage of Phaethon also etched on the crystal from 2001 depicted on the right. They're both available on Ebay right now for ridiculous amounts of money (A lesson for us all to stock up on rare limited editions instead of bonds, I guess).




















*Some of the other cumin/sweat-infested fragrances include: Kingdom (McQueen), L'Autre (Diptyque), Santal Blanc , Fleurs d'Oranger, Muscs Kublai Khan (Lutens), Declaration (Cartier), Timbuktu (L'Artisan), Gucci Eau de Parfum, Black Tourmaline (Olivier Dubrano), Rochas Femme (1984 reissue).

Paintings by the Spanish artist Juan Gris with music by Barry Mitchell performed by the Locrian Ensemble

Glorious stink

The ebb and flow of human taste and its modus operandi is an undecipherable commodity. What is considered appealing and desirable and what is not doesn’t obey any quantitative measure. Which of course accounts for trends, market research and lost fortunes in wrong assumptions side by side with the successful lucky guesses.
The same applies to smell and fragrance. More pointedly so when the aromas emanating from someone are of a more intimate nature.

Ever since the dawn of humanity homo sapiens has shared the biological fate of his ancestors in the olfactory field. His sense of smell has primarily directed him to opt for the healthy game and fresh produce and avoid the stale and rotten. It is also possible that it has directed him via odorata sexualis to suitable mates through which procreation might be consummated with the imperceptible help of pheromones, aroma materials that are emanated by individuals to attract. For millennia man has been content to do just that.

And then civilization came into the picture. In the great civilizations of antiquity such as Egypt, Greece and Rome, the desire to distance oneself from the animal nature and embrace the humane, as manifested in science, philosophy and the arts, has made man take measures as to maintain a level of cleanliness that is beyond the mere necessity of survival. All those civilizations have been very hygienic indeed, if we take into mind that there was no running hot water and no bubble baths in a million permutations.
Yet Herodotus talks about how the ancient Egyptians of his time bathed regularly shaving their body hair and even their scalps as to not let perspiration nestle in intimate parts of the body and fester bacteria (OK, he did not use the word bacteria precisely). How they had inward lavatories for their needs and how they took pains to maintain hygiene there. How they used sweet scented oils and incense to accompany the dead to their last dwelling place on earth.
The Greeks were by no means less clean. They too -living in a warm climate- had been taking regular baths using silver and golden basins followed by massage with aromatic oils of thyme and basil at every possible occasion, cleaning their clothes in the rivers with ash and aromatic herbs as described in the Odyssey and equating hygiene with sanity and longevity. Numerous are the mythological tales of gods and goddesses taking baths while mortals gazed hidden. It was Galenos who invented the first bar of soap mixing crushed flower petals, olive oil and ash from burnt logwood.
Ancient Rome was the apex of public baths, in which people of all ages intermingled and talked about state matters in elaborate buildings divided in unctuarium (where they chose the unguents with which they would groom themselves), the frigidarium (cold bath) and the caldarium (hot bath) and then on to the labrum for the final cold shower.
Even lavender that clean smelling herb is named after the roman word for bathing, because of its ubiquitous use.
The tradition of the bath as a civilization index is no more apparent that in Tacitus’ opus Germania where he mentions with some disdain that Germanians, considered barbarians at the time, bathed in rivers. At least they did bathe! Which is more than can be said for the squalor and filth in which Medieval Europe lived for centuries after the fall of Rome.

While Islam reveled in the luxuries of bathing (aided by the religious prerequisite to clean one’s head, hands and feet before every prayer, a phenomenon that occurs with frequent regularity throughout the day), western Europe inaugurated a practice of not washing up one’s body at all, for which the church can be found to be a great culprit.
Maintaining that mixed baths (as were previously tentatively explored) were corrupting the soul and that tending to one’s genitals might lead to impure thoughts, they condoned the absence of bath as a means of chastity while at the same time they traditionally equated holiness with the sweet smell of myrrh and incense. How those two could co-exist is beyond me, but this is not the only paradox one comes up against if one explores the matter further.

It was as late as 1750 according to Alain Corbin and his book “Le Miasme and la Jonquile”, which explores the adventure of sanitation and the desodorisation of society, that the élite chose to distance itself from the foul stench of the gutters and disease that were abundant in the crowded -by then- cities of France. A taste for the aroma of deer musk or of catty civet and of pure country air mingled in what was to become the height of French perfumery. The impression of cleanliness underscored by the reminder that we are all human, full of smells that could be perceived as disgusting in their pure state.
However perfumes seemed to be necessary still to repel the germs and bacteria through their cleansing properties as the tradition of filth continued, albeit a bit subdued: at least the clothes were as freshly clean as possible.
Louis XIV was said to have only bathed two times in his whole long life despite asking his guests and courtesans to wear a different perfume every day and the mere thought disgusts us today, earning a reputation of filth for Frenchmen which sadly has not been totally shifted if I judge by the miniscule pieces of sanitary paper that come out - one at a time!!- through the automatic devices at French toilets today.
On the other hand there was also an allure of the animalic and forbidden in similar practices when Napoleon infamously wrote to Josephine: “Je reviens en trois jours; ne te laves pas!” (I return in three days; don’t wash yourself).
The pair of them began a vogue for heavier smells as Josephine was madly in love with the smell of musk, to the point that her boudoir at Malmaison still has an aura of the aromatic essence present. Napoleon on the other hand preferred her in violets.

The Victorian age reveled in pure and simple smells as a contrast to the more decadent Empire style, using single floral waters (soliflores) for men and women alike. But it was the Puritans more than anyone else that began the hysteria for cleanliness with their desire to eliminate all traces of animalic tendencies from man. Sadly this is an insurmountable task, as the human body has to produce bile and bacteria to break down food which accounts for a smell that cannot be completely eradicated however hard one tries.
Indoor plumbing and hot water at the click of a button made taking baths an easy and swift procedure that is as an automatic reflex for today’s men and women as brushing one’s teeth. Technological progressions made the manufacture of industrial strength deodorants to put under one’s armpits as a necessity of every day life that is a god sent if you’re ever stuck up in a crowded underground wagon on a hot day of August. Perfumed products in an array of mind arresting variety are manufactured to lure as in and buy more, more, more…

And yet in all that progress we seem to have lost what has once been ours in ancient years: the conjugation of mind and body, the clean with the human.
The examples of complete perfume bans in offices in latter days, the denial of the sensual and natural in favour of the sanitized and deodorized has permeated every single aspect of today’s life. Everything around us is artificially scented with a chemical aroma that defies every law of nature. We scrub fanatically to remove any trace of human smell from our bodies and then we apply perfumed products that would supposedly give us back what nature intended to give us in order to attract a mate. We seek to find “clean” but at the same time “sexy” smells. Above all we do not want to offend. Being accused of smelling of body odour is the height of mortification for anyone beyond infancy. (since kids do not really “smell”; there have to be sexual hormones at play to do that…)
In an overcrowded planet that has no room for any more bodies, this was to be expected.
And this is what accounts for the recent resurgence of perfumes that aim to regress in the stink and funk of our human condition: from the goat-y magnificence of Muscs Kublai Khan by enfant gaté Serge Lutens to the dirty smell of Kiehl’s Musk eau de toilette and from the soft caress of a slightly sweaty body that has been active in human activities of L’air de rien by Miller Harris (with the collaboration of Jane Birkin) to the gimmicky Sécretions magnifiques by état libre d’Orange which recalls semen and blood (sounds the recipe for some tabloid article)…

It is clear that one yearns for what one is denied of. And the reason why isn’t very hard to see.


Artwork by Patric Boivine for CGnetworks.com