Serge Lutens Nuit de Cellophane: fragrance review (and a draw!)

The breakdown of a new fragrance by Serge Lutens often resembles an exercise in Sibyllic prose deciphering. As announced a while ago, the newest Lutens oeuvre is built on a floral pattern and bears the surrealistic name Nuit de Cellophane (ie.Cellophane Night). Much fanfare had been consequently made on how the elusive, cryptic meaning of the text by Lutens would effectively line with the actual scent of the new creation. The nocturnal character of the little tale can only be brought to life through the realisation that those are night-blooming flowers, exuding their best under the veil of night. But the mysterious, the dangerous or the arcane have been eschewed for a luminous composition that is poised between the commercially celebrated and the expectedly orthodox. Canonical in the Lutens portfolio however Nuit de Cellophane is definitely not, in the sense that the sequestered feature of most of his visions is the inclusion of a bit of deliberate ugliness; jarring and mismatched yet generating subliminal beauty. To quote a commentator on Pascal Bruckner's comparable opus "the ability to induce a feeling of attraction, lust and temptation for things which would otherwise seem repulsive, outrageous or disgusting". Serge Lutens and his combatant "nose" Christ Sheldrake have successfully managed to make the bizarre (Serge Noire), the uncanny (Tubéreuse Criminelle, Mandarine Mandarin), the somputous (Vétiver Oriental, Muscs Koublaï Khan ) and the peculiar (Douce Amere, El Attarine, Cèdre) seem alluringly otherwordly like a savant figure in a world of duds and to entice us into not only being intellectually awed but actively clutched into their olfactory tentacles with no hope for escape. What is the truth for the rupture with this tradition of 45 scents so far, fortunately refreshed just last year by the introduction of not one, but two polarising scents under the spell of which I fell instantly?

It might have to do with the hermetically shrouded kind of collaboration that entails Chris Sheldrake's input in the range's compositions, as he has been weaned back at Chanel although allowed to continue to work for Lutens. It might also have to do with the opressively pessimistic climate shaping the market right now which bodes dark clouds that need a much sought after silver lining to give momentary ease of mind to the average consumer: Not impossible, but not very probable either as the scent has been the object of adjustments during the previous two years as per Lutens' own admission. It might even have to do with a retrogade desire of niche firms en masse to sneak up on the seasoned pefumephile who has been expecting a heavy artillery orientalised baba ghanoush spiced within an inch of its life and is instead served a mandarin and orange blossom cordial that quenches the common thirst a treat.
"The name evokes Paris before the war", intimated Serge Lutens. "It's almost an insult, a shock, a name that communicates the idea of pleasure but also of chic", he continued. With Nuit de Cellophane, Serge wanted to "enter the universe of nuances". This leaves me wondering whether he deems the previous fragrances in the canon as lacking of nuance, but I am leaving peripheral matters out in my eagerness to dwelve into the composition itself.

In Nuit de Cellophane Serge Lutens unfolds a fruity floral sympony of what seems like the tartness of mandarin, the lushness of champaca and some joyful jasmine, hiding its natural indolic glory in mock-demureness, extracted from the flower in a gust of "clean" volatility. A white rose note of great balance with shades of fruitiness is emerging amidst the other blossoms ~aerated, transparent, seen through the clear crisp "window" of cellophane. The scent of osmanthus is not realistically rendered in the apricoty-suede-like tonality it renders to other compositions like Osmanthus Intedite. (I am however holding out on the possibility of its blooming more convincingly in the hot weather ahead). The overall sensuality is subtle, hushed and too discreet in the form of creamy sandalwood and possibly a smidge of civet combined with "clean" synthesized musks. It took me a while to shake off the mind-proding disturbance of alarming familiarity with a commercial fruity floral I have known and it only dawned on me upon Octavian's likening it to Dior's J'adore L'Absolu (a beautifully crafted composition that is superior to the competent and pretty J'adore). My mind had veered into less sophisticated directions initially, despite Grain de Musc's enthusiastic rapture. I admit that like Beige by Chanel before it, it is pretty, will probably be one of the most wearable and popular in the Lutens line and not at all an bijou de plastique like feared going by the name alone. But is it really beautiful? The much needed soupçon of weird Lutensian ugliness is sorely missing I'm afraid...

Nuit de Cellophane by Serge Lutens is available in Eau de Parfum concentration in the standard oblong bottle of 50ml/1.7oz as part of the export line launching in March 2009 at the US (at the usual suspects carrying the Lutens portfolio). It's already available in Paris for 79 euros.

Two more fragrances by Serge Lutens will be announaced in the course of 2009.

One lucky reader will receive a sample of Nuit de Cellophane!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Serge Lutens Fragrance Reviews & News

Brigitte Bardot pic from Henri-Georges Clouzot's film "La Vérité" via mooninthegutter blog
Bottle pic via velduftende.com

How does the latest Serge Noire by Serge Lutens smell like?

Serge Noire, the export fragrance of Lutens for this summer (July 2008) derives its lineage from history: In the 19th and early 20th century, the name (la serge, feminine hence the "e" in the adjective "noire") designated a type of textile, twill of diagonal lines or ridges on both sides, made with a two-up, two-down weave, that was quite popular: a delicate variety was used for finer garments, while a stronger yarn was chosen for military clothes. The etymology derives from Greek σηρικος (σηρος means silk worm, for clothes), which gave rise to the Latin serica and the old French serge.
The interesting thing is that serge has been implicated through the British textile trade monopoly via Calais and the Netherlands in wars between European nations, especially religious ones: in 1567 Calvinist refugees from the Low Countries included many skilled serge weavers, while Huguenot refugees in the early eighteenth century included many silk and linen weavers.

With that at the back of our minds we might start deciphering the enigma of Serge Noire and its reputation of an ascetic incense, according to my confidante Elisabeth. Quite taken with it, she discussed it at length with Serge, who explained that it is very different from Encens et Lavande, the previous sumptuous and fantastically deep frankincense take in the exclusive Palais Royal line.
Since there is often a double interpretation of the same material in both exclusive and export lines, it is not unheard of that there would be an incense scent in the latter. After all there is indeed a lavender one to match Encens et Lavande, Gris Clair, so why not one to address the other constituent of the fragrance as well?

Frankincense came into the scene of niche cults with the "Incense series" by Comme des Garcons and Passage d'Enfer by L'artisan parfumeur years ago and although it seemed it languished for a while, incense knew a resurgence last summer with Andy Warhol Silver Factory by Bond No.9, an arguably interesting take and with Andy Tauer's wonderful duo of Incense Extrême and Incense Rosé this autumn.

Serge Noire comes to offer an architecture of incense that is pure and balanced with nothing in excess, yet not classical. Rather an orientalised grey, which in itself is a play on his previous Gris Clair. It has a ritualistic element, without the cold, dark church associations we have come to expect from the genre. It is on the contrary reminiscent of fireworks and powdery dry, laced with spices which will dare our conventional beliefs on incense fragrances.

My French blogger friend Six, on Ambre Gris, equally ecstatic, talks about resinous, warm and slightly sweet, vanillic benzoin joining the proceedings, giving a feminine element to the masculine character, while she notes that pepper and a camphoreous note open up the intriguing composition of dry and bitter japanese-like incense with smoky and mineral tonalities echoing Chinese ink, flanked with a little cinnamon. Elements that have caught the imagination of Lutens and Sheldrake in the past (the camphor in Tubéreuse Criminelle, the ink in Sarrasins, the incense of Encens et Lavande) are merging here in what seems to be a personal declaration of faith.
Elisabeth confirmed that Serge Noire is near and dear to Serge's heart, name nothwithstanding, as he professed it to be his favorite; feeding thus the rumor that it has been in the works for 10 years and hinting that those who have professed it one of the best Lutens in recent years must be right.

So to recapitulate notes for your ease: camphor and pepper, dry incense and ashes, fireworks and gunpowder, sweet benzoin, cistus labdanum, castoreum and a little cinnamon. Got it? Sounds fantastic!

Lutens himself in a lyrical description consistent with his previous cryptic "poems" about his fragrances states concerning Serge Noire:

"An ether of ashes, it's about serge. A way of creating for myself a bad reputation with added value" [...]"A phoenix, the mythical bird of legend burns at the height of its splendour before emerging triumphant, reborn from the ashes in a choreography of flame, conjuring the shapes of yesterday in a dance of ashes. The swirls of oriental grey enrich the twilight with depth and intensity while windswept memories hint at the beauty of transformation. An ode to everlasting beauty under the cover of night's rich plumage"

There is some discrepancy between English and French press release which is intriguing to contemplate: In the French text there is the addition of a controversial affirmation of the fragrance creating a visual contrast between white skin and black cloth, intended for ethereal beauties ("Pour vous belles éthérées! Peaux blanches et serge noire...")
Political correcteness never fit well with Lutens and the phrase despite its connotations cannot be taken at face value, I reckon: I am sure he was focused on the aesthetic choice of chromatic antithesis and not on any racial slur hinted. To me it is more evocative of "The Pillow Book", black calligraphy on light-toned skin, tragically romantic in its unattainable ideal.

The Lutensian feminine ideal is japonified, lean and ascetic in her black garb, a woman of neither here nor there, of no time and no place; she almost becomes inhuman in the attenuation of her form and features to the point she becomes pure art. However every one of his creations bears inside the sperm of this ideal, which caresses our dreams and imprints our thoughts.
Black takes the emblematic scheme of a non-color: it serves as protection and amunition. But also as the symbolic anonymity of the monastic cloth which invokes an inner transformation, a metamorphosis of the spirit and which imparts its truth to those who opt for it.
Serge Noire will be the darling fragrance of everyone seeking to embrace their inner anchorite. Count me in!

Serge Noire comes in Eau de Parfum Haute Concentration at the standard 50 ml/1.7oz oblong flacon with optional spray attachement and costs to buy 95 €

Pic from Shiseido ad courtesy of Autour de Serge