Parfums Weil Chunga: fragrance review & history

To understand the demise of Chunga is to realize that it is truly unmarketable in today's world: For a feminine perfume it flunks the test of being traditionally pretty or particularly becoming, demanding too much out of its wearer in both intelligence and attitude (After all it was advertised with the slogan "for women who want the world"). For a masculine (and men would be wise to try it if they can get their hands on some) it is an alien thing, being neither fresh -as is the majority of aquatic and aromatic fougeres around-, nor sexy -as are the orientalized woodies with succulent tonka and lots of sweet amber in the base. Maybe only Philip K. Dick replicas can wear Chunga by Weil right now, aside from dedicated perfumistas that is, which misses marketability points big time. But it's a shame, I can tell you that, because Chunga is a great fragrance coming from a great perfume house, the Weil fourruriers. (champions of the parfum fourrure notion)

The name comes from Micaela Flores Amaya, a Romani-born flamenco dancer known as "La Chunga" which translates as "the difficult woman"...and indeed the fragrance is somewhat "difficult" alright.
Introduced in 1977, Chunga comes in a string of great chypres with green elements and aldehydes that are elegantly assertive and resolutely determined: Chanel No.19, Lauder's Knowing, Coriandre by Jean Couturier, the first Jean Louis Scherrer fragrance. And thus lovers of the afore-mentioned perfumes are advised to seek out some Chunga for their collection.
In the print advertisements Chunga was targeting literally every woman and that included all races and all skin colors. A pioneering thought for a traditional French house! "Comme un nouvel horizon"...like a new horizon, which marked a new interest in encompassing more ethnicities in the game of perfume, reaping the benefits of feminine emancipation alongside the "black power" that emerged in the 1970s. Another set of print ads is tagged "et la fete commence" (i.e. and the celebration begins), showing a more typical couple in black tie in the midst of some dancing move, a more or less expected extension of perfume as a fashion accessory for a night out.

The olfactory structure of Chunga unfolds like a secret drawer within a drawer: The opening is aggressive, with its citric tang of bergamot and lemony tones sparkling like marble, with the particularly sharp incision of a scalpel, shiny and new and you think that it will remain arid and bitter and gloriously ingestible till the end, until the tables are turned and a second stage emerges. The base of Weil's Chunga is redolent of powdery amber, vetiver and a slightly urinous, honeyed, sweetish musky note that is quite retro; a throwback to days when bodies weren't deodorized to within an inch of their lives and hairy regions were much hairier than recent memory...on both sexes, that is.
The comparison with Weil's more popular and well-known, still-circulating-in-some-version-or-other Antilope perfume is not without its own value: Whereas Antilope is lady-like and more properly floral and feminine in the heart notes, Chunga like its name is butcher, more incisive, with elements that translate as more masculine or sharper. My own bottle is marked Parfum de Toilette, which nicely puts in it the early 1980s.

Chunga was the last fragrance issued by the house in Weil in 1977 and has since become a discontinued rarity. For those with an interest in chronicling the arc of the green, aldehydic, perfume-y chypre, it's incomparable and worth the investment.

Notes for Weil Chunga: aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, peach, clove, jasmine, lily of the valley, linden blossom, orris, ylang-ylang, amber, honey, Tonka bean, vanilla, vetiver, musk 

 pics via hprints.com, museodelparfum.com and punmiris.com

Definition: French Style Perfume ~Connotations & Meanings

If the Great Big Sea are to be taken literally, "you can smell that French perfume" on the wake of a contraband ship "if the wind turns right". In a world where everything has a received value besides its inherent one, Pilsener has to be Czech, computers should be USA-made, feta cheese must absolutely be Greek and perfume would be French (I suppose Absolut drinkers might get rallied up by now, but carry on please). The French have more or less cornered the market in what has to do with posh, sophisticated perfume (though there are wonderful specimens from all over the world, from the most unlikely places, such as Australia, Greece, or Germany). But how many actually know that "French type perfume" or "French style scent" is indeed very specific terminology to denote a specific olfactory experience, a certain scentscape if you will, a specific fragrance family even? And yet, like with many things in perfumery jargon (we insist that the nose is never wrong, it's the brain that muddles things up), it is so.

If we look back in magazine articles, perfume books and trade documents spanning the decades from the 1950s up to the end of the 1970s,  aldehydic perfumes are referred to as "modern type"or "french type". This was both due to the public's unfamiliarity with perfumery jargon (the industry was even more cryptical then) and due to a need for simplification for communicating the product to the consumer: modern or French denoted much more than a reference to chemistry (aldehydic fragrances are those which are characterised by a specific sequence of aliphatic aldehydes in their formula, scented molecules usually constructed in the lab). Especially since the emblematic torch-holder was Chanel No.5: both supremely "modern" for its times, the 1920s (thanks in part to the newly popularised bouquet of aldehydes) and quintessentially French as everyone knows.

But that's not all. In bibliography there was French type No 1 and French type No 2: the former a classic floral aldehydic, molded after Chanel No.5 and Arpège, the most famous surviving examples (others in the genre are Guerlain Liu and Guerlain Vega,  Piguet Baghari); the second was the chypre aldehydic perfume, of which Calèche is a prime candidate still circulating to this day (others include Mystère by Rochas and Paco Rabanne Calandre). Is it any wonder that even the perfume brand names are French sounding, replete with accents aigus and accents graves?

Technically speaking chypre perfume isn't particularly French of course, since it's an old formula/tradition that survived from the oldest cradle of perfume in the world: the Eastern Mediterranean, specifically the island of Cyprus. (Chypre is French for Cyprus, plus the best variety of cistus labdanum -an intergal material in the mix- grows in the East Mediterranean). But it did transport its effulgent magnificence to France thanks to a royal figure: Marie de Médicis (1575-1642), queen consort, lured by perfumes from Cyprus, the famous chyprés, then imported with a vengeance due to the opening of the Middle East route thanks to the Crusades, sent for her Florentine perfumer Tombarelli to come to Grasse, where the flowers were renowned, instructing him to capture their ambience in perfumed essences. From then on, a symbiosis of Greco-Franco roots produced this characteristic type of perfume we refer to as chypre. But what does it have to do with French type No.2? I'm getting there.

The chypre accord is pliable, though tightly structured, in that it can assimilate a selective bee harvest ingelements from diverse pools of scent: give it a twist with animalic or leathery notes and it almost creates a sub-category; sheen it with florals and it gets very close to the green floral (see Cristalle and Chanel No.19, on the cusp of the two classifications); inject it with woody-musky notes and you have nouveau chypres; and finally sprinkle with the waxy, lemony radiance of aldehydes and you have the aldehydic chypre, aka French Type No.2! The style was popularised through cheaper variants for the middle and lower market and through soaps (The soaps of the 1970s have nothing to do with the soaps of today; their olfactory profiles are miles apart, documenting evolving tastes and evolution in the functional fragrance industry. This is also why these French type perfumes are not considered "clean" any longer, as they used to, because the formulae for soaps and shower gels have heavily leaned towards "clean musks" and fruits in the last 20-25 years).

Today perfumes of this type smell "perfumy", i.e. "smelling like perfume", because this kind of formula is rare. People smelling a floral aldehydic or an aldehydic chypre fragrance invariably describe it in those terms; they also typify them as "dated/old fashioned" (general population), retro/old-school (fumeheads) or even "old lady scents" (people with no imagination and stuck up associations). In the general population smelling like perfume is a negative connotation on the whole due to the popularisation of the "not trying too hard" casual lifestyle image persisting. Even super synthetic accords devised for todays' market "fruit salads" (no fruit note is natural in perfumery, as fruits cannot be extracted) and fruitchoulis (such as Miss Dior Chérie or Angel and its progeny) are considered "natural-smelling" because they have been marketed as such. Additionaly, these scents have a mimicking methodology, whereupon they copy a natural smell via synthetic means, whereas the older "modern types" didn't copy a specific object but instead purposefully aimed for abstraction.

It's highly ironic that "the modern type" of as little far back as the 1970s has become the outdated type of the 2010s. But that's perfume fashions and perfumery terminology for you...

Pic of Audrey Hepburn smoking (and hugging Dean Martin). She was actually British with Dutch roots. I think I got it via Blogdorf Goodman's tweets, can't recall exactly.

Sonoma Scent Studio Nostalgie: fragrance review

Once upon a time women wore corselets & real silk chemises underneath their tailored dresses to work, painted their lips deep pink or coral and coiffed their hair à la choucroutte on a regular basis, before straight "blow outs" became the standard of westernised grooming. There was something equally mischievous and disciplined about their demeanor, reflected in their perfumes; as if beneath all the gentility and pronounced good manners there harbored untold family skeletons in the closet, secret trysts in the afternoon and a gambling streak hiding as socializing. Something is deeply attractive about that contradiction, not least because Mad Men made us believe so, thanks to stylisation to the point of art. It paid; not only people are hooked on 1960s fashion, they're hooked on 1960s-smelling perfumes as well, it seems. And here is where Sonoma Scent Studio Nostalgie comes into play.


Style & Comparison with Other Fragrances
Do you recall the opening of Van Cleef & Arpel's First? Everything denoting luxury, power, femininity, class and wealth was added into producing that powerhouse last-of-the-McAldehic clan; a fragrance as shimmery as the brightest yellow sapphires, as frothy as the sparkliest bubbly in iced flutes, as melodious as Jenny Vanou singing Dawn's Minor Key. I was instantly transported in those times, back when First's precious metal wasn't somewhat tarnished due to reformulations, upon testing Nostalgie. Laurie Erickson, the indie perfume behing\d that small outfit, Sonoma Scent Studio, operating off the Haldsburg hills in California, US,  managed to produce an old-school floral aldehydic quite apart from the mass; as she says "fragrances today are rarely composed with so many fine naturals". Nostalgie smells more expensive than it is (it recalls  Patou's classic Joy in the mid-section, with more woody accents), is full of vibrancy and came to me like a messenger of good news when the day has been nothing but gloom and no hope can be visible in the horizon.

Scent Description
The aldehydes are adding citrusy, waxy sparkle in Nostalgie but they're a bit toned down compared to classics such as Chanel No.5, with fine soapy overtones; an impression further enhanced by the discernible jasmine sambac. The peach lactone in the heart provides a retro vibe; lactonic florals have been byword for refined and graceful perfumery for many decades in the middle of the 20th century. The floral notes, ringing as wonderfully bright as little taps on a glockenspiel, are tightly woven together to present a tapestry of hundreds of tiny dots which, like in pointillism, seen from a distance blur into a delightful image.
The jasmine-rose-mimosa accord is classic (Guerlain Après L'Ondée, Caron Fleurs de Rocaille, Lauder Beautiful) and here treated as seen through a sheer green-woody veil. Erickson treats aldehydes with sleight of hand, as proven previously in her Champagne de Bois, but her every new release at Sonoma Scent Studio is more sophisticated than the last; I find more technical merit in Nostalgie.
The base of Nostalgie is all billowy softness, like most of the latest SSS fragrances, falling on a fluffy duvet, with subtle leathery nuances (probably from the mimosa absolute itself) and a musky-creamy trail which is delicious. However the aldehydic floral element is at no moment completely lost (if you're seriously aldehydic-phobic that might present a problem; if you're an "AldeHo" as Muse in Wooden Shoes calls it, you're all set). It is both long-lasting and drooling trail-worthy; it's parfum strength after all. This is a scent to get you noticed and to be asked what perfume you're wearing.

"Nouveau Vintages": A Trend to Watch
Aldehydic florals and retro "floral bouquets" (as opposed to soliflores which focus on one main flower in their composition) are knowing quite a resurgence, both in indie perfumers' catalogues (witness the stunningly gorgeous Miriam by Tauer Tableau de Parfums line, Aftelier's Secret Garden and DSH Vert pour Madame) and in niche brands, such as the divine Divine's L'Ame Soeur. It was about time; one gets a kick of fun out of something as frothingly tongue-in-cheek and sweet as Prada Candy perfume, but there are times when fragrance stops being an inside joke and should get its pretty rear down and start smelling ladylike & grown-up. In that frame, this rush of vintage-inspired fragrances is heartening. Nostalgie is part & parcel of this "nouveau vintages" clan and at the same time winks with the familiar Mad Men innuendo. Applause!

Notes for SSS Nostagie:
Aldehydes, Indian jasmine sambac absolute, Bulgarian rose absolute, mimosa absolute, peach, violet flower, violet leaf absolute, tonka bean, French beeswax absolute, natural oakmoss absolute, aged Indian patchouli, East Indian Mysore sandalwood, leather, vanilla, orris, myrrh, vetiver, and musk.

Available at the Sonoma Scent Studio fragrance e-shop.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Sonoma Scent Studio fragrances

In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample directly by the perfumer.
Photo of Greek actress Melina Mercouri at the Kapnikarea on Hermes Street, Athens, Greece in the early 1960s.

Amouage Gold for women: fragrance review

Someone famous in the music scene, with whom we've been emailing, has mentioned Amouage Gold as the fragrance fit for an Oscars night. Not just wearing it in the audience, trying to steady one's shaky hands by resting them on the posh couture gown, but presenting. There just isn't any stage fright or wavering about Gold; it wears itself like a grande-dame, assured, polished, dramatic. This is a regal fragrance for a cool blonde of another era.

History
Amouage, the Omani firm who cater for the Omani royalty and those with a taste for French fragrance structures in Middle Eastern settings, went out of their way to make Gold, their first fragrance, sumptuous and fit for a queen; not a princess. Top perfumer was ushered in (Guy Robert, who gave us Equipage, among the most perfect men's scents, and the once wonderful Dioressence which my own mother so loved); the best ingredients were specifically harvested; no budget restrictions were made whatsoever; no focus groups. You'd have to envy the lucky perfumer who worked thus unrestrained. The year was 1983. At the time Amouage didn't benefit from the creative direction it has nowadays and the fragrance circulated simple as Amouage for women. Robert considered it the crowning glory of his career and characterises its dramatic progression as "symphony".

Fragrance Description & Classification
You might have witnessed Amouage Gold for women uttered in the same breath as Chanel No.5. As you would expect, given Guy Robert's credentials (he's the creator of Madame Rochas and Hermès Calèche) and the general mad rush Middle East has for Chanel (they're mad about Chanel), this isn't far off the truth. Yes, Gold is an aldehydic floral, in the general ballpark of No.5, a tad heavy-hitting and old-school (in a good way), lush, opulent and very luxurious, which uses traditional Omani ingredients re-adjusted in a classic French blueprint. If I were to be more specific, I'd say that Gold for women more resembles the hypothetical child of Lanvin's My Sin (long discontinued) and Houbigant's Quelques Fleurs (now sadly reformulated).
But if you only know Robert's famous aldehydics I mentioned, you get an idea of how Gold smells: I need to stress that in order to like it, you have to like fragrances in the floral aldehydic family (refer to this article to see what aldehydes are and here for reviews of aldehydic fragrances). And you might be questioning why splurge (50ml/1.7oz will set you back 285$) on a bottle when there are other things smelling like it. Good question! But somehow God is in the details and Gold appears richer, more opulent than any of them. This thing radiates off skin for hours and hours on end, it just won't go away; a bottle will probably last you more than any of us is expected to make it in sane mind.

The Omani materials used enjoy a rich heritage: "Today, as in ancient times, the precious resin from the very ordinary looking frankincense tree is harvested carefully by hand, by a select caste of tribal herders. The frankincense trees that line the Dhofar landscape in Salalah are protected and the mysterious allure of their scent is blended with a host of precious natural oils and essences to form the unmatched perfume that is Amouage. The essence of an incredibly rare variety of rose called the Omani Rock Rose is extracted and also used in 'Gold Amouage.' This special variety of rose grows and flowers for the briefest period each year on the slopes of the remote Jebel Al Akhder mountains of Oman. Myrrh, another core ingredient in Amouage is also from the Jebel Al Akhder region." [source]

The start of Amouage Gold for women is all powdery-soapy floral, much like the archetypal aldehydics of yore; golden honey limbs, falling on a dozen silk cushions. There's a clean vibe with lily-of-the-valley green floralcy, while at the same time you're miles away from the modern "clean" scents of laundry detergent & fabric softener. The fruity aspects are intergrained like brushstrokes in an impressionist painting; from a little distance it all mingles into a composition rather than individual shapes.The floral part is built on the intense chord of jasmine & ylang ylang that we also find in Chanel No.5, boosted by rose and a tiny touch of tuberose; in fact this floral chord most reminds me of Patou's classic Joy, though the whole composition does not. The natural floral, velvety sweetness is complimented by a dab of creaminess, provided -from what I can smell- from a little vanilla and sandalwood. The creamy aspect is what makes Gold so lush, so nectarous, so very sinful.
As the fragrance dries down, you're suddenly face to face with the revelation that the core structure is really that of a graceful woody floral with oriental elements: the scent becomes noticeably woody, with a downy, elegant polish that is clean and smoothed out on notes of lightly astrigent frankincense and myrrh with no smoke whatsoever and the enduring note of (rich and -again- similar to the old parfum edition in No.5) musk.The lasting power and sillage are phenomenal.

Notes for Amouage Gold for women:
Top: lime, apricot, peach, lily-of-the-valley, neroli.
Heart notes: rose, jasmine, silver frankincense, myrrh, rock rose flower, patchouli, orris, cedarwood and sandalwood.
Base notes: ambergris, civet and musk.

Concentrations Available & Shopping
Amouage Gold currently circulates as Eau de Parfum (which is plenty really!) and extrait de parfum. Older versions included an Eau de Toilette. I find the EDP the most pleasing form.
There is also a men's Amouage Gold version, which leans into the woody musk category rather than aldehydic, even though stating almost the same ingredients.

Stockists include the Omani Amouage boutique, the boutique in London and online such as at Luckyscent.
Check the official site at Amouage.com

pic of Anita Ekberg

Tableau de Parfums Miriam: fragrance review & Giveaway

The dream of a hug, the vivid bitter sweet memory of her perfume,
her hair shining golden in the morning sun, so fine,
the violets from the garden in her hand,
freshly picked with the dew pearls dropping one after the other,
the green May roses on the table, lasting forever.
It is a dream of days long gone, with a smile on my lips.

Miriam Eau de Parfum is the first fragrance on the Tableau de Parfums line (you have a chance of getting to know it before anyone else, read on!), referencing the heady, diffusive fragrances of the 1940s and 1950s.

Some people who admired Tauer perfumes had asked on these very pages some time ago that he composes an aldehydic floral. Apparently he listens! Miriam is an old-school rosy-green aldehydic floral, like they don't make them any more; perfumey, rosy, with piquant notes that register between soapiness and fizziness, an armour of glamorous "clean". You imagine a highly strung classy woman that hides her woes behind an immaculate veneer; perfectly coifed & manicured, wearing delightfully constructed, tailored clothes and maybe a string of pearls. Male filmmakers of the 1940s tended to show this powerwoman stereotype having a meltdown at some point in the plot, perhaps a subtle nod to "punishment" for undertaking more than they should. Pamela Robertson explains that Mildred Pierce exposes this contradiction of female success and societal expectations, "because Mildred's success conflicts with the postwar ideology that demands that women give up their careers" [1]. There are even modern specimens like Amy Archer in "The Hudsucker Proxy". But not in Pera's universe. Miriam can be complex, alternating between regret, love, compassion, duty, longing...she's very human.  In the words of Ann Magnuson, who plays Miriam in the film: "The character of Miriam is kind of riffing not only on the forties women’s picture characters but also some of the characters that I’ve played."

Who is Miriam? The host of a long running home shopping network program (“The Miriam Masterson Show”), Miriam (played by well-known actress Ann  Magnuson) is the on air confidante to millions of women across the country, But behind the scenes, Miriam is at odds with the men who run the studio, a motley crew of suits who don’t understand her touchy feely appeal. At home, she struggles with a layabout boyfriend. Her mother has just been put in a nursing home suffering from dementia. What Miriam would like more than anything is the one thing she can’t have: the name of her mother’s signature perfume. What’s left of the fragrance sits in an unlabeled Baccarat decant on the edge of Miriam’s vanity. When it’s gone, it will take a world of memories with it. Does it remind you of something? I thought so. That perfume therefore represents the memory of her mother, the fragrance her mother actually wore, but also the images and thoughts that Miriam projects into her perception of her mother as a younger woman. Makes for contemplating sniffing.

Miriam the fragrance is vintage in spirit but with a contemporary character. “There is something slightly provocative in this perfume,” says Andy Tauer, its creator. “It isn’t naughty, but bold. It makes a statement, and its wearer needs a little bit of daring. A grand perfume constructed in the tradition of French perfumery, Miriam is the kind of fragrance they don’t make much anymore.” Indeed! When was the last time you actually heard of a major company launching an aldehydic floral? This is one of the beauties of discovering artisanal perfumers: They eschew trends into producing what they like.
The scent of Miriam Eau de Parfum is immediately expansive, filling the room with its citrusy aldehydes burst and violet leaf natural essence (coming from Biolandes), making an instant euphoric impression. Unmistakeably this is an old school rosy floral, fanning the tea rose variety into a soft woody base rich in irones. The woodiness is half and half Australian and Mysore sandalwood, giving a smooth underlay. I hear there's also ambergris/Ambrox, one of the notes that Tauer likes and uses as insignia. It's subtle here and very low-hum (resulting in less than plutonium-like lasting power in this case), while there is a hint of animalic warmth deep down (civet?), taking a sensuous path for a brief while. But never fear; like the corresponding character Miriam EDP knows how to behave, even if her heart takes her elsewhere from time to time.

Miriam Eau de Parfum was inspired by the character played by Ann Magnuson in Woman's Picture series by director Brian Pera. (It even has its own Facebook page! Check it out!)

Notes for Tableau de Parfums Miriam:
bergamot, sweet orange, geranium, violet blossom, rose, jasmine, ylang, violet leaf, lavender, vanilla, orris root, sandalwood.

We are hosting a giveaway! One purse sized atomiser (7ml) to a lucky winner and 5 deluxe samples (1 ml each), with a DVD included, shipped directly by Tauer Perfumes into the entire world. Draw is open till September 7th and winner announced at the end of next week. Just leave a comment re: this post.

Miriam EDP will launch in early October in Los Angels at Scentbar and Luckyscent. Tauer will not make it available on the Tauer website, but rather on Evelyn Avenue.

[1] Robertson, Pamela. Guilty Pleasures. Durham & London: Duke University Press. 1996.

Parfums Weil Zibeline: fragrance review & Weil house history

Parfums Weil is the most characteristic example of "parfums fourrure" (fur perfumes), being the perfumery offshoot of Parisien furrier, Les Fourrures Weil (Weil Furs), established in 1927. And Zibeline alongside Weil's Antilope are among their proudest creations.

The history of the House of Weil

Furriers since 1912, well before they became purveyors of fine fragrance, the venture of the founder Alfred -and his brothers Marcel and Jacques- into perfume resulted from the direct request of a client for a fragrance suitable to fur wearing. Weil obligingly capitulated to the request and produced scents that would guarantee not to harm the fur itself, yet mask the unwelcome musty tonality that fur coats can accumulate after a while. The names are quite literal: Zibeline (sable), Ermine (hermine), Chinchila, Une Fleur pour Fourrure (A Flower for Furs)...

The very first of those, Zibeline, was an expansive floral aldehydic veering into chypre tonalities, conveived as an evocation of the oak forests and steppes of imperial Russia and appropriately named after the animal there captured: Zibeline, the highest quality in furs for its legendary silky touch, its scarcity value and light weight. 

Zibeline belonged to the original fragrant trio line-up that launched the business of Perfumes Weil. Introduced in 1928, Zibeline was comissioned by Marcel Weil and composed by Claude Fraysse assisted by his perfumer daughter, Jacqueline. (The Fraysse clan is famous for working in perfumery: His two sons, André and Hybert were to work with Lanvin and Synarome respectively and the son of André, Richard, is today head perfumer at parfums Caron).

Scent, Versions & Vintages of Weil Zibeline perfume

Zibeline was released in Eau de Toilette in 1930 but the formulations came and went with subtle differences and their history is quite interesting. First there was Zibeline, then the company issued Secret de Venus bath and body oils product line which incorporated Zibeline among their other fragrances (a line most popular in the US) while later they reverted to plain Zibeline again. The Eau versions of Secret de Venus Zibeline are lighter, with less density while the bath/body oil form approximates the spicy-musky tonalities of the Zibeline extrait de parfum, with the latter being more animalistic.

The older versions of parfum were indeed buttery and very skanky, deliciously civet-laden with the fruit and floral elements more of an afterthought and around the 1950s the batches gained an incredible spicy touch to exalt that quality. It's interesting to note that as per Joan Juliet Buck, former editor of French VOGUE, men often wore Zibeline in the 1950s!

Later versions of Zibeline from the 70s and 80s attained a more powdery orange blossom honeyness, backed up by fruit coupled with the kiss of tonka bean and sandalwood, only hinting at the muskiness that was so prevalent in previous incarnations, thus resulting in a nostalgic memento of a bygone epoch that seems tamer than it had actually been. Zibeline is old school in the best possible sense and a parfum fourrure you will be proud to wear even if your vegan proclivities wouldn't allow you so much as think of touching a real sable coat.

The aftermath for Weil

Marcel Weil's death in 1933 did not stop expanding their perfumery endeavours; they added several other perfumes: Bambou, Cassandra and Noir. The Weil family was forced out of France by Hitler, so they re-established themselves in New York from where one of the first perfumes released was Zibeline with the quite different in character chypré Antilope being issued in 1945, upon return to Paris in 1946 when they also introduced Padisha. Sadly the multiple changing of hands resulted in the languishing of the firm by the 1980s and although the brand Weil has been in ownership of Interparfums (Aroli Aromes Ligeriens) since 2002 Parfums Weil is largely unsung and long due for a resurgence.

Notes for Weil Zibeline:
Top: aldehydes, coriander, tarragon, bergamot and lemon;
middle: orris, gardenia, jasmine, ylang-ylang, lily-of-the-valley and rose;
base: honey, sandalwood, tonka bean, amber, musk, civet and vetiver.

K de Krizia: fragrance review

K de Krizia by Italian designer Krizia is a fragrance like they don't build them anymore: a very classy aldehydic floral fragrance with chypre-green tonalities, composed by revered perfumer Maurice Roucel. Launched in 1980, it has suffered the memory loss that plagues all less-known fragrances: It's largely unsung and few hard-core fans search high and low for it now that it's difficult to come across.

Despite its timeless, graceful and rather sensual arc, I cannot stress enough that in order to savour the complexities and powerful elegance that K de Krizia can offer you, you must like aldehydes in general and, on top of that, old-school compositions featuring them in particular. An unashamed cool customer, it wouldn't feel out of place with a well-cut suit and leather cinched waist. The Louise Brooks bob is optional.

K de Krizia opens with the brisk and razor sharp intensity of those white-light molecules called aldehydes. Mention aldehydes and everyone in a Pavlovian-like motif thinks of Chanel No.5. Certainly the feeling of aldehydic florals has been inextricably tied to memories and whiffs of No.5 for most people. But whereas the style is similar, the treatment is different enough: The peachiness and rosiness of K de Krizia, alongside the greener elements, differs considerably from the jasmine-richness and intense muskiness of Chanel No.5, the former being rather closer to Van Cleef & Arpels First or Balmain's Ivoire or even the chypre greeness aspect of Paloma Picasso than the iconic monstre.
If the opening of K de Krizia is primarily aldehydic, the florals emerge a little later to complicate things with honeyed pollen: rose, carnation, lily of the valley, and not so sweet jasmine (hedione) in an abstract harmony where no note predominates, gaining in deep mossiness as the fragrance dries down. The final stages are almost spicy from the leather, styrax and vetiver notes, and delectably powdery-soapy like only a woman who has used face powder with a fluffy retro pom-pom knows.

Between the different concentrations, the Eau de Parfum is more mellow and floral, while the Eau de Toilette exhibits drier facets and would be perfect on a man as well.
Sadly, K de Krizia has been reformulated for the worse: its rich oakmoss inclusion along with the flowers being rampant necessitated a close shave that cost it its richness, inherent femininity and natural feel of its floral essences.

Notes for K de Krizia:
Top: aldehydes, bergamot, peach, hyacinth, neroli
Middle: carnation, orange blossom, orchid, orris root, jasmine, lily-of-the-valley, rose and narcissus
Base: leather, sandalwood, amber, musk, civet, oakmoss, vanilla, vetiver and styrax.

Krizia pic via facebook

Paco Rabanne Calandre: Fragrance Review

"Imagine its spring. A rich young man arrives in his E-type Jaguar to pick up his girlfriend. Imagine the scent of fast air, speed and leather seats. He takes the girl for a ride along the seaside. He stops in a forest. There he makes love to her on the bonnet of the car."
~Marcel Carles recalling Paco Rabanne's brief for what became Calandre.

I was browsing one of the blogs I enjoy, namely Perfume Posse, the other day, when I came up upon a post by Patty in which amidst other musings (such as her antipathy for my beloved Fille en Aiguilles, how can this be I ask you?), she was crestfallen about the discontinuation of Calandre, a floral aldehydic that comes from 1969 (composed by perfumer Michel Hy) and which is just about one of the friendliest rose aldehydics in existence.

This Rabanne is also respendid with interesting trivia: It has rose oxides which give a slight "metallic" tinge to the flower, supposedly to translate the notion of "calandre" into scent, it being the car's radiator grille in French. Actually the first perfume "draft" was too reminiscent of a hot car (Spanish-born Paco Rabanne's brief) which made it rather unwearable, so back to the sketch board it went! The bottle, designed by Pierre Dinand, was sparse, with metal overlays in brushed silver finish which gave a high-tech look about 20 years before this would become the norm.

Calandre has been special to me personally for two reasons: First, it was given to me as a gift as a young teenager (we're talking about 13 here) by my sophisticated grandmother. I cherished my little bottle and had it alongside my other precious gems for years ~Anais Anais, Chanel No.5 (you read this correctly), Tosca and 4711 by Muelhens and Opium (you read this correctly too, I've said my piece before) alongside several minis I snatched up every chance I got.
Secondly, in the face of the deterioration of Rive Gauche by the oversexed, modernisating Tom Ford stint as creativer director of Yves Saint Laurent Parfums, Calandre remained more faithful to the former's idea of what I call its spirit of frosty allure, "what KGB agents would have worn to seduce James Bond"; almost the way "black pudding" is the faithful reminder of our primeval, barbaric and needy of ready nutrients nature.
The comparison between Rive Gauche and Calandre of course is the very antithesis of cognitive dissonance: Perfume lore wants Jacques Polge to have been instructed by the people at Yves Saint Laurent to produce something similar to the ~at the time~ avant-garde Calandre which had been issued the previous year. The result came in the market in 1971 in a striking blue and silver metal aluminum can and with the passage of years managed to eclipse the pulchritude of the original: Yves Saint Laurent with his flamboyant colours, rustic decadence and matchless tailoring became all the rage in the 1970s, while the futuristic Rabanne sewing with pliers and a blowtorch on his space-age plastic chain-mail Barbarellas had become a little less relevant to the zeitgeist; only Mylene Farmer continues to evoke the futuristic extravagances today. Overall Calandre is more American than Rive Gauche and it pre-emptied the trend of American-style fragrances that followed (White Linen etc)

Calandre has a wonderful olfactory profile: citrusy, slightly sour top note which segues into both oily green hyacinth and a fresh (laundered, thanks to lily-of-the-valley) white rose, elements which peter out slowly into an undefinable vaguely herbal base with honey and light musk touches that is its own thing more than anything that morphs into the wearer. Compared to Rive Gauche, Calandre is less frosty aldehydic, more lemony and with a softer overall character but equally abstract like you can't really point your finger on what you're smelling: Is it iced linens off the fridge on a hot day in a tamer version of The Seven Year Itch heat-remedy? A florist's fridge when the flowers have long departed? Or the cool breeze through a vetiver-sewn canopy in a non-tropical climate? That's Calandre's charm!
Cue into the last few days: The news of a possible discontinuation of Calandre bombed. Smiles were wiped off faces. The official response from Paco Rabanne on the question on discontinuation luckily came through a POL member, Cubby:

"Thank you for your message and for your interest in Paco Rabanne. Further to your enquiry, the Calandre perfume is still available in our current collection. Could you please notify us of your residential area so that we could indicate you the details of your nearest stockist. We remain
at your disposal for any further information. Best regards,
Paco Rabanne Online"

So now you can rest easy! It's even available as an Eau de Toilette on Amazon still.

Notes for Paco Rabanne Calandre:
Top: Aldehydes, green notes, bergamot, lemon
Heart: Rose, lily of the valley, geranium, jasmine, ylang-ylang, orris root
Base: Vetiver, oakmoss, cedar, sandalwood, amber, musk

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Aldehydes, what are they and how do they smell?

Perfume ads via parfum De Pub. Pic of chainmail dress by Paco Rabanne via In Memory of All Things

Balenciaga La Fuite des Heures (Fleeting Moment): fragrance review

There is no question that Germaine Cellier was a formidable woman and an innovative perfumer mapping history with her Balmain and Piguet creations. Hers is nevertheless the lesser known, but none the less majestic, La Fuite des Heures (pronounced la-fou-EET dez-erh and translating as Fleeting Moment) for Balenciaga in 1949; a Provençal herbs and jasmine formula of great radiance and tenacity.
There is an interesting snippet of fashion and perfume history pertaining to this Balenciaga fragrance, which was the second to be issued by the house: Initially composed by Cellier at Roure for the French market, it was modeled after the aldehydics established at the time (and hence in chasm with her bombastic creations for Piguet such as Fracas and Bandit).

Why is that? No.5 by Chanel was the prototype of the genre (and still is) due to its commercial success, especially after WWII when soldiers returning from the European battle-fronts had popularised it in the conscience of American bourgeoisie as the pinacle of French chic and the porthole of aspirational status. Let's not forget that even historic French houses, such as Guerlain, had followed the paradigm with their own creations, namely Liù (although the latter's history is a little more gossipy that that!). Balenciaga had already issued a fragrance, Le Dix (10), his first foray into scent, named after the address of his couture studio at 10 Avenue George V. Not unexpectedly, that one also happened to be a floral aldehydic! Another version of La Fuite des Heures, specifically aimed at the American market, was issued in the beginning of the 1960s, the Camelot days of the USA when "Parisian" didn't seem as far fetched as before. And as they say the rest is history...

The fragrance was available as an Eau de Cologne in tall cylindrical ribbed bottles with simple pastic caps and black labels with white simple lettering. My own extrait de parfum of Balenciaga's La Fuite des Heures in its shagreen container, (probably from the 60s) is well aged, thick and dark as its blobs ooze from the crystal stoppered flacon. Yet the suave jasmine and ylang-ylang glory with sweet accents of light amber in the base is still there.
The piquant herbs (anise? thyme?) and greens notes (vetiver?) along with an aldehydic vibrance (a little soapy & orris powdery the way Chanel No.5 is soapy & powdery) have mellowed significantly; they give way to the more tenacious woody and above all musky elements, a reality all too often met with when dealing with vintage perfumes. The drydown is fused with some of the most glorious musks this side of pre-banning of several valuable ingredients.
Despite its approximation to vintage forms of No.5 (such as the magnificent Eau de Cologne version), La Fuite des Heures stands alone sufficiently well and even presents itself as a most wearable specimen of an elegant creation of yore. Like a couture gown by the great Spanish master himself, lose the hat, the gloves and the pose and you might wear the lace ruffled dress with your modern stilettos soled in red and an air of bon chic bon genre socialite.

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: Balenciaga news & reviews, Vintage scents reviews

Balenciaga couture lace dress via fashionmodel.mtx5.com. Balenciaga La Fuite des Heures bottle pic by Elena Vosnaki