Guerlain Idylle Duet: fragrance review

Perfumer Thierry Wasser was allegedly inspired by the work of classical composer Hector Berlioz (he of Symphonie Fantastique fame), specifically from his 1841 opus Les Nuits d'Été, towards evoking a certain feeling in Idylle Duet, Guerlain's latest fragrance and a flanker to their release from 2009, Idylle. Whether he succedded in that task or not, you will be able to judge by listening to the piece below (Op.7, Villanelle). As regards the fragrance, it's an entry that could stand in any other mainstream brand. Which, for Guerlain, is a let down, I'm afraid.

Patchouli, a sweet & sour mix of "special harvest" origin (allegedly), non heady-shop-y variety can be sensed from the very beginning of the composition of Guerlain Idylle Duet, imparting a "modern" feel, flanked by floral notes. Technically a floral woody, although presented as a floral, Idylle Duet is not wildly different from the original, although it differs in a couple of points that would make a difference to a trained nose. The core of florals beneath the always-on-the-front-of-the-vortex patchouli is that ever popular screechy floral accord of sanitisied jasmine, peony, freesia, and lily of the valley. In short, a commercially successful "base" of best-selling aromachemicals that are bound to stir the strings of familiarity in most (and irritate the hell of me); in fact this was especially present in the original Idylle, which clearly aimed to catch the Narciso Rodriguez type fans. To pursue the comparison with the original, Idylle Duet further lacks the raspberry top notes of the original Idylle, as well as the perceptible muskiness in its base, although the well documented staying power of white musk is summoned to make it stay the course.On the blotter it's imperceptible, but it grows in strenght as time passes.
Bypassing that, the rose here is a little liquerish, a little darkish, good traits, but something is missing. Rose and patchouli are such a popular combination that either tilting the scales towards the woody leafy constituent (as in Voleur de Roses by L'Artisan) or towards the multi-petalled wonder of nature (as in Portrait of a Lady or the rather better Une Rose in the F.Malle line), one is bound to come up with something at least memorable. Instead the new release, despite its limited edition nature, is passable but ultimately forgetable, like a catchy jingle you heard in passing.

Fragrance notes for Guerlain Idylle Duet:
Bulgarian Rose, Indonesian Patchouli, Jasmine, Peony, Freesia, Lily-of-the-Valley, Lilac, White Musk

Idylle Duet comes as the latest feminine mainstream distribution for the house of Guerlain,(apart from the two new Aqua Allegorias, Jasminora and Rosa Blanca, announced here and more on which shortly) but it's a limited edition ~apparently due to its ingredients, but don't hold your breath. The new Guerlain fragrance is available in Eau de Parfum concentration in a 35ml flacon shaped like its antecedent. The box presentation is the same as the one for Ode a la Vanille but this time in rosy gold.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain fragrance reviews, Guerlain news, Floral fragrances.



Soprano Jessye Norman sings Villanelle from Hector Berlioz's Les Nuits d'Été Op.7 on poems by Théophile Gautier. London Symphony Orchestra, 1979, conducted by Sir Colin Davies accompanies.

Oscar de la Renta Esprit d'Oscar: fragrance review & bottle giveaway

It's unusual in perfumery for the start of this century to encounter a modern composition which focuses on that loaded term which is dreaded by so many among the (younger) set: "a powdery fragrance". And yet, Esprit d'Oscar by Oscar de la Renta comes as an eminent sample of a youthful, modern re-interpretation of an age-old theme: the soulful cadenza of Guerlain's L'Heure Bleue. An old-school mainstream fragrance? Rub your eyes really well, perfumistas, this is no joke.

In more parts than it's considered good form to admit when launching a new fragrance, Esprit d'Oscar follows in the footsteps of the original Oscar by Oscar de la Renta from 1977; but that's a good thing! The lineage descending from the iconic Guerlain was evident then as it is now, but whereas the original Oscar was a symphonic floriental with the emphasis on the waft of its bittersweet tuberose message fanned on precious woods, in Esprit d'Oscar the melody is replayed with clarity on a single instrument with multiple keys, like a clavichord. The aniseed and violet accents that give the heliotrope in L'Heure Bleue its wistful, nostalgic character are here substituted by the sweetening of the almond facets of heliotropin. The citrusy top notes which open the fragrance on the other hand provide the necessary freshness to appeal to modern women of both younger and somewhat older age, shopping for a fragrance they can claim their own. Noting that Love, Chloé is also a recent entry operating on unmissable powdery tones, I think we're on to some new trend: old becomes new again!
Perfumer Frank Voekl is known for his streamlined approach which aims at a fragrance that acts as a mantle rather than armoury or clarion-call. On the whole, the axis of the new scent is tilted more to soft floral-oriental or even floral gourmand than to merely floral bouquet, and lovers of both categories are encouraged to sample. The leitmotif of Esprit d'Oscar rests on a fluffy almondy powdery note that supports, like a pampering duvet on which you fall back down on with relief, the floral notes of jasmine. The lemony inclusion lifts the jasmine heart just so, producing a refreshing, effervescent jasmine/white floral note. The white floral heart is rich, sexy and feminine, but non indolic. The synergy of vetiver and sweet (clean) musk (plus I believe a smidge of sandalwood) conspire to enhance the impression of clouds fusing into one another on the late afternoon sky.

So how did the brief begin? Ann Gottlieb, master creative director and responsible for several best-selling classics from the 80s onwards, had a specific context: "To capture the essence of what a woman desires in her fragrance, Oscar turned to his daughter Eliza to help create Esprit d'Oscar, an unmistakably feminine floral-oriental. Esprit d'Oscar opens with a distinct sparkle, realized through a bright, citrus bouquet of Sicilian lemon, bergamot and citron. At its heart remain fresh florals: Egyptian jasmine, orange flower and tuberose. A combination of musk, heliotrope, tonka bean and vetiver give Esprit d'Oscar a warm, long-lasting base."
Whimsical, romantic, beautiful....recommended, I say!

The bottle is even more beautiful up close. Inspired by the original Oscar Parfum bottle design, Oscar envisioned a package for Esprit d'Oscar that would marry the feel of the iconic original, with a fresh contemporary look. Sculptural glass and sleek feminine contours characterize the Esprit d'Oscar bottle. On top of its translucent flower cap, a glass pearl represents a single dewdrop, a symbol from the original Oscar story. When he was a boy, Oscar de la Renta imagined that if he woke up very early, he could take the dew from flowers to create a perfume…and so he did.

Notes for Esprit d'Oscar by Oscar de la Renta:
Top: Sicilian lemon, bergamot and citron
Heart: Egyptian jasmine, orange blossom and tuberose.
Base: musk, heliotrope, tonka bean and vetiver

Esprit d'Oscar is available in the (quite lasting and satisfying in its sillage) concentration of Eau de Parfum in 50ml/1.7oz and 100ml/3.4oz bottles for 78$ and 98$ respectively at select department stores. You can see info on oscardelarenta.com. Right now the code OSCAR10 will get you complimentary ground shipping.

For our readers I have one full bottle to give away!! If you want to be eligible, please comment including what you'd like to read on Perfume Shrine next. Draw remains open till Sunday midnight.

Painting by artbycedar
Disclosure: Sampled scent myself at store; giveaway bottle is a promo.

Grossmith Bethrothal: new fragrance

A beautiful fragrance revival in time for a fairy tale wedding...the one of Prince William and Kate Middleton. But the lineage goes far, far back into the Royal family of England. The original Betrothal perfume was made by the vintage British Grossmith perfumery, established in 1835, for Princess May (Mary of Teck), on the occasion of her wedding to King George V. Then the princess became the newly crowned Queen Mary, the very one who happens to be Prince William's great-great grandmother! History is very much present in Betrothal’s revival in time for today’s royal wedding of William and Kate Middleton.



Bethrothal is a floral fragrance, a "floral bouquet" (i.e. a fragrance comprised of several flowery essences) with a citrus opening which blooms into the floral heart of Rose de Mai and jasmine. Working closely with Roja Dove, much like he did for Hasu no Hana, Shem el Nessim, and Phul Nana, Simon Brooke, the owner of the old Grossmith brand, zeroed into the finest ingredients for their relaunched perfumes and therefore on ‘Rose de Mai’ which is the official name of this rose variety which is specifically grown in the tiny town of Grasse, in France. Heliotrope mixed with ylang ylang and neroli, clean and yet sensuous notes, which recall powder puffs of yore, yet with a modern feel. The formula was inspired by the ingredients and ratios found among the archives of the brand, but the composition is revived to follow modern exigencies.

The modern bottle follows the elegant Baccarat crystal design of the rest of the Grossmith line. In the pic you can see the vintage bottles.
Grossmith Bethrothal will be exclusively made available after the Royal wedding, in either 10ml or 50ml bottles, and may be purchased from Grossmithlondon.com.

10ml: £195
50ml: £375

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Grossmith news & reviews

Honore des Pres Vamp a NY: fragrance review

Forget everything you might associate with vamps, vampires or New York City; Vamp à NY by all naturals line Honoré des Prés is the perfect Hitchcockian MacGuffin. It's a fragrance that begs to be worn by someone intelligent enough to not have any aspirations of appearing brainy; someone with fuschia painted lips popping a gigantic pink bubblegum just for the heck of it or at the very least soap bubbles at a party. Or, else, by someone sporting the XY chromosome and enough humour to not be afraid to challenge smartly. Anything else and it would be a travesty. But the name is essential to the (misleading) plot.



Vamp à NY by Honoré des Prés opens on a typical light camphor note (via tuberose absolute, which also smells a bit like buttered/creamed pop corn with peaches sliced on top, due to the lactone content; see more of that "peaches n' cream" effect on Péché Cardinal) and segues into a rum-like booziness. A logical choice on the part of perfumer Olivia Giacobetti because of the coconut nuances of both the flower and the tropical associations this exotic bloom brings to mind. Indeed the hint of vanillic coconut recalls tanning oils, making this one tuberose fragrance which leans most to the tropical side than almost anything else. The effect thrives on a balsamic quality about it that were it an oriental we would be talking about a snuggly cashmere sweater scent. But it's its summery equivalent.
The intensely sweet, profusely fruity progression is full of pink jasmine (and I think I smell ylang ylang with a hint of sassafras) which naturally recalls those giant pink Bazooka bubblegums we popped as children. March notes it holds "a peculiarly synthetic quality to [her] nose — it’s just sooo much and so odd, with its root beer, banana Runts and vanilla-caramel Sugar Daddy." Luckily for me, I don't have these particular American childhood associations, funny as she makes them to be, but I can see how this would be a polarising scent.

Needless to say, if you're opposed to sweet white florals en masse, you need to steer clear away without further thought; this is, despite its botanical provenance (100% certified organic ingredients), a VERY sweet floral! Those who can appreciate the buttery quality of intensely flowery Fracas however might find that the addition of Vamp à NY into the tuberose canon is not only a sort of homage but also a thoughtful and truly wonderful chapter; a luscious scent!
The necessity to own this delightfully campy & fun fragrance only comes when comparing with other tuberose/"huge white floral scents": Fracas is similarly buttery, yet grander and with more pronounced oomph, making it more of an entrance perfume. Carnal Flower is greener overall with a mock sophistication beneath its easy veneer. Tubéreuse Criminelle is truer to vampirism than this one; it's cool, silkier, with a more mentholated opening. Compared with Manoumalia, the latter is earthy, with more vetiver, certainly less sweet than Vamp à NY, intent as the former is on the fragrea blossom and the hint of spice. Nuit de Tubéreuse is more complex with a mildew thing going on, possibly stemming from a desire to appear brainier than it is. Vamp à NY actually mostly resembles the mood and feel of Songes, especially in Eau de Toilette concentration, which is of course full of ylang ylang, and it also reminded me of the little-known (and very rare now) original version of Jour de Fête by L'Artisan Parfumeur ~when the brand was still run by Jean Laporte and this was a quirky white floral scent, instead of a nutty gourmand)

Quiet sillage with rather good lasting power for a botanical fragrance makes it even more enjoyable; I'm sorely tempted to search for more!


Notes for Vamp à NY by Honoré des Prés:
Top: tuberose, rum
Heart: Bourbon vanilla
Base: tuberose, Peru balsam, Tolu balsam, benzoin

Vamp à NY by Honoré des Prés (a niche brand directed by Christian David) is part of the "New York Collection" which debuted at French Colette and is now available at select stockists. The 2010 collection includes three fragrances: I Love les Carottes, Love Coco and Vamp à NY, created of 100% natural ingredients by perfumer Olivia Giacobetti. These organic fragrances are packed in an unconventional way; as depicted, the bottles of 50ml Eau de Parfum come in plastic cups similar to those in which New Yorkers take out their coffee in.
Misleading!

Photograph by John Rawlings for a vintage Vogue photoshoot.

Demeter Fragrance Library Wisteria: fragrance review

Demeter Fragrance Library hides many little gems: from the convincing ivy green note of mysterious evil of Poison Ivy to the exact replication of the ionically charged and just outright lovely wet scent of a baby's humidifier caught in Rain, the line never fails to present one with small epiphanies and delighted coos of small discoveries where you least expect it (They have things like Laundromat, Belladonna, Sex on the Beach, referencing the cocktail....an endless pit of joyful playing around). So I wasn't really astounded to find their Wisteria cologne was actually good.


Wisteria by Demeter goes where upscale fine fragrance doesn't go, who knows for what inexplicable reason: It creates the beautiful, utterly gorgeous scent of the mauve hanging grappes of wisteria (glycine), perched like bunches of decadent grapes over terraces, latticework and verandahs in early spring. A fusion of spicy goodness reveals itself from the core; a middle road between peppery twinkle, clovey note, and carnations, with a side of a somewhat oily green nuance reminiscent of hyacinth and lilacs. All these facets are surprisingly caught in Demeter's Wisteria, a soliflore that is lush and rich like the natural flower.
The scent starts a little alcoholic at first but the progression into an intense spicy floral is more than enough to compensate. Sadly presented only in Eau de Cologne, but with rather good lasting power nonetheless. If you like spicy florals, carnation scents or just love the mauve blossoms themselves, there are good chances you might like Wisteria by Demeter.

At 20$ for 1oz it is an unmissable bargain. If you know of European based online outlets for this, do let me know in the comments.

photo via armchairfrance.com

Cacharel Noa, Noa Fleur & Noa Perle: fragrance reviews & comparison

"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...

[1] by Susan Irvine, 2000 Perfume Guide

Diptyque Do Son: fragrance review

Tuberose (Polianthes tuberose): the flower of spiritual ruin, the carnal blossom, the heady mistress of the night (nishigandha or rajnigandh in India, a reader informs me), a lily plant originally native to the Americas. Do Son: a coastal resort in Vietnam that inspired Yves Coueslant, one the founders of Diptyque, to name thus their fragrance. It launched in autumn 2005 in a time frame not especially receptive to such compositions, at least in the Northern hemisphere. The two combine in an unexpected composition by perfumer Fabrice Pelegrin in Do Son, the perfume and the time is now more than ripe to reap its cooling benefits. Diptyque sounds a bit like diptych, the two-paneled painting so popular in religious art. Yves Coueslant has associations with Vietnam obviously and tuberose is used for pious rituals in that country, which begs the question why on earth we haven’t incorporated it in ours as well.

Tuberose has traditionally been seen as dangerous due to its intense odour profile, its headiness, the spin it produces in one’s head when one inhales deeply. In 19th century Victorian-era young girls were discouraged from smelling it, as it signified both voluptuousness and dangerous pleasures, in an effort to keep their “purity” from naughty thoughts. Flowers are after all the sexual organs of plants...

Do Son however could pass the test of chastity, I think. With its airy and crystalline character, it manages to smell like a diaphanous gauze draped around the body of an eastern girl with hair flowing. Like a fluted ornament by a crafted Murano technician, like the breeze of warm air on one’s face while walking in a summer garden.

Compared to other tuberose scents, the most iconic of which among perfume circles is Germaine Cellier’s classic Fracas, it is nothing like them, since most rely on the carnal aspects of tuberose and marry it with other heavy numbers such as jasmine and orange blossoms, enhancing tuberose's rubbery or creamy facets. Fracas is almost brutal in its bombshell beauty, a trait that rocketed it into the hearts of the rich and famous. Gianfranco Ferré for women, Carolina Herrera, and Blonde by Versace ( a wannabe Fracas that is actually very nice in parfum, surprisingly) are all heady seduction numbers destined for discerning women of a more mature age. Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier’s Tubéreuse is also very sweet and shares that element of opaqueness with the rest. Tubéreuse Criminelle by Serge Lutens is a completely different, unique affair.

Do Son rather shares the light playful tuberose note of L’artisan’s La Chasse aux Papillons or even Carnal Flower’s (although the latter is more exotic smelling) and weaves it through in a similarly girly formula that makes it perfect for young coquettes.

Do Son by Diptyque opens on a rather green and also slightly citrusy start of light orange blossom, to then proceed to tuberose mingled with light rose and smooth iris. Rose is an official note; however my nose which is a tad biased to all things rosy, doesn’t discern it clearly. The powderiness of iris is not especially present here either, although I can smell its earthiness and the whole remains very bright, very happy, with nary a melancholy or poignant note that iris might add. The finish off with white musk (synthetic clean musks as opposed to animalic) makes it linger seductively on the skin for some time, never intruding, just reminding you of its presence whenever the body is heated up.
There is also a little element of sourness, at least on the skin if not on blotter, that could make for some disappointment for people who usually complain about such a thing. However the solution to that problem would be to spray one’s clothes. It’s such a light number anyway, that this solution would be probably best to appreciate the fragrance’s volume and sillage.

The bottles of Diptyque perfume are always a chic, understated affair. It is obvious that those three friends who founded the company (Desmond Knox-Leet, Christiane Gautrot and Yves Coueslant), had been students at the Ecole des Beaux Arts. You know upon opening the box that you’re in the presence of unquestionable bon gout. Here the sketch of a woman in a garden pavillon is delineated on the label on the austere, rectangular bottle.

Available as Eau de Toilette from Diptyque retailers.

Notes for Diptyque Do Son: tuberose,orange blossom, rose, berries, musk.

artwork by David Graux

Estee Lauder Wild Elixir: fragrance review

A limited edition from Estée Lauder comes this month in the form of Pure Color Wild Elixir, or for short Wild Elixir, a vibrant floral Eau de Toilette that accompanies their Pure Color make-up line. Even though travel-retail and/or LE fragrances by Lauder (see Bali Dream) are not reserved for their more intuitive compositions (for those one has to look into the Private Collection more upscale line), they do not fail from a technical standpoint: The scents have good sillage and tenacity, they have a concrete idea which they express in a straightforward manner and they provide that feel-good factor which we associate with boarding planes in exotic locales of azure skies which necessitate a big straw hat, even if back home it's pouring madly; or with the easy elegance of clothes hot off the January cruise collections. Wild Elixir is no exception.

Lauder describes the scent thus: "The radiant, free spirit of today's woman with her deep passion for life is captured in a fragrance as expressive, individual and modern as she is. Pure radiance bursts from this vivid creation of genet flowers contrasted against soft, sophisticated amberwood.From the vibrant top notes, to the rich floral middle notes, to the dramatic yet smooth end notes, the feeling is vibrant, luminous and irrepressibly alive".

All you need to know is that Wild Elixir is a light, vivacious floral that doesn't feel "retro", but which isn't vulgary sweet either nor juvenile. The succulent juiciness of mandarin dominates at first, providing the sweet citric touch that reads as instant sunshine in the middle of winter when you're cussing finding your feet buried in snow first thing out of the door. The genet (broom) note provides the essential backdrop of bracken feel that keeps it interesting and contributes to a certain similarity with the juicy brightness of Coach Signature rather than with the serenely deserted landscape of Dior's Dune (which is also based on an interplay of broom and amber). No other flowers are clearly discernible, the notes more a product of imaginative creation than true reflection of essences. The drydown is nothing extraordinary, smooth tactile woody-amber (Lauder excells at this kind of base) but it pleasantly keeps the composition anchored for hours and hours on end, especially for something so bubbly and vividly fresh. In short, they could have done much worse. I predict it will be popular.


Notes for Lauder Wild Elixir:
Top: Mandarin, marigold, purple freesia, violet leaves
Heart: Genet flower (broom), wild gardenia, orris, pink muguet, blue jasmine, waterlily
Base: Amberwood, musk, sandalwood.

Available at the official Lauder site 55$ for 1.7oz Eau de Toilette

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Lauder news & reviews

Teo Cabanel Early Roses: fragrance review

"One day, its Royal Majesty, our Self, should get out of the throne room and with its Court, the mind and the heart, sit down and decide about its life".
~Tasos Athanasiadis, The Throne Room

There are fragrances which are complex like symphonies and then there are fragrances which take on a gorgeous essence as a point of departure into exploring subtle nuances. Early Roses by Teo Cabanel belongs in the second category, imparting a morning-dew fresh rosiness with woody-musky undertones, as delicate and tender as that first kiss on the lips on a warm May's day when happiness is so overwheling that it's ripe with the burden of a budding melancholy already.

Jean François Latty (the perfumer of YSL's classics, Jazz and YSL Pour Homme) signed the latest and fifth opus of Teo Cabanel, a small exclusive perfumery originally established in Algiers in 1893 and reborn by a young heiress, Caroline Ilacqua in 2005.

Early Roses is a floral rose étude, subtle and pastoral like walking in a garden covered by dew, with fragrant notes of roses, red berries, jasmin, bulgarian rose, sustained by amber, musk and woody notes. Although Cabanel features another rose perfume in their portfolio, Oha, the comparison couldn't be more pronounced: While Early Roses is a budding young woman eagerly anticipating the miracle of life unfolding before her, Oha is a mature chypre floral when some heartache has left its indelible mark. The prettiness without vulgarity of Early Roses comes as confimation that Teo Cabanel, producer of the amazing warm floriental of amber & ylang ylang Alahine as well as another floral named Julia, is a niche brand to watch out for.

Early Roses pretty much begins as it ends, structured in an almost linear style. The first hit is unmistakeable fresh rose, cut with a little fruity tanginess, no powder or real sweetness, very fresh like in some Rosine fragrances. A complimentary rosy note of pink pepper is there as well, making the scent feel contemporary and keeping it from any sourness probably aided by some hedione (fresh green jasmine note). The warmer underscore of woodiness (comparable to that in Stella but a little bit creamier) comes almost immediately, blossoming into lusher rosiness. The floral core is flanked by clean musky notes, producing a skin-like effect throughout which lasts well although always in the lower, subtle register. If you are searching for the embullient roses of Paris by Yves Saint Laurent, or want your Eaux de Parfum to have ooomph, you might find it too sotto voce for your tastes.
Decidely girly, I think most men who are adventurous in their fragrance choices would find some challenge in borrowing it, but the experiment wouldn't be without merit.

Available as Eau de Parfum in 50ml/1.7oz and 100ml/3.4oz.



Music by Greek composer Evanthia Reboutsika from the album The Star & A Prayer.
Painting Roses by William Whitaker.

Hermes Hermessence Iris Ukiyoe (2010): An Off-Beat Fragrance Review from a Club Patron

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

Voici des fruits, des fleurs, des feuilles et des branches

Et puis voici mon coeur qui ne bat que pour vous.

Ne le déchirez pas avec vos deux mains blanches

Et qu'à vos yeux si beaux l'humble présent soit doux.

J'arrive tout couvert encore de rosée

Que le vent du matin vient glacer à mon front.

Souffrez que ma fatigue à vos pieds reposée

Rêve des chers instants qui la délasseront.

Sur votre jeune sein laissez rouler ma tête

Toute sonore encor de vos derniers baisers;

Laissez-la s'apaiser de la bonne tempête,

Et que je dorme un peu puisque vous reposez.

(Here - some fruit, some flowers, some leaves and branches,

And here - my heart which beats for you alone.

Do not rend it with your two pale hands,

But let it be a small gift, sweet to your beauteous eyes.

I arrive covered with dew,

Which the morning wind freezes upon my brow.

Suffer me in my fatigue to lie at your feet,

Dreaming of sweet moments that will revive me.

On your young bosom let my head rest,

Still filled with your last kisses;

Let my thoughts subside after such a wondrous storm

And let me sleep a little while you lie by my side.)*

--Green by Paul Verlaine (1844-1896), from Romances sans paroles (1874)

No, the world hasn’t bestowed me the gift of colour blindness, but synesthesia deftly filled my mind in delicate verdant extravagence with the Paul Verlaine poem above; more precisely, in true Symbolist fashion,the aquarelle images of the poem glow in succinct progression one after the other. It happened late afternoon today, as I was sampling Iris Ukiyoé, the ninth instalment of the Hermessence collection by in-house master perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena, at the Hermès downtown Vancouver boutique.

At this point many avid readers of Perfume Shrine—and my humble blog Les Tuileries—might just know the idiosyncrasy of the paragraph I just composed. By courtesy I should have cited Ellena’s muse, Water Iris and Grasshopper by Hokusai, and based on all official press release to date I doubt my mental short-circuit would be even considered logical by merit—but strangely enough my private recitation of the poem in hindsight is nonetheless a gentle launch pad in order to dive into the diaphanous story. Still, I should probably backtrack myself a bit and talk about how I got there, for the anecdote is probably one of the most bizarre episodes I’ve ever encountered: one could say that I was stranded in Hermès!

My tale to be told actually started this May when I requested maintenance service to my vintage khaki green Ex Libris silk scarf, since the once plump hand-rolled edges got dutifully flattened by a callous dry cleaner. It was the fourth time I went through a repair process at the downtown Vancouver boutique, and by all accounts everything was going to be routine—my sales associate sat down with me, examined the conditions of the item and filled out a specific form. Six months flew by and I figured, like all previous three times, I would simply show up and collect my treasure—in and out, ten minutes top.

Except this day, December 6th, wasn’t just a typical Monday: the intimate store was packed with patrons. My lovely sales associate Irina was in fact running around because she was in the midst of an intricate watch consultation. Ten minutes flew by before she had a chance to chat with me, “I’m so sorry, Albert! Your scarf is all ready for you.” And she turned to her colleague (who shall remain nameless for reasons that would be soon obvious) and said, “The client is here to pick up his scarf from Paris. It’s in the back storage room.” Irina promptly left, I was asked if I have my repair form with me.

Upon being told that I did not have my maintenance form with me the sales associate started raising her voice, “Just so you know, you will NEVER be able to pick up your item unless you have your form with you! Did you get a call from us?” There I was, in the middle of the showroom, with everyone looking at me! I was horrified as I explained that nobody in the past asked me to bring the form back and it was, in fact, Irina who helped me with the maintenance process last time so my identity should not be in doubt. Without the slightest pause the sales associate replied, “Very well, it’s probably best that Irina help you. Have a seat.” After expressing my desire to explore the store further the lady didn’t budge. “Have a seat.” It was then that I felt like a disobedient puppy that got thoroughly disciplined, but fortunately that was when I noticed the new Hermessence so I had something to do while waiting for Irina to come back. Five minutes went by; ten more minutes went by; another fifteen minutes went by as I immersed myself in Iris Ukiyoé, and my personal discourse with Verlaine promptly started.

To be frank I was prepared to be surprised by the opening of Iris Ukiyoé, but nothing could prepare me for the neo-classical eau de cologne effect of the fragrance opening, complete with a tart green tangerine, petitgrain, neroli—except a mildly bitter vegetal/floral axis kept the whole story on track. And lo and behold the abstract floral effect started to take shape, aided no doubt by a slight aquatic, lily-like effect that Ellena visited in Vanille Galante (2008). Now I should note that the sillage, given its combination of lily and the refreshing bitter elements, reminds me of the original Issey Miyake L’Eau d’Issey (1990), but done so in a much more delicate, precise manner, meant as an evocation of morning dew instead of a mini zen waterfall.

I would be very hard-pressed to report that orris, the traditionally powdery extraction of Iris pallida, is actively present. And my experience with Hermessence has taught me not to take any launch after Osmanthe Yunnan (2005) at face value: and since Paprika Brasil (2006) was a manifestation of spice via orris, Vanille Galante a study of vanilla from lily I presumed that this iris would come out of cocoa, as Ellena previously stated. The hypothesis, of course, is null. What we have here is an abstract blossom of Iris germanica, modern hybrids to be exact.

What most perfume brands would not tell consumers, while enamoured with the aspirational prowess of the costly orris root (with the scent best described as violet covered in chalk—works wonders when the right amount of gravitas should be called for, as classically demonstrated in Chanel No. 19 parfum), the mauve blossoms of Iris pallida smells exactly like inexpensive grape candies: quite sweet, in fact. Now the flowers themselves, which display the classic fleur-de-lys shape, are at no fault, but its harsh grape-scented accent would prove to be too strong in a fragrance.

Blossoms from the modern hybrids of I. germanica, on the other hand, are the almost exact opposite: the French word inclassable comes to mind. Based on the ones I’ve sampled a norm doesn’t exist, but most have a citrus backbone with a dash of fresh rosy nuance—soft and somewhat non-descript to be honest. (It doesn’t help that most irisarians value the bloom visuals over scent, and that the scent changes once cut.) Thus in order to create this iris Ellena needs to conjure up ghosts—a dash of non-descript floracy here (IFF’s hedione supérieure, complete with its clean jasmine facet, would be my guess), an icy rose accord there—to bring the whole thing to shape. In fact I would attribute (applying my no-doubt elementary perfumery knowledge here) the orris effect, which murmurs pretty much at the end as a velvety touch, more to a tea-like methyl ionone rather than orris absolute.

So in this sense of hologramism that I consider Iris Ukiyoé true to the original transient nature of its Japense namesake artistic genre: so fragile that it never was, because it was precisely never there in the first place. Behind each ukiyo-e print block is a Buddhist caveat: it’s a painting of the floating world, and with the next turn of the world the picture would be all that remains. Iris Ukiyoé isn’t a realistic decoding of an iris blossom fragrance, nor has that been the point all along: it’s a composition of bubbles threaded together with precision, but done with so much care and quiet observance that one forgets the mosaic tiles, instead marvelling at the hologram.

In fact it’s that exact care coming from Ellena that, at least to me, differentiates Iris Ukiyoé from mass launches: not only there’s cohesion in fragrance development, it feels as if the olfactory structure has been thoroughly hollowed out and knocked down before the whole was put together. To me this is very much a continuation of Ellena’s Hermès survey to the aquatic world ever since Un jardin après la mousson (2008), with a detour at Vanille Galante. But the story is there if one looks for it. The challenge to Ellena, of course, was to create an aquatic without using the traditional aquatic elements—Calone, musks... The master perfumer is averse to both, so a hologram on top of an iris blossom hologram. Still, underneath all that aquatic/ citrus / floral verdency lie a gentle frankness, a tenderness that reminds me of the Verlaine poem above. It’s the syntax after all, perhaps.

At this point I should recap what happened to my scarf. After 35 minutes of waiting, a third sales associate came along. Wendy—whom has seen me at the boutique for four years running now—asked me if I’ve been helped. Technically no, and I wasn’t amused…but she overheard what happened, so she quickly asked my name, dashed to the storage room and found my scarf. All done, wonderfully repaired—and true to Hermès generosity I was asked a reasonable price to compensate for the craftsmen’s effort. That’s why I’m here, I signed as I took my scarf back.

But that’s not the end of the story: Irina wrapped up her consultation around this time and apologized again for her delay. (She’s truly one of the best I’ve known.) And without hesitation she gave me samples of Iris Ukiyoé, and since the classic scarf box was out of stock a new rectangular Hermès orange box, enclosed with an additional box in the motif of Mosaique au 24 was given instead. All this was done with more apologies for the delay and the gentle explanation from Wendy that security measures would have to be performed for maintenance items. (I was promptly asked for my ID and my autograph on the official maintenance form.) Without a doubt I replied that, having been working at a major international financial institution for almost a year, while I can appreciate the thoughts behind the idea (God forbid if someone else walks away with my Hermès leather boots—and I couldn’t begin to imagine the horror any sales associate would go through if a crocodile Birkin is returned to the wrong person!) I was never told to bring my maintenance form—and the fact that I was ID-ed from the start from Irina as the right client added a whole new level of mystery to me. But at the end of the day I got everything I wanted: well, almost—I was disappointed that I couldn’t get any new silk tie and cashmere scarf because I already have had at least one of everything (that I like) from this season already. Well, better off since my drawers are already bursting with orange bags & boxes.

Would I be back? Absolutely, but maybe that latest Haut à Courroies bag custom order can wait for now. In the meantime I shall be busy experimenting with Iris Ukiyoé.

For a list of notes please refer to this link here. Iris Ukiyoé is now available at Hermès boutiques.

* English translation by Gary Bachlund

Scarves & samples pic: copyright by AlbertCAN. Bottle from the Hermes website

Calvin Klein Beauty: fragrance review

I am reminded of the Greek term for "beautiful" while contemplating the concept of the new Calvin Klein feminine fragrance, Beauty. The term is όμορφος which literally translates as "of good shape". Contrary to just a lucky roll of the genetic dice, nevertheless, the Greeks have another word to describe someone who impresses our aesthetics with their comportment and appearence, both: ωραίος. This term etymologically comes from the phrase "of its time" and further signifies someone that is in equilibrium, in harmony with the surrounding world: Clearly being ωραίος requires some degree of intellectual and aesthetic effort, contrary to όμορφος! And yet I can't really say that Beauty by Calvin Klein is either. It's pretty (effort number 3 to describe aesthetic value!) and will wear well on many wearers, but in view of the above it fails to instigate either the sense of awe that a DNA-induced Royal Floss would or the grudging admiration a witty and wily leading of the cards in a whist Grand Slam would produce. Beauty is the equivalent of a computer solitaire game; it passes the time pleasantly and that's it.


Supposedly the fragrance was created to support Calvin Klein's clothes collection, with no aspirations of outward seduction (contrary to Euphoria or Obsession which play their intentions face up on the table). Thus Beauty has been promoted as a scent for mature women who choose fashion from the CK line and enjoy his familiar style and minimalistic brevity. To incarnate these, the creating team chose the calla lily. Now calla lilies are not especially renowned for their potent scent (other varieties are prefered, more on which on this article on Perfume Shrine) so perfumer Sophie Labbé turned her attention to ambrette seed for a little intimacy (it's a natural source of musks), jasmine for a floral heart and cedar for a Laconic, dependable base; or the "neo-lily" as the press material would want us to believe. Briefly speaking, Beauty by Calvin Klein doesn't really smell of any of these components. Probably because these are fantasy notes meant to evoke a feeling rather than a photorealistic representation. Its intent is to follow the path of best-selling Beautiful by Lauder, minus the stigma of "old" which an 80s fragrance would risk producing, and to capture the attention of late 30s-early 40s women who secretly love Daisy by Marc Jacobs but find its "just washed my hair & put a plastic flower on it" contraption too young for them. It's also intended for an audience who shy away from the "dirty" indoles (molecules naturally hidding in white flowers) ~an idea which incidentally Jacobs also tackled with his chaste Blush~ and those who are wary of offending people in the office space, yet want something that has a hint of feminine personality; not another brief splash of eunuch citrus or a super-clean musk that passes as fabric softener... In those regards Beauty succeeds.

The scent of Beauty by Calvin Klein overall projects like a soapy fresh, peachy and somewhat green tuberose/jasmine in the mould of Do Son by Diptyque or Voile de Jasmin by Bulgari with the requisite "clean musk, clean wood" drydown with only a hint of vanillic sweetness: the concept of a fresh floral jasmine scent with a wink of synth lily . Only whereas the charming rural iconography of Diptyque and its Vietnamesque inspiration provided a plausible excuse for a timid, beginner's tuberose lost in the bamboo shoots of the jungle, the much more impressive (and yes, urbanely elegant in its brushed aluminum) bottle of Beauty ~fronted by model/actress Diane Kruger no less~ predisposes for more, so you're kinda left hanging there... You can find an inexpensive and pleasant jasmolactone-based fragrance similar to this one in Sonia Kashuk's Gardenia No.1, as well as in several body products and shower gels advertised as boasting fresh jasmine or gardenia notes ~the latter also based on jasmolactone molecules (you can also detect the accord in Labbé's own refined "gardenia", Cruel Gardenia for Guerlain's boutique exclusives). So, it all depends on whether you like the CK bottle enough to purchase. In this card game, I'm afraid we've been redealt.

Montana Suggestion trio: Eau d'Argent, Eau d'Or, Eau Cuivree ~fragrance reviews

Years before niche perfumery came up with "collection of scents" in identical bottles and "concept" themes evolving around different families or notes, Claude Montana (the designer best known for his scalpel-cut jackets, the partner who flew off her verandah and Parfum de Peau) had proposed his own trio of fragrances, code-named Suggestion (1994). The triad included Eau d'Argent, Eau d'Or and Eau Cuivrée and came just 2 short years after Serge Lutens inaugaurated Les Salons du Palais Royal by Shiseido with his own iconoclastic "takes" on Féminité du Bois (in 1992), thus giving rise to a whole seperate eponymous line which became legendary at the drawing of the millenium. (Technically the first one to propose a "trio collection" should be Patou). The fragrances by Montana were ill-fated though, like the unlucky stars under which the designer and his muse were apparently born, and were eventually discontinued. Still, the dedicated perfume lover might profit from making their acquaintance, as they're both worthwhile sniffing, as well as a valuable lesson in fragrance history; seeing the mainstream launch of a "niche" concept commercially fail where others now succeed, with the hindsight of almost 2 decades in the passing between the two (see for instance La Prairie trying the same things with their Life Threads).



The common thread in all Montana Suggestion scents? A vague metallic nuance, bright, scintillating, radiant. The metals entering both the name and the bottle decoration are ample indication of it being intentional.

Suggestion Eau d'Argent is, judging by the packaging alone, one might say Pavlovian-like, equated with a cool aquatic floral; and it is! Composed by Max Gavarry, it pre-empties the notion of the dew-adorned ocean drenched lilies which later appeared in F.Malle's line under Lys Mediterranée. Of course the compass isn't showing the North ~or rather the South, as the Malle scent is so at home in the warm Provencial and Grecian air~ as accurately. Eau d'Argent is very good but not as masterful or daring (it lacks the salty, savoury touch). The scent of lily (and the aldehyde used for cyclamen renditions) is brought out to the fore through the use of lily-of-the-valley aromachemicals (read about those on this article) and underlined with a dewy, "clean" musky ambience plus Ambroxan. It feels much more legible and "kind" than the feminine L'Eau d'Issey, both being contemporaries with a dewy feel. It also probably gives a frist glimpse of the idea for Marc Jacobs's first eponymous scent, supposedly inspired by gardenias floating on a bowl of water. Substitute cool lilies and you're there! Very nice on its own ~controversial, let's admit it~ genre and completely unsung.
Top notes are greens, mandarin orange, violet, peach, bergamot and Brazilian rosewood; middle notes are cyclamen, lily, orchid, jasmine, lily-of-the-valley and rose; base notes are sandalwood, amber and musk.

Suggestion Eau d'Or was composed by Nathalie Lorson (who has composed the glorious Poivre 23, the Le Labo London city exclusive, which we reviewed on this page, amongst other things). A floral built on the juxtaposition of lactonic peachy and green notes with a heart of classic and bright flowers, this is a floral that radiates off the blotter and off the skin with quality and balanced approach to its message. The blossoming of jasmine and rose are supported by a fruity embrace of peach underscored by ionones (giving an earthy sweet note, also a bit of powder) and a creamy vanillic drydown, not too sweet. A floral, veering to floriental, with a cool-warm contrast that plays like chiaroscuro. Those who like J'Adore or Nuit de Cellophane might find another compliment-getter sunny floral in this one.
Top notes are comprised of greens, violet, peach, hyacinth and bergamot; middle notes are orchid, orris root, jasmine, lily-of-the-valley and rose; base notes are sandalwood, amber, musk, vanilla and cedar.

Suggestion Eau Cuivrée in its copper-dressed, patina-reminiscent bottle looks and feels warm and is predictably the more orientalised in the trio. Still, not quite a dense, traditional oriental, it features green-citrusy opening notes and a rich floral heart with a metallic nuance, justifying its coding: more modern urban amazone than Shalimar-wearing movie goddess, thanks to the base encompassing Ambroxan and cedar notes. Cooler, sweet top notes with lusty plum are folded into a warmer heart of luscious flowers and what seems like a hint of spice (they say carnation, it's actually built on cloves). The warmth is amped via the synergy of resinous notes played at the key of the lamentably defunct Theorema: meaning lightly, pleasurably balanced, never overwheling. Very pleasurable work, composed by Gerard Anthony.
Top notes are orange, pineapple, plum, green notes, peach and bergamot; middle notes are carnation, tuberose, orange blossom, orchid, jasmine, ylang-ylang and rose; base notes are sandalwood, amber, musk, benzoin, vanilla and cedar.

The scents had bottles which interlocked nicely in a round "plate", their sides touching like lovers or spirits-evoking-spiritualists sitting across a rounde table touching hands... They were sold as is or independently in Eau de Toilette concentration. They make sporadic appearences on auction sites and discounters.