Guerlain Jardins de Bagatelle (1983): Fragrance Review

History has a way of repeating itself: hard to believe nowadays but less has not always been more.

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

Sometimes only more is more. The French Rococo period, for one, and so was the 80s. It is hardly surprising then that Jardins de Bagatelle, Guerlain’s tribute to the grand frivolity of a French imperial pursuit, was introduced in 1983.

Nearly thirty years later I have seldom heard the tale told in its entirety. Perhaps because of the typical Guerlain complexity in its inspiration? Or perhaps its somewhat awkward placement within the Guerlain archive, tucked between the fabled Chamade (1969), Parure (1975), Nahéma (1979) and Samsara (1989)? Either case the story is far too fascinating to be left ignored.

Bagatelle: A Brief Trifle History

Jean-Paul Guerlain’s inspiration came from the garden found within the Château de Bagatelle, an eighteenth-century gem tucked within the Bois de Boulogne, in the XVIe arrondissement of Paris . Don’t be fooled by the name Bagatelle: this estate is not name after an illustrious personality; quite the opposite. In fact, it is a term most frivolous in nature, from the Italian bagattella and reserved to describe a thing of little importance, a mere trifle!

Everything started with a bet: In 1775 the the Comte d'Artois purchased the property with the intention of an overhaul; his sister-in-law, Marie Antoinette, perhaps out of sheer boredom, wagered that the new château could not possibly be completed within one hundred days. She was proven wrong: the Comte engaged the neoclassical architect François-Joseph Bélanger to design and had the whole thing all to himself in mere sixty-three days. That’s not to say that the architect skimped on luxury in order to hasten the completion—in true Rococo fashion the garden immediately surrounding the Château de Bagatelle is famously redolent of heady florals, as attested by the rambling roses blooming in profusion within the opening photo. And that’s a mere corner of the château.

But there’s more: according to MONSIEURGUERLAIN the blog, the venerable house further revealed that the rhythm of the fragrance was inspired by Goyescas, written by Spanish composer Enrique Granados. Now without knowing which of the six Guerlain was referring to I shall persent my personal favorite, and the most famous of them all, is “Quejas, o la maja y el ruiseñor” (The Maiden and the Nightingale), played here by Jorge Luis Prats.

Now in this context the second usage of the word ‘bagatelle’ is also utilized, describing here a short piece of music, typically for the piano, and usually of a light, mellow character. The name here serves as a reference to the innocent character of the piece (not necessarily, of course, the lack of technical and artistic demands of the music, as many piano students fall out one way for another upon learning the music).

Jardins de Bagatelle: The Guerlain Twist

Given its heady égeries one shouldn’t expect less from Jardins de Bagatelle, referred by some as the scent of the whole garden bottled! In fact it is precisely this fact that yours truly prefers the eau de toilette incarnation, and then only in light application!

The exercise in diffusion starts with violet and classic aldehydes, finessed by citruses such as lemon and bergamot. Then lo and behold, true to the Goyescas style, a barrage of white florals flies across: gardenia, rose, orange blossom, tuberose, magnolia, ylang ylang, orchid, lily-of-the-valley, narcissus, not to mention tuberose, the queen of narcotic floral (and one of Marie Antoinette’s favourites). At the hands of a perfumer with less calibre all this would surely spell disaster, yet the suppleness of the Guerlinade accord really pulls through and keeps the whole flock flying in formation, especially with the help of base notes consisting of cedarwood, musk, patchouli, tonka bean and vetiver. Translation: never meant for the faint hearted. Now some valued Guerlain clients are not used to such blunt development, though overall I’m not too troubled by it once dialing down the overall volume; some might turn blue with a bombastic woodsy-floral from the 80s, but personally the sillage is, in my humble opinion, enjoyable at an extremely deft hand. Testament to its prowess I have never seen a parfum edition for Jardins de Bagatelle; the eau de parfum was always meant to be the most concentrated version of this pillar.

Note: Personally I never had any problem with the quality of this eau de toilette, and I’ve read favourable review even after the supposed reformulation. Then again if you have recent encounters please do chime in!

As for the bottle designer Robert Granai interpreted the shoulder emphasis of the 80s with savoir-faire by folding the motif into classic Guerlain bottle aesthetics. Honestly it’s one of my favourite bottles from Guerlain: clean, to the point, but essentially romantic at heart.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain series

Photos, from top: Jardins de Bagatelle rose trellis from Paris the blog; Château de Bagatelle from Wiki; portrait of Comte d'Artois from Wiki; portrait of Marie Antoinette from Wiki; Guerlain Jardins de Bagatelle advertisement from the 80s, via CouleurParfum.

Maria Candida Gentile Hanbury: fragrance review

The mouillettes by Maria Candida Gentile have been lying on my desk for several weeks now, aromatizing the air with their delicious mélange, making me nostalgise about the mystical splendor of wintertime Venice. They all speak in mellifluous voices that you really want to follow into the echoing cobblestone alleyways, over the silent canals. Hanbury, arguably the most immediately feminine among the niche line, presented with no sex barriers, exudes the uniques of Calycanthus praecox, one of the few flowers in blossom during winter time in the North of Italy. (Indeed its other name Chimonanthus literally means "winter flower" in Greek)

Honeyed, rich, with an intimacy that is reminiscent of early childhood games discovering one's sensuality, due to mimosa's sweet muskiness, it nevertheless stands a little apart from both other calycanthus fragrances (Santa Maria Novella, Acca Kappa) or cassie ones (Une Fleur de Cassie, Farnesiana). Hanbury is its own thing, a staggering vista of a Mediterranean garden; sweetly citrusy on top, lushly floral and nectarous in the heart, wonderfully understated and elegant in its base.

The name of the fragrance derives from The Hanbury Villa in the northern Italy city of Ventimiglia, which lies by the blue sea that has seen pirates and sailors crossing it for millenia. As if it smiled through it all, its garden grows beautiful mimosas that scatter the landscape with yellow pop-pops of joy at the drawing of each winter into spring. The charming Dorothy Hanbury still gathers the flowers for precious essences production.

Signora Gentile uses a very high ratio of natural essences as a perfumer, no doubt thanks to her Grasse training which coaxes perfumers into appreciating the palette of superb materials produced there. These are vibrant, quality materials which bring on what the human nose can only recognize as richness, opulence, lushness and this is evident in her whole line, from the balmy woody amber of Sideris, to the spicy decadent rose of Cinabre all the way to the light-hearted vagabond heart with leathery nuances of Barry Linton, inspired by Thakeray's character. These fragrances shimmer and present rounded, masterful portraits, as if lighted from within.

The intensely femme blend of Hanbury, poised on mimosa and calycanthus, is taking honeyed facets, with a sprinkling of sweet hesperidic top notes and a tiny caramelic note, softly balsamic, kept in check by the deliriously happy, clean essence of neroli. Hanbury keeps the floral element into a lightly musky sostenuto, which persists for a very long time on the skin; almost as long as a Med garden is in bloom.

Notes for Maria Candida Gentile Hanbury:
top: lime, bitter orange and orange
middle: mimosa and white honey
base: musk and benzoin

M.C.G. besides her fine fragrances sold at her online shop is the creator of some really exclusive and rare fragrances. Among them the Pinede des Princes for princess Caroline of Monaco; the La Posta Vecchia signature fragrance for one of the oldest and most acclaimed hotels in Italy; Satine, a custom blend for the yacht of Tarak Ben Ammar (first president of free Tunisia) and a custom fragrance for the Eco del Mare resort.

pic via hortusitalicus.blogspot.com

Haydria Perfumery Tainted Love & Harem Girl: fragrance reviews

The Haydria Perfumery is one of those small artisanal brands you probably won't hear of unless you frequent perfume fora and read actual people's views; consequently the perfumers of those brands often twist their inspiration to fit both their own and their customers' base vision, a good thing. A good thing because this is a market segment with pretty sure footing into how perfume used to be before it was put into a compulsory Jenny Craig regime and often very much into what's affectionately termed "hippy stuff" from ma & pa shops (unfortunately more prominent in the USA than in Europe where I am residing). Haydria Perfumery seems to me to unite these two worlds: a vintage-focused pin-up inspired, retro perfumery with glittering, girly stuff reminiscent of the 1950s & 1960s, but also an independent, earthy, oils & musks approach (that's very 60s as well).

Fragrances of the Haydria Perfumery are composed by Hadria Douglas, based in West Hertford CT, USA, customarily presented in liquid perfume (in glass bottles with Swarovski embellishments), solid perfume & compacts and oil form. I tested the oils, which by their own nature present a smoother, softer ambience on skin and therefore sometimes present a lack of structure, but I know many people are mad for oils so it makes sense to offer this concentration. Both fragrances were nice and wearable, if not mind-blowing, just the right thing for that lady you know who appreciates all things soft and purring and sparkling with boudoir promises.

Tainted Love  is said to be "Reminiscent of innocent 50’s love…with a secret! A flirtatious and feminine bouquet of violets, berries and light amber drizzled with honey. The scent to take you back to simpler times".
I was quite taken with this retro, romantic pairing of violet and powder in this perfume oil, I have to admit. The violet is very there, but not your grandma's violet pastilles. There's a clean (white musk) and at the same time lightly salty aspect about the violet, making it subtly woody and not really sweet; just so. I can imagine this delicate and pretty scent on anyone who romanticizes the big balls of the 1950s and fancies themselves in a pink dress with a big corsage and their long hair in luscious curls on naked shoulders. Seamed stockings would be really good too.

Notes for Haydria Perfumery Tainted Love: violets, berries, honey and light amber.

Harem Girl is the most musky and traditionally "erotic" perfume in the Haydria line: "A forbidden, seductive and fiercely feminine fragrance with refined, powdery notes of iris, musk and opoponax veiled with incense. Truly for those with a taste for the exotic!"
Teasingly dabbing this scent on the wrist to entice sounds like what you'd expect from a seductive fragrance, but Harem Girl isn't neither heady nor too musky in that "get down & dirty" way we associate with, well, you know what... It might be because the oil formula opens up the soft aspects of the opoponax and the warm musk and turns it into a lightly sweet, lightly bitterish composite that would be pretty great in enhancing a lovers' play time. The musks used in Haydria's line are tempered, not especially "animalic" and therefore fit for actually wearing on a number of occasions, not just boudoir action, so you could get maximum mileage out of this one. Harem Girl hides a floral element in its oriental core to couple with a light incense veil, a tiny bit smoky, a tiny bit "dusty". Although iris is listed, I didn't especially smell that component; it's sort of powdery, but it's a resinous powdery from the opoponax (and some milky wood note replicating sandalwood?) that is dominant. It actually reminds me more of l'entre deux guerres and its love of Frenchified orientalia than of later pin-ups of the 1940s.

Notes for Haydria Perfumery Harem Girl: powdery iris, musk, opoponax, incense.

Haydria's Etsy Shop is on this link where you can buy the lot at very affordable prices.

The rest of the Haydria line includes:

• Bernie! : gardenia, jasmine and sandalwood accented with soft exotic notes 
• Burlesque Blue has notes of myrrh, sandalwood and plum cascaded over a cool undercurrent of exotic Eastern flowers
• My Geisha has notes of green tea, orange blossom, white flowers and musk
• Gypsy Queen with lush florals and rich spices smoldering with deep wood notes
• L'Eau Exotique features aquatic notes, Asian champa flowers and sandalwood
• Pure Sin has passion fruit, champagne, dark chocolate and white musk.

In the interests of disclosure, I was sent samples directly from the perfumer.

Elie Saab Le Parfum: fragrance review

It's hard to pronounce judgement on something that intrisically draws you in, yet you find that it repeats motifs known from a previous incarnation losing points for originality in the process.  
Elie Saab Le Parfum, though no match for the glorious haute-couture gowns that are the stuff of dreams, is nevertheless a very alluring, beautiful floral with honeyed notes, standing proudly in the mainstream market, intending not to leave anyone displeased. The fact that acclaimed perfumer Francis Kurkdjian pulls another well-known trick from his elegant sleeve is of secondary importance for our purposes, questioning structure and innovation vs appeal and end result as we are; consumers go for the latter, critics for the former.

Francis Kurkdjian places a small facet of his beloved zafting, retro roses (Rose Barbare, Lady Vengeance, Enlevement au Serail, Ferre Rose) in a composition that is all about the white flowers: jasmine and in a more abstract, fleeting way orange blossom (similar to that reserved for Fleur du Mâle, Narciso for Her ). Smelling Elie Saab Le Parfum in the middle of winter is like a ray of longed for sunshine, summer evening romance and late afternoon trysts spent on white linen sheets on the hush in rooms bursting with flower bouquets.
It's elegant, lush, quite sweet after the initial orange blossom/neroli "cologne" top note dissipates (and sweeter on skin than on clothes or blotter) with a posh impression that radiates for miles with the discernible headiness of jasmine; a not really indolic jasmine, nor particularly candied, but lush, creamy and sensual all the same. Elie Saab is a fragrance to be noticed and to be noticed in, smelling expensive, especially for a mainstream release, which also lasts quite well. The woodiness is mingled as an austere, cleaned up layer that lingers on skin similarly to woody floral musks fragrances (Narciso and its ilk; the clean patchouli, non powdery rose & honeyed warmth accord is repeated down pat).
Kurkdjian takes segments out of his collective opus and re-arranges it like a talented maestro playing a biz potpouri of his greatest hits. Can't blame him; it works.

The first fragrance from the Lebanese haute couture designer is simply called Le Parfum and the composition allegedly took 279 trial versions, resulting in a very femme fragrance, very floral, lightly woody. Those who like Marc Jacobs Blush in theory for the modern take on white flowers, but always wanted more oomph out of it, might find here their ideal rendition. Those who love the lushness yet contemporary feel of Kurkdjian's own label Absolue pour le Soir but wince at the price tag, could find in Elie Saab a more budget-friendly choice. Last but not least, those who lamented the demise of perhaps the single worthwhile Armani perfume, Sensi, are advised to seek out Le Parfum as something in the same ballpark; immediately appealing, non fussy, instant prettifier.

Men are almost certain to find this too feminine for their tastes, though the adventurous can always try.

Notes for Elie Saab Le Parfum: orange blossom, jasmine (including Grandiflorum and Sambac), cedar, patchouli and rose honey accord.

The simple glass bottle, heavy and pleasingly solid, was designed by Syvie de France. The campaign features the famous model Anja Rubik. Le Parfum is available in 30ml/1oz, 50ml/1.7oz and 90ml/3oz of  Eau de Parfum concentration with ancilary products to match (perfumed deodorant, body lotion, body cream and shower gel). Available at major department stores.

Painting Spring by Greek painter Georgios Jacobidis.

Anya's Garden Royal Lotus: fragrance review of a Brave New Scent & Giveaway

The lotus...floating upon river waters where ancient civilizations flourished and died. Jasmine...the pervader of the night, its piercingly sweet floral aroma the intoxicating scent of carnality.

Alcaloids contained inside the lotus produce a sedative effect, inspiring hypotheses as to its relation to the mythical fruit consumed by the Lotophagi. And the indolic aspects of natural jasmine essence are but an invitation to ponder on our life's primal instincts and how they're sublimated into the poetry of flowers. But in Royal Lotus by Anya's Garden we never quite forget we're dealing with a floral fragrance that though based on modern, cutting-edge sourced materials is always mindful of its pretty, primal nature of aromatics: to smell good!
Indeed, even if it's built on all natural essences, with lots of real jasmine, the less polite aspects of this formidable little night bloom have been smoothed into a silky, gentle canopy that floats in the evening breeze softly promising sweet nothings; thus allowing those curious about jasmine's many fascinating facets to explore into a fragrance that won't scare the horses or prompt anyone to inspect the soles of your shoes!
Royal Lotus is zesty on top with a bursting hesperidic top note that is succulent and fresh, progressing into a soft, floral heart where the sweeter, mating aspects are highlighted rather than the fetid and decaying inherent in white flowers. Lotus essences (uniting absolute and the waxier concrete) bring a light, airated, sivery thread into the mix. The fragrance is very lightly anchored by an equally soft, well-mingled base where no note protrudes above the rest. 

Royal Lotus, part of the Brave New Scents porject, therefore takes modern ingredients into creating what feels like a solid floral: classically topped by an expansive citrus bouquet that reinforces the freshness of the white and acqueous flowers, while a subtle base of woods and coumarin smooth the nectarous essences.
Anya McCoy created Royal Lotus using 21st century materials, referencing only one wildcard from the 20th century, namely clementine essence. Anya after all is no stranger to beautiful citruses and I consider them ~as well as her beautiful floral tinctures~ as the hallmark of her brand: Anyone who likes hesperidia and white flowers would surely find something to appreciate in her all naturals line.

For her inspiration the perfumer states: "My muse was ancient India, brought into the present, once again (remember Kewdra from the Mystery of Musk project)? I chose pink and blue lotus and the extrememly rare night queen absolute (aka Night-blooming jasmine, Cestrum nocturnun) for my heart. Night queen absolute is so rare, this perfume may be, due to lack of any more NQ absolute coming to market, a very limited edition."

The perfumer worked on these notes:

for the top:
wild orange from the Dominican Republic
yuzu from Korea
orange juice essential oil from Brazil
clementine from the USA

for the heart:
blue lotus absolute from Thailand
blue lotus concrete from India
pink lotus concrete from India
Queen of the Night absolute (cestrum nocturnum) from India
Queen of the Night tincture from Anya's garden in Florida
jasmine grandiflorum tincture from Anya's garden in Florida
jasmine sambac Grand Duke of Tuscany tincture from Anya's garden in Florida
orange flower tincture from Anya's garden in Florida

for the base:
sandalwood from Australia
ambergris absolute from Utah
tonka bean absolute from France

The perfumer suggests wearing this fragrance on one's hair, as this would reward the wearer with 24 hours of floral and woody pleasure. Indeed I found that skin application left the more delicate floral elements missing sooner than desired, while a generous blotter application suggests that there is no serious colour staining hazzard for non-silk clothes.

For our readers, a giveaway of a mini 3.5ml of Royal Lotus, courtesy of Anya's Garden. (Perfumer sends prize to the winner). Please state your interest in the comments. Draw is open till Sunday midnight.

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pic via flowerpicturegallery.com

Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps: Fragrance Review & History of a True Classic

Reflecting on a classic fragrance which has inspired me into delving deeper into perfume history and appreciation, I can’t disregard L’Air du Temps by Nina Ricci, one of the most recognizable perfumes in the world. Even Hannibal Lecter is quoted smelling it on Clarisse Starling in Silence of the Lambs: “You use Evian skin products and sometimes L’Air du Temps… but not today...”.
Despite any foreboding connotations, the perfume's introduction in 1948 under a name halfway between Marivaux and Cocteau (denoting ‘the spirit of the times’) hallmarked a longed-for return to optimism. Much like Miss Dior was ‘tired of letting off bombs and just wanted to let off fireworks’, L’Air du Temps presented the new found hope for peace after the ravages of WWII, as reflected by the original flacon design of a sun with a dove perched on the stopper by Christian Bérard.

 Iconic Design and Symbolism


L'Air du Temps is a triumph of bottle art and symbolism: The intertwining doves affectionately termed ‘Les Colombes’, a romantic theme by Marc Lalique, originates from 1951 and came to denote the virginal quality of the visual aspects of its representation, perpetuated in its advertising ever since. Originally the 1948 design envisioned by Jean Rebull and materialized by crystallier Marc Lalique involved a rising sun surmounted by a single dove. The interwining doves however marked the "kiss and make up" peace mood after WWII.
The "colombes" kissing motif also reflected the ever feminine, always understated and ethereallly romantic Nina Ricci sartorial fashions; nothing vulgar! The perfume became signage for fashions: "The most romantic gift of fragrance a man can give a woman" came to be accompanied by elfish gowns that draped the female form in a slippery, ethereal, 19th-century-aesthete nostalgic way; lacy ivory and white denoting youthful and -a little faded- aristocracy rusticating in the sunny French countryside.The L'Air du temps advertising mostly matched.
In 1999 the L'Air du Temps flacon was named "perfume bottle of the century".

Scent Description
The formula of L'Air du Temps, composed by Francis Fabron, was simple : no more than 30 ingredients which co-exist in harmony, a chaste -but not quite- bouquet of flowers enrobed into the silken sheath of benzyl salicylate; a massive dose of an –at the time- innovative product aiding the blending and linear evaporation of the other molecules. According to perfumer Bernard Chant “‘[benzyl salicylate] produces a diffusing, blooming effect very pleasing to the public”. Coupled with spicy eugenol and isoeugenol, the effect becomes almost carnation-like with its clove tint : the very heart of L’Air du Temps ! The celestial opening of bergamot and rosewood is undermined by the sensuous note, half-lily, half-carnation, suave with the fuzziness of skin-like peach and a green hint of gardenia. Powdery orris, coupled with dusky woods –poised at the intersection of winter falling into spring- and a faint amber note finish off the fragrance. The effect is peachy-carnation-y and very characteristic: a sort of Doris Day, the way she was, rather staunchy actually, active and hard to eradicate, rather than how she appeared to be in those rom-coms of the 1950s, all mock innocence and eyelashes aflutter.

The success of the classic Nina Ricci fragrance seems to be the sassiness of its aerated, distinctive bouquet coupled with its refined classicism, sometimes maxed out to sentimentality : an aspect which prompted critic Luca Turin to joke it was created for romantics “who shed a tear listening to La Sonate au Clair de Lune*”. Maybe not quite that way, considering how the latter might have been an impromptu requiem on someone’s deathbed. At any rate, the trickle-down effect must speak of the need to do just that: the skeleton of the formula has been imitated in various soaps, deodorants and hairsprays for decades, while in itself L’Air du Temps has influenced many other fragrances from Fidji (Guy Laroche) and Madame Rochas to Anaïs Anaïs (Cacharel).

 Comparing Vintage vs. Modern L'Air du Temps Perfume

Nowadays the suaveness of the original formula has been somewhat compromised, due to necessary surgery dictated by allergens concerns… The peach base is mollified into synthetic submission, the carnation is less spicy and rich than before, the whole excellent exercise seems less itself as if it has been Botoxed into a perpetual complacent smile....yet L’Air du Temps is still instantly recognizable in its sillage, the trail left by the many that pass by wearing it : the mark of a true classic !
The bottle design can be a gauge of age: Vintage Eau de Toilette from the 1970s and 1980s circulates in the amphora-like bottle with the gold cap in splash, while spray bottles are long and encased in white bakelite. If the front of the bottle has the doves in relief and the plastic cap is rounded and in relief as well, your specimen comes from the 1990s.

The vintage parfum is in the characteristic Lalique design with the perched doves atop. Old models of diluted concentration can also be in ribbed sprayers with gold overimposed sprayer mechanisms in squarish design. Really old versions can be in a round flask bottle with a boule cap in splash form.
Modern  eau de toilette on the contrary is in the familiar fluted oval-shaped bottle, reprising the dove design on the top in transparent plastic, the cap going over the sprayer mechanism. 

(*) Piano sonata N°14 by L.van Beethoven

This review is based on a text I had previously composed for Osmoz.com

Serge Lutes De Profundis: fragrance review & draw

If Charles Baudelaire or Oscar Wilde (pleading with Lord Alfred Douglas from within his jail) are references both in plain view in the new Serge Lutens fragrance De Profundis, and they themselves relied on this, their posthumus reputation might be rather lacklustre. Whether it is fatigue or overfamiliarisation, the olfactory seraglio at Palais Royal has began showing signs of tiredness, despite the vivid, novel colour of the latest perfume which shines in its beautiful bell jar like a bright amethyst. You can almost hear the cry of the 130th Psalm "De Profundis Clamavi Ad Te, Domine" for all the drama in front of your eyes! Sadly, experiencing the fragrance by one's nose is underwhelming, after such build-up, promising the scent of death, no less.  
De Profundis is a piercing, sharp, dusty and at the same time aldehydic "clean" floral that petters out to woods and a little fruity violet, rather than the dark, dangerously sexy or earthy, medieval scent suggested by its apothecarial look.

Just take a look at the official ad copy (or skip it), composed in the usual cryptic style which reveals less than it suggests:

"When death steals into our midst, its breath flutters through the black crepe of mourning, nips at funeral wreaths and crucifixes, and ripples through the gladiola, chrysanthemums and dahlias.

If they end up in garlands in the Holy Land or the Galapagos Islands or on flower floats at the Annual Nice Carnival, so much the better!

What if the hearse were taking the deceased, surrounded by abundant flourish, to a final resting place in France, and leading altar boys, priest, undertaker, beadle and gravediggers to some sort of celebration where they could indulge gleefully in vice? Now that would be divine!

In French, the words beauty, war, religion, fear, life and death are all feminine, while challenge, combat, art, love, courage, suicide and vertigo remain within the realm of the masculine.

Clearly, Death is a Woman. Her absence imposes a strange state of widowhood. Yet beauty cannot reach fulfilment without crime. The chrysanthemum is the sole pretext for writing these lines.

Turning grave sites held in perpetuity over to Life – a familiar of these haunts – the chrysanthemum invites Death to leave the cemetery and offer us its flower. De Profundis clamavi." [translation by Fragrantica]

But how did we get to here? L'Eau Serge Lutens seems like a seperate entity in the canon, both in context and in smell, and for that reason was given leniency, even if it alienated much of the fan base; and while Boxeuses conversely recycled the familiar in a most pleasant way, I was rather hesitant into jumping for a full bottle of Serge's last, violent and incongruous release, Vitriol d'Oeillet. This was a first. Not jumping up & down for De Profundis, later on, sounded like sacrilege! But the expectations were set too high: Baudelaire is too much of a decadent aesthete to reference with impunity; Eros & Thanatos has been explored as an idea by scholars for millenia; and a scentscape inspired by death is a risky bet ~ the church has the patent down pat after all. Lutens took the All Saints tradition of taking chrysanthemums (autumnal flowers) to graves and span it into composing a floral that would get inspired by death.

 De Profundis olfactorily resembles a dusty, powdery yet sharp scent of herbal tea and flowers, with a smattering of honeysuckle, lily of the valley and greenish notes (green jasmine, green lily) on top; not melacholic chrysanthemums promised by the ad copy, but rather the aftermath of the funeral, despite the closeness with the autumn blossom.
What is more unexpected is that the bouquet of green floral notes very soon gives way to a "blanched" soapy musk resembling Galaxolide (but not quite! what is it?), and aldehydic nuances, reminiscent of the worst memories of L'Eau Serge Lutens and at the same time like bottled light, ozonic, lifting upwards and upwards...like a soul to the light?
Whereas the soapy concept was thick as thieves with the humorous, ironic allusion to "clean" in L'Eau as a sign of defiance in an era when perfume connoisseurs are embalming themselves in thick resins, stinky florals or bitter pharmaceutical-worthy oud notes to prove their mettle, in De Profundis the trick doesn't quite work again: The synthetic feel of the powdery note is far off the luxurious iris of Bas de Soie (which still denoted a classy sexiness) and at the same time it lacks the nuanced greyness of the majestic and unsurpassable Iris Silver Mist. Amidst it all, a fruity scent surfaces, enhanced by alpha methyl ionone (a recognisable violet note), giving a mildly sweetish, pleasant backdrop which bears a hint of familiarity with the previous Lutens fragrances. Although seemingly a loud perfume upon spraying, in its rather screechy projection upon first spray, De Profundis mellows into a soft woody skin scent which doesn't last as -usually- expected.

Evaluating a Lutens creation in less than stellar terms leaves me with a certain disillusionment, which is painful to experience. For more than 15 years, Lutens used to instantly transport me into imaginary travels atop a magic carpet which seemed to continuously unfold new motifs, to lull me into a reverie that united the mysticism of the East with the classiness and chic of the West. Perched, as I am, between two worlds, from a geographical point of view, this unison spoke deeply to my soul. I'm hoping that the line will find again its axis, but with dearest Serge reaching 70 it looks like it is a precarious, foreshadowing prospect and I find myself sitting on a church pew like a kid, confused with the world and eager to catch at straws...

Official notes for Serge Lutens De Profundis: chrysanthemum, dahlia, lily, violet, earthy notes.

Serge Lutens De Profundis comes in the familiar bell jar bottles of Eau de Parfum available only in Paris at Les Salons de Palais Royal (It's part of the exclusive line), 75ml for 120 euros. This year there will be two limited edition engraved bottles which cost significantly (significantly!) more (We're talking upwards of 1000 euros here): there will be only 7 of each bottle design for sale, reportedly.

For our readers, 2 samples of De Profundis, out of my own stash, will be given. Tell us, what would you like to smell in a "death perfume"?



Movie still of Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense by M.Night Shyamalan, Music set to the psalm 130 Arvo Pärt

Armani Prive La Femme Bleue: fragrance review

The Armani Privé collection falls under the scope of "niche fragrances within mainstream houses" trend; exclusive, upscale compositions that are often several notches above the widely available scents by the same company (see Cuir Amethyste and Bois d'Encens). La Femme Bleue, setting you back for £375/400euros for 100ml of Eau de Parfum, is very much on the exclusive side, given that it has been made in only 1000 bottles worldwide (and it's not available in just any country! whoa!). So I was fully prepared to hate it (isn't that stratagem & pricetag obscene?), but, alas, I was hasty.

Giorgio Armani's La Femme Bleue is a lovely iris fragrance; nuanced, darkish, with its woody and incensey background and, despite the passing resemblance with iris extraordinaire Iris Silver Mist by Serge Lutens, soft, powdery, ultimately unctuous. Plus, despite having the word Femme in the name, the designer himself is quick to point out that this is a unisex scent, as is the whole Privé collection. What more can one ask for? Perhaps some dare.

The Armani Privé collection can be divided into three genres: fresh and clean-smelling Les Eaux; La Collection ~inspired by precious stones like amethyst or jade; and the decadent Collection Mille et Une Nuits (A Hundred and One Nights Collection). This is the range that includes Oud Royal, an opulent melange of amber, spice and myrrh resin. The line is not without its celebrity endorsement: Charlene Wittsock, Princess of Monaco, who wore an Armani Privé wedding gown, also wore an Armani Privé fragrance on her "happiest day"; reportedly it was the new ultra-limited edition La Femme Bleue.

The deep blue of the bottle is a direct reflection on the Spring/Summer 2011 collection by Armani, inspired by the blue tint of the Alasho of the Twareg people of the desert, nomads of North Africa.
The colour of the nighttime sky has often been an inspiration for perfumers and bottle manufacturers, starting with the iconic L'Heure Bleue for Jacques Guerlain as well as Dawamesk, passing through modern offerings such as Jacomo Deep Blue and Dark Blue by Hugo Boss, all the way to the upcoming Vol de Nuit Powder Spray bottle in gorgeous shades of midnight.

The perfumer Serge Majoullier is a talent to watch. He explains how he put the concept (the deep indigo) into fragrance:

"It’s not easy to translate the idea of deep blue, I found the way by blending oriental and vanilla notes, perfect to evoke a hot starry night; so I added black iris [ed.note: I'm assuming he's referring to iris chyrophrages], which is dark blue in nature, and whose scent at times verges on chocolate, a woody background. This way the fragrance is not just floral".

This Armani fragrance feels like Haute Parfumerie and not just hot air fanned on ad copy, as many niche products do these days:  The delicious undercurrent of cocoa dust laces the background of iris (this is an experiment that is also successful at much lower price points in Bulgari's Blv Notte and Iris by L'Erbolario) resulting in a fragrance that cannot be said to evoke funereal connotations like so many iris scents can; notably Iris Silver Mist, to which it bears a kinship of the spirit.  After all, iris susiana, a greyish species of Iris, is affectionately called "mourning iris", so the connection is there all right. But no; not in this case. La Femme Bleue is not exactly cheerful or bubbly either, opting for a distinctive and elegant arpeggio of woody notes that surround and temper the slightly gourmand, orientalised aspects of cocoa and vanillic-benzoin caramel hints with some musk. Softness and a delicious powdery feel akin to violets greet you upon spraying, with hints of sensuality evolving as the fragrance dries down, even though it is a delicate, timid drydown that you might want to press your nose on your wrist to fully enjoy. I could picture myself enjoying this ultra exclusive fragrance if it was any easier to get ahold of.

Notes for Armani Prive La Femme Bleue: iris, chocolate, woodsy notes, incense and vanilla.

Below is the clip from the summer 2011 collection by the same name featuring Elisa Seidanoui. Enjoy!



Painting Black Iris by Georgia O'Keefe (1906).

Cartier Baiser Vole: fragrance review

“There is no lily oil or lily absolute,” says perfumer Mathilde Laurent, who wanted to introduce a floral scent in Cartier’s fragrance collection, a propos Baiser Volé, the jewellery brand's latest feminine fragrance launch. The name means "Stolen Kiss" reminiscing such romantic images as Fragonard's painting or Truffaut's film. “But I didn’t want it to be the 1,001st floral floriental, and I didn’t want to add a new floral composition.” Instead, Laurent likened wearing Baiser Volé to having on a necklace of lilies!

In Baiser Volé, in-house Cartier perfumer Mathilde Laurent explores the nature of lily three-ways (the leaves, the petals and the pistil) in a fresh powdery floral context and ends up with a surreal lily that isn't really about flowers, nor does it smell particularly spot-on "floral", but about the flowery nature of woman herself: opening up, "blooming", receiving, being at once pure and a little bit disorienting.

Laurent began by asking what smell men found enticing in a womanly way, to which the (fit to print, at least) prominent reply seemed to be "the lily". Colour me sceptical; isn't lily a symbol for purity and the need for cleansing? Maybe men are really leaning more onto the Madonna rather than the whore juxtaposition? Maybe they're asking them from a pre-arranged multiple-choice sheet?
At any rate, thus equiped, Laurent embarked on her 2-year long quest into fitting this stunning flower into a composition that would light up the room just lilies they do, without it being cliché, or surupy sweet, or headache-inducing cloying. If you are looking for the most realistic lily scent recreation, you might stop reading right now or read our article on Lily scent and lily flower types in perfumery; Baiser Volé doesn't even aim at that. But if you like fresh powdery scents, you might want to at least sample; it's very likeable.

The vegetal quality of the fragrance presents itself in an odd game of salicylates, solar notes which boom on the skin, a balance of bitter and sweet with a hint of citrus: The treatment, air-spun, meringue-like, delicate, is not unlike the one that perfumer Jean Claude Ellena reserved for the lightening up of vanilla through ylang ylang & lily notes in his fluffy Vanille Galante for the Hermessences. The vanilla and musks laced drydown in Baiser Volé recalls the sweetness of Un Lys by Serge Lutens, but the context is less poetic, more powdery, in a cosmetic-power-infused, slightly bittersweet way with a small subfacet of spice ~only minimal, a tad clovey; and a hint of violet ionones. It's safe to deduce that Baiser Volé transposes these niche sensibilities, pure, unadulterated exploration of perfumery raw materials's facets, in sleight-of-hand executions, into the mainstream. Compared with other lily fragrances, Baiser Volé stands alone and lacks the gaiac smokiness of real lilies which is reported to give them their "ham" brine-y facet. Cartier's interpretation is nowhere near the dense, ambery tinged radiant ambience of Donna Karan's Gold. Or the faux chypre structure of Ineke's Gilded Lily. Or the spicy corolla of Lily & Spice by Penhaligon's. And whereas Lys Mediterranée is a raspy, roughened salty-savoury lily that appeals to a certain Med sensibility with its hoarsey voice, while remaining irresolutely lily-like, Baiser Volé is smoother, more pliable, less floral, more traditionally womanly in its vanillic powdery kiss, and oddly at once old-fashioned and "clean".

On the other hand, and this is really interesting, Laurent takes no prisoners into embracing the latest trend of reinventing powdery florals for a generation that was afraid of anything powdery signifying "old lady perfume": From Esprit d'Oscar to Love,Chloé, the pink satin feel of ballerina shoes is taking on the sheen of flou through dusty, dry notes reminiscent of violets, talcum powder and sweet musks (if you're thinking of Lovely, by Sarah Jessica Parker, with an added dose of powderiness, you're not too far off); especially since this is a medium sillage fragrance, projecting politely while lasting power is good. Maybe it's code for "classy" or "different" in the milieu of hundreds of sweet things on the market. Maybe the generation who loved Flower by Kenzo and Cashmere Mist by Donna Karan have moved onto other things by now, leaving a void to be filled with new consuemers. The freshly powdery effect needs a true best-seller to shoot off as the new "craziness" in perfume (after "pink chypres" , fruitchoulis, and ethylmaltol-based ~aka cotton-candy smelling~ gourmands) and it remains to be seen just which fragrance that might be: Even though the concept and smell might be right for Cartier, I think we're dealing with a confusing name for Anglos: kissing the rodent seems to be many people's gut response, which might shoot the project in the foot (who can forget Rochas Poupée?).

Mathilde Laurent has been at jewellers Cartier since 2005 and she had been busy concocting Les Heures du Parfum, a series of niche-smelling fragrances sold exclusively at Cartier boutiques. Baiser Volé is the brand's first major feminine fragrance launch since Le Baiser du Dragon oriental in 2003 (Cartier de Lune of early 2011 not withstanding) and contrasted with the best-selling masculine Déclaration, which garners more than 60% of all Cartier's fragrance sales, this Baiser is set to be a serious bet on the part of the company; a recent Women's Wear Daily article tagged it as being intended as the scent pillar in the brand's feminine portfolio.It's definitely geared towards "a younger consumer", though like Robin I am at a loss on just how old the Cartier demographic really is to begin with.

The bottle of Baiser Volé is based on a stylised lighter design, for which the house is famous: In the 1970s there was no chicer way to light up (even today Cartier-embossed cigarettes are still produced in a small quantity in Europe), giving rise to the Les Must de Cartier, a boutique line from which Must perfume arose. Cartier Baiser Volé is available in Eau de Parfum (priced between $75-$145), also presented in matching Shower Gel and Body Lotion ($55 each) and deo spray, and is currently a Nordstrom Anniversary exclusive, but it will be available at major department stores in September 2011.

artwork via lunarki blog

Frederic Malle Carnal Flower: fragrance review

Carnal Flower by Frédérick Malle alludes to the perception of tuberoses as flowers of "spiritual ruin"; at one point in time they were actually thought to provoce an instant orgasm to the fair maidens who might smell them!! Imagine the prudish customs of yesterdays challenged by that thought....In reality, Frédérick Malle seeking to author a white floral (no line is complete without it), visited California, where both surroundings and ladies exude scents of gardenia and tuberose apparently. But Malle is also Louis Malle's, the famous film director's, nephew, and therefore related to actress Candice Bergen, Malle's wife from 1980 till his death in 1995.

Inspirations
Candice Bergen, a Californian by birth, despite the "cool ice princess" facade proved how there is fire and passion beneath it, both in her personal choices and -relevantly to our discussion- in one memorable film, Carnal Knowledge by Mike Nichols in 1971. As Susan, shagged by Jack Nicholson and shared (and eventually married to) Art Garfunkel, the safer bet of two wandering males, she gives a bleak and blunt portrayal of the inherent mortality of romance and the decaying beauty of sex. The young Frédérick Malle had thus one part of the illustrious concept of his fragrance down pat! Carnal Flower it would be and the star would be a man-eating flower.

Composition
The rest was masterful orchestration: Composed by Dominique Ropion, renowned creator of the wonderful Ysatis by Givenchy , the horrifically flamboyant and attention-grabbing Amarige by the same designer and the controversial Une Fleur de Cassie for Malle again (no mean feat, its strong animalic base acting as a conversation piece among the brave), the new fragrance on the sketching board naturally presented an olfactory challenge as tuberose is one of those smells that can be heavenly or hellish, no in-betweens : the orchestration and interpretation is all that matters. A flair for the intense on the recipients' part is also mandatory , it would seem....

Perufmery Tuberoses: Where does Carnal Flower Stand?
The history of tuberose in perfumery passes through that parfum phare as the French say (a "lighthouse perfume", a landmark more like it): Fracas, conceived by the fauvist Germaine Cellier for Robert Piguet, with its fleshy, lush contradicting qualities edged upon the two extremes: creamy, candy-ish beauty and violent hystrionics leading to decay. Blonde by Versace is its poorer , aspiring -and rather successful- imitator with a flamboyant style that is very Italian, a civet come-hither innuendo and quite pleasant in calculated moderation especially in extrait de parfum. Serge Lutens Tubéreuse Criminelle presents a peculiar problem : one has to wait for the crucial first 15 minutes, when the demonic camphor note subsides, giving reign to the glorious creaminess and silky softness of the flower. Caron's Tubereuse is very radiant , yet perfume-y although lighter and not suited to today's sensibilities, I find. Carolina Herrera (the original one by the famous designer) is a bit too operatic, being so much infused with another bombshell : jasmine. Some of the rest (Lauder's Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia and Do Son by Diptyque) are either more positioned towards gardenia or too light for carnal aspirations. Vamp a NY by Honore des Pres is more candied than that and with a generous helping of pink jasmine, although equally magnificent. Tuberose perfumes are a real continent: there are variations in the verdure to suit everyone.
Carnal Flower was from the beginning a mission into offering something different.

Scent Profile
Studying the odor of the real living blossom, which is apparently everywhere in California, the quintessentially French company Editions des Parfum Frédéric Malle has managed to capture the air of a tropical garden at dusk, full of the breeze and the richness of the dangerously seductive blossoms inside the austere looking bottles of Carnal Flower. Malle himself was encouraging Ropion to go the extra mile, per their official info, while the concept was in the cards from the very beginning, going into speed dial when Ropion was introduced to a new "corrected" absolute de tubereuse: Americans love tuberose flowers. Hence the addition of a coconut note and strong salicylates with musks, boosted with orange blossom absolute, all familiar apertures, which channel a warm and inviting quality. But they also want a seemingly fresh scent, something that will titillate the nostrils and the mind. The camphor note, reminiscent of eycalyptus leaves, is a necessity: At once freeing the weight of the inherent indolic character of the blossom, which browns as it decays, and imitating the exhalation of tuberose in nature: greenish and somewhat mentholic from afar.  Yet the mentholated note does not make a grand appearence in Carnal Flower like it does in Tubéreuse Criminelle: the composition is therefore less striking, arguably less thought-provoking, but more wearable by more people as a result. Not a jarring note in sight; even the fruitier notes, like coconut and melon, are interspersed through sleight of hand to evoke freshness and sensuousness. Like Candice Bergen, it's beautiful, but then again, not without wits or substance, and although undeniably sensual and sexy, it is high class and a lady, not a slut, at all times. (For slut, if you choose, you can resort to Musc Ravageur by the same niche perfume company)

The development of Carnal Flower is smooth, into a heart of pure tuberose absolute with a sweet coconut-like facet (like Coppertone suntan lotion, another California reference) and solar salicylates (a natural pheromone of blossoms that aids pollination), without great changes throughout its drydown. The amount of tuberose absolute used is the greatest in use in all current perfumery: any more of this and you might burst! The initial opulence remains intact while after some minutes a slightly bitter-sweet, rubbery quality ascends to the surface, a natural effect of the real flower. It should be advised not to overdo the application because of this element. As it weaves its magic though, it never becomes cloying, but it does seem to steal the scene and all the best lines audible from several paces away. Carnal Flower is loud enough to be a classic-in-the-making.

If you're among those who find the fragrance overwhelming (and it can be), the exquisite Beurre Exquis in Carnal Flower (a body butter infused with the gorgeous smell of the fragrance) might be a lighter, subtler option for you with decent sillage and lasting power. Highly recommended and worth the monetary outlay.

Notes for F.Malle Carnal Flower:
Top: bergamot, melon, camphor
Heart: tuberose absolute, ylang-ylang, jasmine, orange blossom
Base: tuberose basolute, coconut, white musk



pic of Candice Bergen via youlookfiine.wordpress.com