Few niche fragrance lines today are as devoted to opulence as the Omani firm of Amouage founded in 1983. Rich, multi-nuanced baroque tapestries of scent, so textured you feel like you can touch them, Amouage perfumes remind us of how perfumery used to be before restrictions and leaning-tricks gave perfumery its contemporary meagre look. The three upcoming additions Opus I, Opus II and Opus III in the "Library Collection" (which we announced the other day) do not disappoint.
It is with great pleasure that I introduce them to you, writing down my impressions as I test them again and again on my skin these past few days. A few of you might get to try them out in the special preview scheduled in a couple of days (details at the bottom), the rest are urged to seek them out later on when the launch officially. They're true to form and one among them is truly surprising.
Artistic direction is everything when it comes to positioning a perfume brand: Remember Christian Astuguevieille for Comme des Garçons, Lutens for Shiseido and his own eponymous line etc. Likewise, the multi-faceted ~opera, fashion and semiotics among his studies~creative director Christopher Chong has helped Amouage gain the credibility which niche lines are (sometimes only) dreaming of: unflagging consistency, luxury, specific vision, collaboration with top perfumers. His musical background I guess is the reason why the three new Opera (or musically referenced, Opi) were thus baptized. The library standing as the capsule for keeping the creative process contained in tangible, approachable form.
Initially I was a bit sceptical when I heard of a new Collection, especially with arithmetical numbering: These days niche frag "collections" are a dime a dozen and for some weird reason everyone wants to bring out one, semi-establishing themselves as authors of a body of work at the drop of a hat. But in the case of Amouage there is already a line-up of impressive creations, thus crossing effectively that motive off the list. Still, three fragrances in one go seem like one or two would overshadow the rest. But if the Arabian-inspired house has proven anything to us, it's that more is sometimes more, after all! There is nothing minimalistic about Amouage and the new triptych will find its dedicated fans as well, walking the fine line between wearability and artistry successfully.
Opus I is the most surprising new Amouage in the Library Collection, not from a structural point of view but one of juxtaposing two antithetical elements which miraculously fuse into one another in a case of reverse engineering. Although officially classed as a chypre, Opus I feels like a lush floral with a jarring, really great bitter bigarade top note (like traditional bitter citrus rind confit, almost Roudnitska drool-worthy) which contrasts with tuberose and dominant ylang ylang; both flowers treated into a mentholated ribbon flowing in the wind underneath a plummy accord which is round, fleshy, pudding-rich. The bitterness of bigarade and the tarry notes offsets the salicylates of the flowers, while the sweet elements (tonka, plum accord) brings out the nectarous qualities. The most pyramidal of the three, where there is a clear and distinct progression from top to heart and then slowly segueing into base.
Opus II promised to be evocative of "old books, dark wooden shelves and antique leather armchairs" and only because I already knew that from the announcement of the new line, I purposely jumpled the samples around, as if.... Proclivities are almost hard-wired and both nature & nurture seems to conspire making me always gravitate towards such compositions. If I were to sum it up I would proclaim Opus II a spicy incense fragrance and in that field it plays seamlessly. The core of frankincense reveals a zesty freshness the way the natural resin tears have a lemony, orange-y freshness as they smoke serenely on the censer. Contrary to Opus I, which starts refreshingly bitter and turns sweeter and lush, Opus II goes for the reverse: A warm, soothing opening of rosy spice and absinth liquer (see our Series) becomes cooler and more celebral as the time passes; while the final warm sweetish remnants on skin project at a low hum like bass heard from a distance. Unquestionably my favourite, it reflects what Christopher had said: "The Amouage customer is an international traveler who has picked up antiques and items of furniture while travelling around the world and has built a home reflecting a global approach to design, but housed within an Omani-inspired space."
Opus III is built around violets, clearly detectable from the very start, taking on nuances of both candied petals and greener, leafier verdancy with a sage-like tone. The aromatic top has a quirky nuance, with pungent, bracken and honeyed tonalities, turbidity set against a woody base. Even though violets are usually thought of as feminine and retro-glamorous, reminiscent of makeup paraphernalia, here they're treated in both directions of sweet and mainly green, rendering the finished scent suitable for both sexes. Opus III feels linear, united into one ultra-complex chord which projects with unwavering assurance.
All three fragrances in the Library Collection bear the sign of Frankincense, the emblem of the luxurious fragrance line, sensed in various degrees and they all smell full and rich, the way we're used to from the Sultanate of Oman.
The three scents in the Amouage Library Collection are extremely lasting on skin (a full 12 hours and they were still going strong!) and leaving a delicious trail behind without becoming intruding or cloying. Please refer to this post for the exact notes of each.
A sneak preview of the "Library Collection" Opus I, Opus II and Opus III will be taking place at Aedes de Venustas, 9 Christopher Street, New York on Thursday, July 1st, 2010 from 5-8pm and cocktails will be served. It's worth the trip if you're near. The sampler set is endearing, small sprayers encased in pearl white silk-lined matchboxes.
All photos by Elena Vosnaki. Click to enlarge. Painting of The Queen's Library at St.James's Palace, from The History of the Royal Residences, engraved by Richard Reeve, by William Henry Pyne. In the interests of full disclosure I was sent 3 preview samples by the company.
There are few images more precious to an adult than one that involves angst-ridden teen years, when we spent our time snatching vintage stuff of our mother's wardrobe, coupled with a few of our dear father's, lining our peepers in black khol like some Siouxsie wannabe and riding the Coty Wild Musk shelves out of their inventory stinking up every place we went to in the process. But now that Wild Musk is becoming increasingly difficult to find (and a reformulation or two have been implemented to disfigure a little of that fresh raw face that smiled beneath the angled fringe that recalled Flock of Seagulls) we view it with the nostalgic melancholy reserved for bruises that are slowly fading into yellow, having pained us for so long we sort of miss them when they're gone.
Musk notes are experiencing a revival lately, especially vintage animalic stuff which growls a bit teasingly when you approach, and Wild Musk is among the very best in a field that is becoming crowded with more pretentious and more expensive upstarts. But what sets apart this inexpensive beauty apart is that there is a cozy barber-shop atmosphere about this floriental, hot towels and shaving cream paraphernalia on smooth skin, a little rose and sandalwood powder in the air as well. And yet this is a fragrance that although can be unisex it has a very cuddly quality about it. Gentle, yet bawdy, warm and unobtrusive, but with a flirtatious edge, it deserves to be carried into adultdom with no intersections along the way. Not to mention that there is a special synergy between this creamy scent and the smell of sweat, carrying itself into intimacy without vulgarity. Compared to Jovan Musk the similarity is there, although I find Wild Musk creamier, a little sweeter and softer, especially in the oil edition. Not "dirty" or spicy as Muscs Kublai Khan or Khiel's older oil, yet not sanitized "clean" like the plethora of white musk offerings around (from Musc Bleu to The Body Shop White Musk), Wild Musk with its great lasting power on clothes and its vanillic trail stands at the utopian crossroads between the two directions.
Wild Musk came out in 1973, just when Coty and Coty International were united after being sold to Pfizer & Co ten years earlier (Imprevuis another one which is a follow up after this take-over), issuing a handful of popular products including Styx, Sweet Earth, and Wild Musk fragrances and the Equatone beauty-treatment line. This is also the time when the production facility relocated from New York City to Sanford, North Caroline, thus heralding a new era for the brand. Perhaps the most characteristic trait is how Wild Musk had been taken over in that time-frame by arty types and carried over as a small hint that underneath the existentialist ennui and their assertions that culture is going through an agonizing death they were sensitive, affectionate souls after all.
Notes for Coty Wild Musk: A solid note of musk is accented by bergamot, lavender, jasmine, rose, sandalwood, amber and vanilla
The formula of Wild Musk by Coty circulated as both an oil and an alcohol-spray version. The oil is superior in aspects of smoothness, although the spray is not bad either. The newer version does bear a difference to the older, due to the substitution of the musk components for reasons of biodegradability (see Musk Series part 2 for more info on nitro-musks) which makes it significantly tamer and with a more alcohol-prominent top. Intermediary-age boxes of the Cologne concentrate spray carry the swoosh design in a single ribbon instead of the flou, hazy rendition that the newer ones have. The even older ones had a completely different graphic as depicted in the ad, some of which had a rectangle bottle with a red cap and label (similar to Musk Patchouli).Bottles of the latest edition are carried at Walmart, Target's and drugstores, while older versions circulate on online etailers and Amazon.
What about you? Did you wear musk fragrances when you were (very) young? What were your choices?
I had included Amaranthine by Penhaligon's in my Top 10 Scents that Sing Spring for 2010 a while ago with the following words: "Its name denotes the eternally beautiful and unfading. The perfume, just like the name (from the Greek αμάραντος), evokes a deep purple red, a "corrupted" floral oriental with plenty of "dirty" aspects combining spiced (clovey) ylang-ylang and jasmine on a milky sandalwood and musky base. Fetish-phobics should better shy away, but those worth their salt in immersing themselves head-long into intimate scents (ooops!) will rejoice that the meadows and the flowers do not only smell of the sterile florist's or Alpine tops. As shocking ~coming from such an upper-stiff-lip British brand~ as discovering that our favourite nanny, Julie Andrews, has a va jay jay ~and a wee hole~ after all!"
So why am I back reviewing this? Probably because I have been pondering these past few weeks on how it came as an utter shock into the Miss Charm school of the Penhaligon's line-up, smiling like characters out of a Jane Austen novel with no success in hiding this Edna Pontellier amongst them! Like other outspoken feminine florals, like Passionor Grand Amourby Annick Goutal, DelRae's Amoureuse and Vero Profumo Rubj,this is a case of not being afraid to shout off the rooftops its deliciously carnal intent. An intent that is rendered like it's the most natural thing in the world! Penhaligon’s website says “Amaranthine [part of the new Anthology series] is a corrupted floral oriental for those private moments when everything is anticipation” and by that line alone one would surmiss they're up to no good: Which they're not, in the best possible sense. Yet it was March at Perfume Posse who put the apocalyptical size of the shock value in proper terms: "Immediately and humorously nicknamed Amaranthigh by perfumistas, Amaranthine was a shot across the bow in terms of our expectations from staid Penhaligon’s. Bertrand Duchaufour’s bizarre, refulgent twist on a boudoir scent would have been about the last thing I expected from the house, and I wasn’t alone there".
Like a modern time Léonce, a callous patriach who is unshakable in his views, I was eternally stuck on how Penhaligon's as a fragrance house amounted to instant Victoriana with doilles put under the TV-set and little floral mats on the arm-rests of the couches, in a house that smelled of crushed lavender and butter-foiled scones for tea, always a little stale. Pretty as a picture and nostalgic possibly, but would I live there? No if I had any hopes of saving my jaw muscles from overexertion from the smile that would plague my face translating its ecumenical acceptance and patience. I had only managed to be interested in Malabah, Hammam Bouquet and Castile from the house's classics previously and in Lily & Spice from the newer range; my itinerary (stopping at the outskirts of Coventry and never intending to go all the way up to Leeds) was cut short: The train was abtruptly stopped at junction "Eyes Glazing Over Victorian Posy" with a disastrous detour via "Bluebell" which had nothing to do with blue and plenty to do with Bells of Hell going ting-a-ling-a-ling.
Perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour has managed to shake this ~in hindsight~ passé notion and thrust it out of the window of that very same train. (Actually he also did a complete redecoration of that English cottage above, ushering a little French deco amidst all that plaid and floral. One can have too much of a picturtesque thing, after all). Amaranthine is travelling from station to station between fruity-ladden vines that sprout banana-bubblegum tones of quality jasmine (and lush ylang ylang) and a gently green but spicy blend of cardamom and coriander recalling not yet fully fermented tea aromatized the Middle Eastern way. And when it stops, it takes you to someplace where proper good buttery English toffee is still made (creamy sandalwood, warm musk, milky caramel tones), so not everything British is lost. Two beauties, one English, one French, are having a tryst. Simply spectacular!
A special thanks to Joe for introducing me to this gem.
Photo of a nude Brigitte Bardot and an equally nude Jane Birkin via The Moly Doily blog. Claudya photo by Bettina Rheims from the Female Troubles Series
A sexy actress in her boudoir after her performance: Pensive , smiling hazily to herself as she lifts her hair off her forehead and gazes at her image in the mirror. Her most enthousiastic fan has sent her armfulls of liles , bunches of honeysucle and posies of hyacinth to fill the room and her lacy clothes with an initially fresh and sweet fragrance , with a penetrating aroma that becomes deeper and slightly decaying as time passes. The whole concoction is intoxicating somehow, yet it makes her think of him with nostalgia. She thinks she's falling in love... It's a Grand Amour. It has to be!
That had been my impression of this rich floriental, composed by Isabelle Doyen, redolent of heady flowers and a balsamic ambery base when I had tried it for the first time back in 1997 when it launched, on a trip to Austria. I recall that the splendid presentation of the butterfly bottle alongside the dewy flowers in the filigree vases around with their fin de siècle ambience had captured my attention and provoked the above image, which is still firmly with me after all those years. The recollection made me nod my head a little when I read Tania Sanchez in Perfumes,The Guidesaying: "[it]has impressive ambitions, combining aloofness and warmth in search of that magical proportion that turns a starlet into a star".
Grand Amourimmediately stroke me as a little decadent and "intimate", not as airy as the majority of the Goutals I had hitherto tried, and indeed, alongside firm staples Passion and L'Heure Exquise, most of my favourite Goutals fit into the category that the Goutal people term as "capiteux"; more or less "heady". Inspired as it was by the bouquets that the cellist Alain Meunier presented to Annick during their courtship Grand Amour is officially described as "A perfect balance of carnal flowers, lily, hyacinth, honeysuckle. A hymn of sensuality with notes of amber, musk, myrtle".
The atmosphere of Grand Amour is one of sustained uncertainty, poised as it is between the unctuous base of its resinous orientalia and the grassy, sappy, almost refreshing floral top; honeysuckle first reveals its yellowish, nectarous blossoms, reminding me of the exquisite moment when winter falls into spring, then hyacinth takes reign with its intoxicating pollen-like aroma. Its powdery, dry earthiness is the perfect accompaniment to these first days of spring when the longing to see new bulbs erupting sprouts is so ingrained into the melancholy of a long winter. In several ways (the soap, the powder, the hyacinth) Grand Amour is comparable to Guerlain's classic Chamade from 1969, another head-long dive into romance, yet I do not detect much of the characteristic galbanum and oakmoss of the latter (at least in its vintage form).
The Eau de Toilette highlights more of the romantic, soapy aldehydic hyacinth notes while the Eau de Parfum of Grand Amour is more base-heavy in the incense-like myrrh tonality and allover denser and sultrier. It is also naturally more orange-hued in contrast to the light straw-coloured Eau de Toilette, so don't be alarmed if you come across dark juice, it's not necessarily spoiled. If you really like that sort of effect and are that sort of woman, I guess you need both versions.
Notes for Annick Goutal Grand Amour: lily, hyacinth, honeysuckle, Turkish rose, jasmine, French mimosa, amber, vanilla, myrrh.
Grand Amour by Annick Goutal is available as Eau de Toilette (30-50-100ml) and Eau de Parfum (50ml, 100ml) in the classic gadroon bottles and in a red butterfly bottle at boutiques carrying the Goutal line and several online venues. Check Lianne Tio's Nederthelands boutique on this link as well.
Photo of Hanna Schygulla via Fromn Blank to Blank. Photo of Annick Goutal bottles rested atop Edouard Vuillard 's painting The Dress with Foliage by Elena Vosnaki
The Mona di Orio line is something like the Meet the Parents' (the Fockers that is) "inner circle of trust": You have to really give your whole before you get past the distrurbing opening to see what lies beneath. What you do past that point is up to you, but the journey there is full of apocalyptic awe and a few surprises.
Ravaged ~on an almost personal level~ by Turania, who apparently paid so little attention that they even misunderstood the very name (Carnation being the one which "blooms not in a flower bed but on a woman's cheeck"), one would have thought that the perfume's and the perfumer's fate seemed sealed to belong to the 9th circle of Dante's Inferno. Perhaps this is an eminent case of the adage "there's no such thing as bad publicity" and "say whatever you want about me as long as you spell my name right" because Mona di Orio not only sufaced victorious ~after a distribution problem~ and is referenced in a gazillion of publications, but she is also producing new perfumes and has participated to great aplomb in the recent Firenze Fragranza No.7 exhibition (Another independent perfumer, Andy Tauer was very appreciative and vocal about it, which is so graceful and so him).
Part of the initial triptych including Lux and Nuit Noire from 2006, Carnation is meant to evoke a tender embrace after a day spent in the sun and although it's a very individual scent and one that probably gets some getting used to (and no doubt some of you won't get used to it no matter what), I find myself most fascinated by its almost leathery impression, despite the description of it being a floriental. It is a par excellence musky fragrance on far drydown, both "dirty" and delicate, more than a little carnal, with mildly spicy accents on a bed of cream (provided by the floral notes). Mona dedicated it to Colette, a woman very attuned to cosmetic and fragrant preparations as well as the sensual world (Her Flower and Fruits book is a good companion). Carnation's beauty lies in its "flaws": The initial spicy accent (resulting from the giroflée, the plant that produces cloves) is just a tad medicinal, which combined with the woodier elements and the kid's-glue-like complimentary styrax produces an arresting impression of a dentist's office nurse with the wickedly smiling face of Béatrice Dalle, her gap between front teeth an ironic exclamation mark on the artistry of said doctor. The lasting power is very good, sillage is pleasantly there but non intruding and it should fit both sexes and most seasons (hold August).
Although Mona sat with Edmond Roudnitska, it is true that her style does not necessarily reflect the same aesthetic choices or sparseness of style. She even proclaims herself that the siren of Serge Lutens lured her into a different path of orientalia that diverted from the classic French mold, on which Roudnitska has put his final seal. Her Italian/Spanish heritage might have something to do with it. People who have met her in the flesh comment on her sparkling personality and struggling English, so it might not be so easy to translate her Damascene metamorphosis. To my mind, her imaginative Lux and of course Carnation present opposing impressions of the same coin: luminosity and crepuscular shadows, one after the other in quick succession and prove that a little exploring of her creations is highly recommended to all.
Carnation is presented in the trademark cork-top faceted flacon of Mona di Orio's line in Eau de Parfum and is available for purchase in the US at Spafumerie: 2nd Ave. and 48th st, NYC. Tel: 212 644-9525 Email: thespa@spafumerie2.com Fax: 212 644-9529 In Europe Les Senteurs in London carries the fragrance ~as of this minute~ both in store and online, as does Aus Liebe Zum Duft.
There are few things more fundamental to a woman's confidence than the "just right" underwear and by that I mean proper fitting, excellent craftmanship and luxurious materials. It doesn't matter whether the clothes on top are fashion-conscious, whimsically bohemian or practical athletic-inspired gear, you only need to slip once into decent, quality underwear to never go back. In an exhibition of self-appreciation even in the most frugal of times, I prefer to invest in Aubade, Andres Sarda and Eres instead of other ~more evident~ outer garments, justifying the expense with the knowledge they put me in a good mood first thing in the morning.
The sensuality evoked by quality lingerie is not illogically compared to the feeling instigated by that category of fragrances which we call "snuggly" or "cashmere sweater" scents (like Bois des Iles, Barbara Bui Le Parfumand Rykiel Woman). Industriously ~and indeed fittingly~ lingerie designers have not been idle: From Barbara Bui to Fifi Chachnil all the way to the more bubble-gum sporting Victoria's Secret, major brands have expanded into smells to accompany their smalls. So did Josie Natori (née Josefina Almeda Cruzhad in the Philippines), who has been creating lingerie, swimwear and women's fashions since 1977, creating a micrography of an empire that spans several upscale department stores in the US and at least 15 countries internationally.
The new release, Natori by Natori, is a floriental that although not innovative, or exceptional in any way, will win lots of people who will snuggle its ambery floral bouquet and purple-black bottle with a pleasure akin to putting on their favourite heavy-silk pajamas. Natori (the Japanese word for "highest artform" and a feminine name as well) has just launched, a fitting foil for the first evenings of autumn weaving their way through the raised blinds, creeping up on us unsuspecting with their crisp step.
The fragrance was created by perfumer Caroline Sabas of Givaudan. If Sabas's oeuvre (Fresh Cannabis Santal, JLo Miami Glow, Badgley Mischka Couture, Charles Jourdan Le Parfum) can be summed up it would transpire she goes for smooth compositions of modernised orientalia, like tapestries' motifs seen in densely-pixeled digital form. In Natori this typical trait is immediately evident in a sparkling floriental that smells the way a devoré velvet would: smooth, with depth, yet surprising lightness of heft. Despite the advertorial on aldehydes, the impression is not the characteristic soapy-powdery effect of classic aldehydic fragrances, but instead what immediately fizzes off skin in a rather denser way is the plum. Its alliance with feminine flowers, out of focus, the silky musks (I hypothesize the new Cosmone being one) and the light amber notes (recalling the westernised impression of the latter middle-Eastern mix) makes it very wearable and exactly the kind of tactile scent which although you don't particularly notice all the time, you feel good wearing it.
As March from Perfume Posse wisely puts it: "Natori is the perfume equivalent of an expensive but very soft, flattering set of underthings that you’d wear as much for your own pleasure as anyone else’s." Personally I am a little disappointed at the lack of a certain "kick" at some step of the process: Natori develops lineary, with good lasting power and with a seamless progression in which one cannot discern any specific notes without tilting their head again and again and trying to catch them by force. Usually the latter is a trait of supreme technique, yet although technical merit is not lacking, I would have prefered it to exhibit the more shockingly feminine (and naughty) undercurrent of Une Fleur de Cassie by F.Malle incorporated into the standard dusky floriental bouquet. The way it is, Natori can be worn without blushing one iota, nor is it going to be especially chosen for grandes horizontales. Rather it's a go-to scent for women every day, like a boost of confidence they themselves are aware of. Nothing wrong with that, come to think of it.
The Natori flacon is a deep purplish black inspired by the lotus blossom, a flower imbued in symbolism in Eastern cultures, where poets have compared the blossom's furling leaves to female silhouettes coming out of their bath (There's something to be said about poets, flowers and women!). The cap is smooth like a river pebble. There is a small "window" on the body of the bottle, recalling the design of the inro-shaped Opium splash bottle, from which one can see the purplish shade emerge triumphant. Its purple colour recalls royal gowns but also the merging of opposites: like the primaries that conspire to create it, it possesses both cool and feisty vibrations.
Natori has just debuted as Eau de Parfum in the United States from Parlux Fragrances Inc. as a Saks exclusive (for the time being) with plans to incorporate it into a lifestyle line. Fifth Avenue Club members and Saks First participants will be invited to receive a deluxe ¼ ounce Eau de Parfum miniature in Limited Edition packaging. The fragrance collection includes a 3.4 oz Eau de Parfum Spray ($110.00) and a 1.7 oz Eau de Parfum Spray ($80.00)
Please do not confuse the new Natori with the same-named discontinued fragrance by Avon from 1985.
The exotic-sounding name of Ubar by parfums Amouage comes from a lost Omani city founded in 3000BC and still functioning during the first century AD, which consolidated a reputation as a tremendously wealthy trading post of frankincense en route the Silk Road. Nicknamed "Atlantis of the Sands" by T.E.Lawrence, its mysterious past lay hidden beneath the sand dunes as a result of divine wrath against the amorality and greediness of its inhabitants (according to the Qur'an). Although archaeological study had been going steady following surface archeology methods, it was only in 1992 that satellite imaging fully revealed Ubar to the world.
Commemorating that event and marking their Silver Jubilee, the Omani-residing brand of Amouage first issued a fragrance named Ubar in 1995, yet like the lost city the fragrance disappeared soon afterwards as if engulged by the sands. Luckily for us, Amouage re-issued the Ubar fragrance in 2009 under their new Creative Director, Christopher Chong; some formula tweaking didn't change the resulting composition too much, but enough to render it more baroque and extremely lasting.
Comparing a vintage sample I had languishing in my collection with a new batch which a generous friend recently provided , I can sense that the original 1995 Ubar consisted of a distinctive woody orientalised composition without much citrus up-top, while the re-issued Ubar is a floriental, with a dominating floral heart and a soft oriental aura on its lush lemon top and its silky woody bottom. Luca Turin gave it maximum points in his Perfumes the Guidequarterly update, mentioning how the older version had also received high marks of respect from connoisseurs, and I can see how it would.
What is most interesting about the re-issue is that Amouage Ubar is a regular shape-shifter on its ~very long~ course on my skin! Ubar's beginning mingles the discernible and very lush bergamot and lemon brightness with some "cleaner" notes (listed as lily of the valley, more of which here) cutting through the voluptuous richness; yet already a velvety aura radiates warmth forth ~the magical radiance of civet, conferring a restraint upon whatever tangy nuances might have been feared. You never had such a lush lemon before! Give it some time however and it becomes a throbbing, pulsating, thorny dark rose, the way the classic Montana Parfum de Peau behaves, while jasmine later embraces the composition fully. At this stage Ubar is a statement-making evening diva, not your average office-friendly perfume and indeed to treat it thus would amount to terrible waste. Atter a brief phase that seems to take a more masculine direction, the longer it stays on skin the more it reminds me of the peculiar lemon-cupcakes accord which was the pinacle of charm and naughtiness in Guerlain's Shalimar Light, with a very discreet suede-like accent in the base (perhaps due to a little labdanum): for something so naughtily laced with animalic civet, Ubar retains an always opulent yet elegantly sexy vibe (same as Ormonde Jayne's Toludoes), never veering into vulgarities: it wears hand-sewn dark lace, not red vinyl, as befits something evoking the romance and splendour of the Arabian Nights.
Although Ubar is appealing to me in no uncertain terms, I find that it is hard to surpass my infatuation with Jubilation 25, despite its many merits. It is worth noticing that men however, especially men attuned to rose and sandalwood mixes, might find it less outrightly feminine than the former and thus find it a better match to their sensibilities.
Amouage Ubar notes: Bergamot, lemon, lily of the valley, rosa Damascena, jasmine, civet, vanilla.
The original Ubar from 1995 came in Eau de Toilette concentration in a twisted pyramidal-shaped bottle (pic here) and cost "around $60 for a half ounce", according to the NST reportage. The re-issued Amouage Ubar comes in Eau de Parfum concentration and costs $250 for 50ml and $285 for 100ml at Amouage.com and Luckyscent.
sam•sa•ra Pronunciation: \səm-‘sär-ə\ Function: noun Etymology: Sanskrit saṁsāra, literally, passing through Date: 1886 : the indefinitely repeated cycles of birth, misery, and death caused by karma
—Merriam-Webster On-Line Dictionary Definition.
Years later I’m still surprised by the paradoxical creature known as the original Guerlain Samsara marketing campaign (1989). Although the fragrance itself has now recognized as one of the diffusive bombshells of the 80s (partly contributed by women who unabashedly applied reapplied ad nauseum back then), the concept was infused with a subtle ironic tone which few had recognized to this day—tongues firmly planted in cheek from day one. In fact, the overall concept can be interpreted in so many different ways that, combined with the subsequent urban legends, I have no choice but hail the whole thing as a marvel. After all, how can a seemingly innocent tale of oriental incarnation points(slyly) to the truth about the eventual corporate fall of venerable perfumery house, in ways that I suspect few still fully comprehend?
Few may dismiss my claims until one realizes that the development process of Guerlain Samsara was a grand departure from its predecessors, for it was the first project which utilized fragrance marketing. (Yes, I understand how vulgar the “m” word may be to some Perfume Shrine readers—but read on.) Before Guerlain Samsara the fragrance formulation was the exact opposite: juice first, concept second. In fact, the developmental processes of classics such as Jicky, Mitsouko, Shalimar were not fully indebted to their romantic muses, be it personal anecdote (the British Jacqueline who couldn’t marry Aimé Guerlain), heroine of a novel by Claude Farrère (homage to the heroine of "La Bataille"), or the Mughal architecture wonder in Lahore, Pakistan (a.k.a. “the abode of love” in Sanskrit). No, the business model in the pre-Samsara era was akin to home-style pasta cooking: if it was any good the fragrance would stick.
However such a R&D method was not a mean of effective business management in the post-Opium era, especially since other designer fragrances such as Givenchy Ysatis (1984), Chanel Coco (1984), and Calvin Klein Obsession (1985) were dominating various markets while Guerlain Nahéma (1979) and Guerlain Jardins de Bagatelle (1983) flopped, especially in the North American market[1]. With this in mind Guerlain did two unusual things when developing the next massive launch: requested submissions from the Big Boys and initiated a project with a fragrance brief. Eventually the name Samsara was officially chosen as the name of the fragrance.
By now most people probably have seen the following PR write up: "Jean-Paul Guerlain was so moved by a woman whose inner beauty evoked a serene sensuality, he created a perfume just for her - Samsara. A fragrance that embraces and intoxicates, it is a seductive oriental made for a woman who conveys harmony and spirituality. Jasmine combines with the warmth of sandalwood, while powdery and vanilla notes magnify this blend". The statement above is almost a direct contradiction to the official definition of the Buddhist term! In fact, when Samsara was launched in Asia it received its share of puzzled looks: in my memory serves me well one of the spiritual writers from the Mandarin-speaking regions (林清玄) actually published articles about how the newest fragrance illustrated the lure of the material world and the emptiness it implies. (I read that article once back in 1990 so please do not quote me—still, I remember the author’s view on Samsara was less than stellar because of its supposed connection to the “harmonious reincarnation”.) To be fair Guerlain did not do itself any favour when it announced (upon its Asian launch at least) that the perfumer (supposedly Jean-Paul Guerlain), was “enlightened” after praying for hours in a remote temple…So why the whole fuss? If Guerlain wanted to appease its Asian market wouldn’t it be easier to call the scent Nirvana? (Remember, the grunge band didn’t its first album until 1988.) Well, the questions ultimately point to the basis of Buddhism: while explaining the paradigm of Buddhism is beyond the scope of this review I shall offer a part of my understanding since it ultimately points to an interesting truth.
One of the major issues that many religions need to address is the sufferings experienced by mankind: how can one elevate from the everyday spiritual sufferings? Legends have it that Buddhism originated when Prince Siddhārtha Gautama, upon meeting his subject for the first time, discovered earthly pains associated with aging, disease, and corpses. Since he father forbid the prince to study all spiritual matters the young man later set out to uncover the root of the problem. (It was prophesized upon Gautama’s birth that the prince would become either a great king or a great spiritual leader: naturally the king forbid his son to study spirituality.) Of course, Siddhārtha Gautama later gained enlightenment and became Buddha.
What Gautama supposedly envisioned during his meditation right before the enlightenment is worth repeating. Under a Bodhi tree, Gautama witnessed the human cycles and the consequences as a result: a perpetual motion of greed, jealousy, hatred, all of which are caused by ignorance. In fact, finding to starting point of such suffering is futile, much akin to finding the starting point of a circle. The cycle of such troubling human experience, of course, is samsara.
At this point you might be wondering how the first photo featured in this post fit into the grand scheme of things—it is, in fact, a samsara wheel, complete with all the states associated with the phenomenon. Of course, samsara is not merely reincarnation or karma: from my understanding the pains of repeating oneself due to karmic bonds and/or debts that allows the samsara cycle to continue...(for more information on the stages within a samsara wheel, as well as the meaning behind various depictions within the thangka above, please refer to the excellent interactive guide here.) Well, does the projected image much more akin to nirvana? Not exactly—in fact I think nirvana will be a fairly poor choice upon examining the official definition by Merriam-Webster:
nir•va•na Pronunciation: \nir-‘vä-nə, (,)nər-\ Function: noun Usage: often capitalized Etymology: Sanskrit nirvāṇa, literally, act of extinguishing, from nis- out + vāti it blows — more at wind Date: 1801
1: the final beatitude that transcends suffering, karma, and samsara and is sought especially in Buddhism through the extinction of desire and individual consciousness 2 a: a place or state of oblivion to care, pain, or external reality
The real essence of nirvana isn’t the equivalent of an oriental heaven, full of exotic pleasures. (Such earthly thoughts create more earthly delights until the karmic force runs out, remember?) Instead, nirvana is the cease and the decease of earthly desires, thereby wiping out samasara. All of which makes nirvana, by definition, an indescribable state—since nirvana is beyond the use of the five senses or even the duality-driven state of the human experience. Yet, Buddhism advocates that such surrender is merely a choice to go beyond the transient entertainment of the human experience and realize that the greater truth is the integration of everything in life—thus can only be experienced, not said in words since describing the state requires choosing one’s words, thereby separating some experiences from others [2]. In the end, I suppose Guerlain can’t pick a name that implies the cease and the decease of the consciousness!
Aside from the incoherence of between the projected image and the name the olfactory theme of Guerlain Samsara couldn’t have been more appropriate. Jasmine and sandalwood, aside from producing a sensual oriental alliance when expertly combined, actually capture the imagination of many Asian countries despite the cultural differences within the regions. While Helg has kindly explored the use of jasmine in perfumery in ways that I can never imagine in her excellent jasmine series, it’s worth noting that to many Asians the flower serves as spiritual shorthand of the various cultures within this region—there’s more to jasmine than, for instance, the vital ingredient in the classic jasmine tea. For instance, the iconic Mandarin folksong “Muo Li Hua” (茉莉花), taught in Chinese elementary schools as soon as the second grade, becomes the symbol of Asian aesthetics. (It is even used by Puccini as a theme in Turandot, most prominently in the middle of Perché tarda la luna? in Act I. More recently the famed Chinese director Zhang Yimou had used it liberally when directing various events related to the Beijing Olympics.) I’ve heard of many versions of this melody and to demonstrate the phenomenon I have a YouTube concert highlight featuring the Vienna Boys Choir (the pronunciation and intonation are quite spot on, by the way). I think all this indicates how the jasmine has become to represent oriental aesthetics.
Jean-Paul Guerlain’s source of inspiration might turn out to be different from a Buddhist temple after hours of meditation. Michael Edwards reported in Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances that Jean-Paul was set out to seduce Decia de Powell, an English woman who shared his passion for equestrianism. Upon being asked what fragrance would she like to wear, Decia supposedly asked for a concoction of jasmine and sandalwood as far back as 1985—and the final result supposedly contained up to 30% of sandalwood extract, one of the precious perfumery ingredients due to the diminishing population of the sandalwood tree and its slow-growing nature. (Jean-Paul also added, among many other things, Sandalore in order to create a powerful sandalwood effect.) But the perfumery industry can readily reveal contradictory stories and this is where Samsara’s story starts to take on a colourful spin: did Guerlain ultimately picked Jean-Paul’s submission for Samsara?
While nearly all official Guerlain PR material back up the master perfumer fully for years the perfumery industry members whisper among themselves that Guerlain Samsara might have been the first Guerlain fragrance created by an outsider. (Quel horreur! C'est absolument incroyable!) The story is even more bizarre when CNN reported nearly three years ago that nose Jacques Chabert was the nose behind Guerlain’s Samsara (and Chanel's Cristalle)…, further adding confusion and complexity to the urban myth…
Of course, Guerlain isn’t completely innocent in this regard: when Mathilde Laurent joined Cartier a few years ago the creator Shalimar Eau Légère (2003) strangely became Jean-Paul Guerlain after the master perfumer supposedly “optimized” the fragrance with citrus oils such as bergamot according to the Guerlain PR team. (How can the original be short of hesperidic top notes is still beyond me.) Champs- Élysées (1996) might have received a similar treatment since the olfactory strokes [3] are a bit different compared to the classic Jean-Paul Guerlain creations. (My guess would be Dominique Ropion after sampling Une Fleur de Cassie by Frédéric Malle, though the depth of the latter is unquestionably better honed.) Mostly interestingly, many Guerlain sales associates are still taught that L’Instant de Guerlain (2003) was created by a Guerlain family member despite the fact that Maurice Roucel was officially credited as the nose behind the project—the training documents supposedly indicated otherwise in some cases... Sure, many people have attributed Guerlain’s recent perfumery downfall from grace to the corporate greed of LVMH—but I feel that there must have been something wrong in the first place that caused the family to sell the corporation to the conglomerate. After all, as opposed to the Givenchy takeover (hostile in nature by all accounts) LVMH bought the brand upon years of mismanagement. I don’t believe for a second that it was simply a case that someone spending too much on guaranteeing the supply of costly essences, not after knowing the factors behind the failure of Nahéma, for instance. Management problems existed before the LVMH takeover—it wasn’t simply a matter of under finance that plagued many French luxury firms.
Years ago I read a short paragraph that ended up saying more to this day than many sources could articulate. Cathy Newman, a reporter for the National Geographic and the author of "Perfume: The Art and Science of Scent", once interviewed a noted industry member. While the man didn’t go into the specifics he indicated that the Guerlain family was a group of “octogenarians” who constantly “squabbled” over money and other matters. The traditional Guerlain management structure used to dictate the separation to duties among siblings and/or cousins, which potentially created strains even during fragrance formulation (as Jean-Paul Guerlain said during some interviews) as the cost of material may exceed the limits imposed by the other departments… Please don’t get me wrong: I’m not indicating that the Guerlain legacy less than it should have been—but to say that the family dynamic was a smooth sail and placed the LVMH acquisition squarely to the lure of the global corporation was not exactly correct either. Guerlain got sold not because the audience didn’t get the fragrance masterpieces—Guerlain got sold because the namesake family couldn’t identify the effective management strategies. (Interestingly enough, LVMH is still looking for ways to properly manage the Guerlain portfolio, as many perfumistas will sadly tell you. I suppose history does repeat itself.)
So the fragrance that was released 100 years after the launch of Jicky said so much more with its name than it should when the Sanskrit word originally described the sadness associated with karmic bonds: suppose Samsara also indicated all the emotions that the Guerlain (corporate entity) must have gone though over the centuries?
Fragrance-wise Samsara is arguably beyond just a simple combination of jasmine and sandalwood. Dr. Luca Turin once commented how the classic Guerlain compositions used quite a bit of Provençal herbs such as thyme and rosemary: Samsara subtly opens with lemon and tarragon, although the jasmine-sandalwood alliance can be strongly felt from the get go—making the bouquet largely powdery with a 80s lilt. (Peach is also mentioned as a top note in some sources, although to me it isn’t a prominent player—at least not in the famed Mitsouko context.) As the scent progresses ylang ylang further supports the jasmine idea with a spicy touch, concurred by carnation and rose. The overall aesthetic is round and smooth—as if invisible hands are arching the elements into concentric spirals, leaving an interesting sillage—sophisticated but strong-willed before the fragrance settles into the typical Guerlain balsamic-amber base with the aforementioned sandalwood as the main lead.
(I hate to say this…but I wonder more than once if Catherine Deneuve used Samsara during the filming of Indochine, for the complex love story can certainly be described as heavily karmic in nature![4] )
As for the famed packaging Michael Edwards reported that the pagoda-shaped bottle was in fact inspired by a Cambodian dancer statue displayed at Musée Guimet: the legs forms the outer shape of the bottle as the head forms the stopper…(no prize for guessing why red and gold are chosen as the colours).
Helg talked about how Guerlain’s model profiling in its ads and her theory certainly bears some interesting truth when considering the following ad:
So I urge everyone to re-examine this creation more than a blast from the past—the stories behind the creation itself are more than what one can bargain for!
Notes for Samsara by Guerlain: jasmine, ylang ylang, narcissus, sandalwood, iris, tonka bean, vanilla
Samsara is available wherever Guerlain perfumes are stocked. Two " discontinued "flankers that bear no olfactory relation are Un air de Samsara and Samsara Shine.
[1] Although the concept would be considered very foreign to the non-French speakers, Guerlain’s problem with the North American market might also have to do with its refusal to deliver extra sales incentives, a practice that was commonplace in North America. In short, I don’t believe it’s simply the diffusive juice that ultimately caused the failure of a juice: after all, as we all know a terrible juice can be quite profitable if managed properly (much to the horror of perfumistas). [2] I’m not a Buddhist and an even lousier student in religious matters: my little write-up on Buddhist terms only serves as an illustration to the terms associated with this fragrance. [3]Similar to writers and painters perfumers (especially the established ones) do have their olfactory styles, mostly due to their preferred ingredients and aesthetics. People who are highly trained can even conduct personality tests based on the olfactory signatures. According to Sophia Gorjsman the perfumers actually recognize each other’s olfactory signatures upon smelling a fragrance. [4]The Tale of Genji, the world’s oldest novel by Murasaki Shikibu, certainly attribute the protagonist’s often futile (and nearly incestuous in some cases) relationships with various female leads as deeply karmic.
Nahéma...The sonorous name comes from the 1001 Nights, in a story by Scheherazade recounted on the one and only day of her storytelling. Scheherazade is also the name of a symphonic suite by Rimsky Korsakov, worth exploring; nevertheless the effect of Nahéma more closely resembles the climactic experience of Ravel's Bolero. The Arabian story involved the fate of two abducted princesses: one warm and compassionate, the other called Nahéma, meaning “daughter of fire” of a passionate disposition. No one on the various boards actively bothers to find out the name of the other one, but here at Perfume Shrine we like to question the unquestioned and support the underdog. Mahané was the name of the other princess, then. So now you know, in case you wondered!
Created in 1979 with Catherine Deneuve in mind by Jean Paul Guerlain who had been fascinated by her in the film "Benjamin", Nahéma follows the fiery character of the fictional heroine who was ruled by passion and the imagery of Deneuve in a gold cage surrounded by roses (as depicted in the film) aiming to express the duality of woman. Although La Deneuve has been tied with Chanel #5 to the collective unconscious, largely due to the hyper successful campaign (that aimed to the American market though and not France), she proclaims to be deeply into all things Guerlain naming her signature scent as L’Heure Bleue. However she is a regular perfume collector too and has an extensive collection indeed that can be viewed on my Celebrities and the Perfumes they Wear list. This comes as no surprise and definitely justifies my opinion that Nahéma doesn’t really suit Deneuve’s icy exterior, which forms however a significant part of her appeal. On the other hand there are other devotees of Nahéma who love it with a passion: “I feel completely unlike myself if I don’t wear Nahéma. It’s a strange scent, but I love it, and I confess it’s a luxury I can barely live without.” Thus waxes poetically about it Shirley Manson of Garbage rock-group-fame.
However Nahéma didn’t do very well, sales-wise ,and thus is not so easy to find at Guerlain counters, but of course it is not extremely rare either. Its being a commercial flop might be attributed to the fact that it was ahead of its time, introducing the fruity floral concept 20 years before its heyday. It came out at a time when light streamlined chypres like Charlie had already established the image of the independent woman and the new thing were the spicy, mysterious orientals that followed the success of Opium. Nahéma was neither.
On the contrary, Nahéma is a very feisty affair of honeyed rose backed up with intense fruity and balsamic notes such as passion fruit and benzoin, respectively. The initial start has the intense blast of aldehydes redolent of a classic French perfume, so giving it a little time before judging is strongly advised. The heart also encompasses ylang-ylang, jasmine and lily of the valley, as well as an accent of sweet hyacinth (the most characteristic blossom of Chamade): notes which take the supporting role of subtly underscoring the rose. To my nose however the real mate for the rose is peach and plummy nuances: rich and juicy and sunnier than either the note of peach skin in Mitsouko (undecalactone gamma) or Parure, here rendered by the use of lush damascones, at the time just recently discovered (damascones are natural isolates from the rose, giving rose its very rosiness). The rose-fruits combination as well as the richness of damascenones have been reprised by Sophia Grojsman, notably in Trésor in the early 90’s rendering it an instant best seller. In that case nevertheless it’s much more powdery, sweeter, overwhelming and heavy-handed in my opinion. The moderately powdery, liquor-like rose bouquet in Nahema allegedly comes from no less than five elements: Rose de Mai (Grasse or Centifolia rose)absolute and essential oil, Bulgarian rose (Rosa Damascena) absolute and essential oil and the above mentioned damascenones. However other sources, such as Luca Turin, proclaim "the rose at Nahéma's core [...] a geometric locus bounded by a dozen facets, each due to a different ingredient" making it "too rich even for analytical chemistry to make sense of" (By which I deduce he hasn't had the privilege of running this through a gas chromatograph and mass spectometer). A little while into the drydown of Nahéma clearly detectable sandalwood, Peru balsam and that prerequisite of orientalia, so beloved by Guerlain, vanilla, make their appearance. Guerlain vanilla is unlike anything else out there – it positively smolders. Deep, rich, completely alien to the concept of teenagers seeking a low-calorie substitute to their Haagen Dazs ice cream, it manages to ignite interest even in people who do not normally appreciate vanillic scents. Suffice to say this is not for those who like lighter or “clean” scents, although I do not detect particularly naughty or indolic notes. The Nahema parfum in the squat bottle with the quadrilobe stopper (same as Jicky, but with a red label) is rosier and smoother, as usual with Guerlain fragrances, as well as to a lesser degree is the 80s concentration of Parfum de toilette and the more recent Eau de Parfum. Yet the Eau de toilette is not unpleasant either, although the initial opening might seem completely aggressive and thin in comparison. Compared with the retro-chic and light-heartedness of Guerlain's Rose Barbare , Nahema is fiery, voluminous and single-minded to the point of stubborness but generous and expansive.
The advertising makes use of the fiery heroine, always depicting women clad in orientalised robes of red and flames shaped like a wreath surrounding the bottle.In my mind Nahéma can be polarizing, making people react viscerally to it. To my detriment, I am not truly enamored with it, mainly because I am no great lover of roses or peach or passionfruit, so another bottle of it is not in my future, however I can’t fail to appreciate the audacity and pedigree of the composition and keeping a small quantity at my side is a lesson in letting the genie out of the bottle.
Notes for Guerlain Nahema: Top: Peach, bergamot, hesperides, aldehydes, green notes Heart: rose, jasmine, lilac, hyacinth, lily of the valley, ylang-ylang, passionfruit Bottom: Perum balsam, vanilla, vetiver, sandalwood
A small sample of Nahéma parfum will be given to one lucky reader. State your interest!
Pic of The name of the Rose mock-manuscript via Wikimedia Commons. Bottle pic through Fragrantica. Clip of the 2nd part of Ravel's Bolero to a choreography of Maurice Bejart, originally uploaded by audiodeluxe on Youtube.
If in the darkest moments of our urban stress we want to eschew European civilization and "everything that is artificial and conventional" to sail to the tropics instead in our own path to Utopia, Atuana by Guerlain could be our gateway without abandoning the indulgencies of the way of life we have become accustomed to. Atuona (and not Atuana) is the name of a small island in the Marquesas where French Post-Impressionist painter Eugène Henri Paul Gauguin(1848-1903) moved from his former residence in Tahiti and where he died in his Maison du Jouir on May 9, 1903, having spent a total of ten years in self-exile in French Polynesia. In 1952 Jacques Guerlain dedicated Atuana the fragrance to the French painter who went to the South Seas to devote his time and life to painting. After all, he was not the only one to be inspired by the iconoclast broker agent-turned-painter: Noa Noa (after Gauguin's text describing a luminous season in Tahiti in 1891) was another fragrance redolent of the warm and fiery ambience of the tropics, circulating under Helena Rubinstein's name at the zenith of her career.
Inspired by the lush colourful Primitivist paintings by Gaugin with their red splashes among the green folliage and the ambery-toned flesh of the native women,Guerlain's Atuana, encased in a plush red box focused on the qualities of that hue: exuberance, passion, lively nature, raw power and thus indeed a sort of Primitivism. A leathery floriental perched on spicy carnation emerged, rolled into smooth nappa. Although one can detect the leathery accents under the refreshing piquancy of little citric touches , in typical Guerlain fashion the fragrance evolves into a rich melody of florals lullabied into a sweet siesta, full of warm resins, where there is no place for bitterness or aloofness and every little thing smiles satisfied, at one with the world. Atuana's 3 years senior Fleur de Feu, another floriental with spicy accents reminiscent of carnations, took a similar route, but there the base is more powdery, with no leather pungency. Both extoll the properties of the spicy palette that Poivre by Caron first opened up exhibiting a mature vibe of les parfums fourrure (perfumes to be worn with furs); what a contrast with Guerlain's Eau de cologne du jeune âge coming up in 1953, just one year later! Ode which followed in 1955 was a regression into mellower compositions, full of feminine, non agressive tonalities: rose and jasmine. But that time hadn't arrived yet when Atuana came out, a time when rich chypres reigned supreme. The dare of leather was permissible and therefore a luscious harmony materialized for the enjoyment of those who couldn't abandon their conventional life for the Great Escape.
Notes for Guerlain Atuana: bergamot, neroli, rose, jasmine, iris, amber.
The bottle of Atuana is the same as Fleur de Feu, made by Baccarat: a simple art-deco flacon of ribbed surface on a pedestral, inspired by the skyscrapers that defined the American urban landscape in the early 50s. Atuana circulated as extrait de parfum and as Eau de Cologne, a concentration that despite current sensibilities was quite lasting. Out of production for several years, it's very rare to find, but it makes scarce appearences on online auctions, where it goes for as much as 950$. A tiny sample can be acquired (for a hefty price naturally) at The Perfumed Court.
Guerlain Atuana ad courtesy of parfumsdepub, Painting La Orana Maria by Paul Gauguin, courtesy of Wikipedia
"Her extraordinarily dark black eyes were so captivating, they were of such intensity that it was impossible not to be detained before them". The French have a wonderful verb to denote the agitation and emotional anxiety one is experiencing upon encountering a compelling and unsettling sight (usually one that involves a wily attractive woman): troubler. And coupled with the immortal words of Georges Braque : "L'art est fait pour troubler, la science rassure" (Art is made for unsettling, science reassures), this French verb took on a dual meaning in the onomastics stakes of the 1911 Pour Troublerperfume by Guerlain.
This gnomic attachment points to a scent fit for Liane de Pougy or even La Belle Otero, for the eyes of which the above image was put into such passionate words, yet in doing so Guerlain also managed to inject perfumery with apertures of bizarre cubiques through which we get a glimpse of a puzzling game of connotations. On the other hand the passionate, fatally mad love that transcends logic has always been at the core of Guerlain's promotional material, even in more obscure creations such as Voilà pourquoi j'aimais Rosine or Vague Souvenir (1912); and Pour Troubler is no exception.
The orientalised theme that slowly unfolds as the first drops of Pour Troubler begin their journey on the skin are ingrained in the evolving fashions of the first years of the second decade of the 20th century. The early 1910s saw fashionable feminine silhouettes become much more lithe, softer than at the beginning of La Belle Epoque and with a fluidity immortalised in Isadora Duncan's dance performances. Notably it was Les Ballets Russes performing Scheherazade in Paris in 1910 that sparked a craze for Orientalism. Couturier Paul Poiret was prompted to translate this vogue into opulent visions of harem girls and exotic geishas which catapulted the bastions of conservative circles into desiring the forbidden mysteries of the sensuous East.
Although no given notes exist for this Guerlain fragrance I tried to ponder on its structure as I contemplated the history of the house and the lineage, using this composition as a porthole into the creation process to follow. The initial impression of Pour Troubler is one of sweet, confectionary type licorice-anise, but not exactly veering into the beloved macaroon delicasy yet, which makes me think here was the spermatic idea behind L'Heure Bleue which materialized a year later. Indeed the reworking of several of the themes of L'Heure Bleue into both Fol Arôme(1912) and Pois de senteur (1917) indicates that Jacques Guerlain was working and re-working on certain aspects to emphasize nuanced ideas: from the romantically melancholic moment of day melting into the warm floral effluvium of the night, to the sensuous invitation to folly accompanied by fruits underpinned by absinthe-y tipsiness, finally leading to the honeyed sweet Miel Blanc* with spice accents. The anisic sweetness accord of Pour Troubler smells imbued with the softness of powdery violets and cool iris notes that give a gentle ambience, contrasted with richer florals like jasmine and what seems like jonquil, appearing in its heart. The florals treated in a transparent study of black and white softly fuse to reveal a hazy daguerreotype. Through this gentle fog the warmth of amber along with some bitterness of leather notes and sweet balsams polish the scent off in the embrace of a courtesan pictured in patina-laden postcards.
Extrait came in a quatrilobe capped Bacarrat flacon, same as the one used for Jicky (and later used for many other fragrances in the Guerlain stable). Eau de Cologne concentration, of which I am now proud owner of, came in the "disk" bottles with the pyramidal stopper, popular in the 50s and 60s. Pour Troubler is long discontinued, rendering it a rare occurence in online auctions.
A sample of this extremely rare fragrance will be given out to a random lucky reader!
*a perfumer's base by laboratoires de Laire redolent of honey
Lithograph "figure" by Georges Braque via allposters.com. POstcard of Carolina Otero via wikimedia commons. Parfum bottle courtesy of Russian site Palomka.livejournal.
"Kennst du das Land wo die Zitronen blühen? Im dunklen Laub die Gold-Orangen glühen, ein sanfter Wind vom Blauen Himmel weht,die Myrte still und hoch der Lorbeer steht, Kennst du es wohl?" (=Do you know the land where the lemon trees blossom? Among dark leaves the golden oranges glow. A gentle breeze from blue skies drifts. The myrtle is still, and the laurel stands high. Do you know it well?)
It's this famous description of Italy in Goethe's song from Wilhelm Meister "Kennst du das Land" (set to music as opus D.321 by Franz Schubert) that opens the description of Roxana Illuminated Perfume by natural perfumer Roxana Villa. Roxana is of the South (not Italy though) and it shows. I don't consider it embarassing to admit that I discovered Roxana and her company while searching for paintings and "stumbled" on her blog. What made me pause and pay attention was the original artwork I saw there, which I soon found out was created by Roxana herself, a competent artist in both the aromatic and visual arena, and the illustrator Gregory Scott Spalenka. The illustrations on her site bring to mind the alchemical tradition of the Middle Ages as does the flou artistique imagery by Spalenka evocative of the realms that the fragrances come to evoke. Her method of working was referenced as "creating a painting of a perfume": And then the olfactory promise laid out its trap.
Natural perfumery has known a gigantic resurgence in later years, filling an existing lacuna and answering to two main needs: wanting to go back to the roots of alchemical perfumery after what seemed like a highly technology-driven and marketability-focused long phase, as well as the desire for individual, more esoteric perfumes that will act as a connection with Earth. Of course the latter might bring to mind cliché images of Earth Mother types chanting Om as they chime little bells doing their yoga routine and growing roses that like to be read Milton by the light of the moon, resulting in pot-pouri alloys fit for the headshop. This brings its own fatootsed discourse, but nothing could be further from the truth: many of those people interested in the field are not pursuing it from the aromatherapy or arcane angle at all but from the artistic viewpoint and they are genuinely vuying for beauty, often casting their eyes back to primitivism the way Gaugin did. There is also the further complication of what exactly defines "natural", what methods of extraction are allowed (are isolates and C02 extractions OK? Yes, apparently) and the ad hoc limitations of a natural palette. Not to mention that how to make a natural-based fragrance suitable for all is often a challenge because of the sheer complexity of natural essences, like oakmoss. Yet natural perfumers do try and they enrich the field with their efforts. Roxana describes her own particular division of natural perfumery as "botanical". As she explained to Sniffapalooza: "Botanical is the term that resonates with what I choose to create, both visually and aromatically. At times I include essences that come from the sea or apis realm, which technically are not botanical in nature, however my palette is comprised of ninety nine percent botanical ingredients. I choose to work with essences that are whole, organic and of vital origin whenever possible. The animal ingredients like civet, ambergris and castoreum, contained in many natural perfumes are not in the fragrances I formulate."
Born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Roxana grew up in Los Angeles, California. Upon receiving a BFA in Communication Design from Otis Parsons in downtown Los Angeles, Roxana moved to New York and began work as a freelance illustrator in the world of publishing. After the birth of her daughter, she studied Aromatherapy formerly learning the miraculous powers inherent in the plant kingdom. Blending the knowledge of nature with a loving art spirit, Roxana now creates perfumes that reflect a healing modality whilst celebrating the individual. In June of 2007 Roxana was the keynote speaker at the Ojai Lavender Festival and she continues to speak and teach regularly.
Two lines comprise her fragrant bodywork: the Californica series which celebrates the aromatic landscape of the state of California (Q, Vera, Sierra, Chaparral) and the Literarium series, inspired by literary and musical exempla, honoring the fine art of story-telling (Vespertina, Lyra). There is also Aurora, one of her first florals.
All the Roxana Illuminated Perfume scents I sampled share the natural perfumes aesthetic in that they wear close to the skin and have a herbal, non-perfume-y quality about them which is surprisingly comforting sometimes in contrast to the scintilatting but -alas- also often screechy projection of mainstream perfumery. The initial jolt shouldn't fool you into dismissing the accords, because a few minutes later the projection becomes friendly. The two that captured my interest most were Q and Lyra. It would be natural you might say, if you have followed Perfume Shrine, to see that the earthy woody Q made an impression as it is richly infused with the tannic smell of oak, peppery accents and an ambery-like base reminiscent (to me) of labdanum and patchouli, which is restrained on the sweetness aspect. Q (forQuercus agrifolia) began as a tribute to Beltane (one of the four "fire" festivals in Celt tradition) which auspiciously led to the mighty oak. The feeling is poised between seasons, very fit for spring or autumn, making me want to sit under the deep foliage and let the wind breathe tales of yore into my ear. Lyra on the other hand is a more vivacious, euphoric affair with the immediacy of flowers, especially the fresh, almost fruity piquancy of what seems like orange blossom, jasmine and tropical ylang ylang singing out of the bottle like alto voices in melodious thirds. Inspired by the brightness of the night-sky asteroid near Vega but also the heroine of the book "The Golden Compass" by Philip Pullman, the floriental Lyra is shining with its own bright veneer. This white floral composition is especially appreciated in a natural blend as there is none of the florist shop headspace of department store fragrances: rather the blossoms exude a deeper, more solid, hefty presence in the accompaniment of a classic warm base of ambery resins and hesperidic overtures. Perhaps the only drawback is the rather limited lasting power, but this is something that can be easily amended by re-application.
The Illuminated Perfume scents are: AURORA Notes include: Mandarin, Spice, Egyptian Jasmine, Rose, Amber. (In its 2nd edition)
CHAPARRAL Comprising essences, accords and tinctures are of plants found in the Chaparral Biome of California. Notes include: Citrus, Mimosa, Iris Root, Sage, Rhodendron, Pine, Cypress. The 2nd edition is available this Autumn. Portion of the proceeds from each 1/4 oz perfume sale supports The Chaparral Institute.
VERA Many of the essences are grown and distilled in Ojai, with regional plants utilized in our specially prepared tinctures. Notes include: Lemon, Lavender, Orange Blossom, Hay, Coastal Sage, Seaweed, Labdanum. (Currently in its 2nd edition).
Q (known as Quercus in a previous incarnation) Tinctured Oak leaves combine with accords of Citrus, Wood and Resin. (Currently in its 2nd edition) Portion of the proceeds from each 1/4 oz perfume supports The California Oak Foundation.
SIERRA The most complex of our perfumes, combining chords within accords of Conifer, Wood and Resin. Portion of the proceeds from each 1/4 oz perfume supports TreePeople.
VESPERTINA Notes include: Orange, Spice, Rose, Jasmine, Patchouli, Distilled Earth, Oud. (Currently in its 1st edition).
LYRA Notes include: Pink Grapefruit, Egyptian Jasmine, Ylang Ylang, Complex Amber Accord. (The 3rd edition available soon). The inspiration for Lyra began with a custom perfume created for Roxana's daughter Eve (Evangeline).
To find out more visit the Illuminated Perfume site. You can obtain the same samples I got: sample vial gift pack (set of three 1 gram bottles) $25 or sample vial gift pack (six of three 1 gram bottles) $50. They will come in a little box with the cutest wax seal embossed with a bee, beautifully wrapped.
What is most intriguing for the numerous women in search of their very own individual perfume is the Custom Perfume Portraits service, of which there are two options: Bronze package: $5oo and Platinum package: $1000.
Roxana will be attending the October Snifapalooza Fall Ball in New Yok City, headlining the October 11th luncheon (presenting a fifth Californica surprise scent, the 2nd edition of Chaparal and solid versions of her scents): to participate, contact Karen Adams at kadams@sniffapalooza.com. For those in California, there will be an Aromatherapy 101 Seminar by Roxana on November 12th in the Santa Monica Massage School. Call 818.763.4912 to register.
Pics of artwork by Greg Spalenka and Roxana Villa provided by Roxana Illuminated Perfume, not to be reprinted wihout permission.
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