Guerlain Aqua Allegoria fragrances: notes, history & short reviews

It's easy to look down on the Aqua Allegoria line as an entry level for Guerlainophile wannabes. Compared with the house's megaliths, such as Mitsouko, Shalimar or Vetiver, these seem like fragrances with much less monumental heft and no aspirations for posterity. Yet this "allegorica" line hides a few gems that are more than a simple sent bon and some which manage to be memorable in themselves.
The Aqua Allegoria line began as an exercise in deduction in 1999: the baroque compositions of old were too complicated for a younger, budding Guerlainista who approached the brand from the point of reference of their mother's vanity and the fascination with their Terracotta makeup products. Guerlain was ripe for a change after influx of money from LVMH had poured into the old giant. Therefore a simpler, more joyful approach seemed like a good idea. Focus on streamlined formulae zooming onto the raw materials themselves in identical bottles was on the vanguard of a nascent approach to niche perfumery; only this time available at major department stores at affordable prices. If only things continued on that path for the perfume lover...but I digress.



Perfumers' Rift, Changes in Direction
Before perfumer Mathilde Laurent and Jean Paul had what seems like the fallout of the century (the two are never mentioned in the same breath and all innuendo that Mathilde had worked for the brand was meticulously averted for years), a bunch of the first Aqua Allegorias were composed by her. Incidentally these are the best ones, in scope of creativity, elegance of structure and flair for the individualistic streak. Some of the more modern ones, especially the solo-frutastic ones, seem like they're forgetting they're fragrances and veer too much into the flavours drawer positioning. Lately the compositions have reverted to rounder bouquets (ex.Bouquet No.1) or soliflores, such as the upcoming Jasminora and Rosa Blanca, that hark back to the original issues more than 10 years ago.

Several fragrances in the line are no more: official word wants the scents to have been limited edition all along, one new coming after the old one tires out. But it wasn't so clear cut in the beginning and the survivors (Pamplelune, Herba Fresca) indicate that it might have to do with actual perfume sales figures rather than with any concrete concept. Which is a pity, as a couple (Winter Delice, Flora Nerolia) have something of a cult following, but there you have it. Some can still be found on online discounters or Ebay.

Launches & Design
The original line-up comprised 5 scents in 1999, thereafter an addition or so each year, with a few exceptions, and then picking up at the steady rhythm of two per year, usually each spring with an eye to summer wearing. The original bottle design revisited a simplified bee motif: the honeycomb was embracing the top of the smooth glass bottle with the sprayer built into the cap. The original packaging used a romantic design of flowers or other materials (accordingly) on the outer box, rendered like a delicate watercolour. In 2010 the outer packaging of the whole line was revamped so as to be uniform; all white, the differentiation now only being the colour of the Napoleonic bee embossed and the vertical line crossing the Guerlain logo on the front's top. To my own eye, the older packaging is more successful, even if less coherent.

THE GUERLAIN AQUA ALLEGORIA LINE IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER:

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Herba Fresca (1999): A real herbal green scent. Focusing on mint, but not quite: the dew on the leaves, the fine herbs, its beautiful grassy ambience raise it one notch up from many herbal efforts from others. A survivor, it still circulates on Guerlain counters and is always in production.


Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Lavande Velours (1999): Lavender is given the Guerlain treatment, but done lightly and softly: iris, tonka bean and sandalwood mollify the harsher, cleaner aspects of fresh lavender. Discontinued. Chamingly, it also circulated as scented linen powder sachets...

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Pamplelune (1999): One of the beacon grapefruit renditions in the whole of perfumery. A wonderful creation that boosts the sulfurous fruit with bergamot, cassis, petitgrain, patchouli and vanilla. If you're among the lucky ones that don't turn this one into cat-pee on your skin (this is one fragrance that is testament to the diversification of effect according to skin Ph) you're set for all your summery needs. A proud survivor, it's still in production.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Rosa Magnifica (1999): Rose takes on a spicy mantle for a simple, but lovely interpretation of a classic theme. Miles away from classic Guerlain Nahéma of course. Disontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Ylang & Vanille (1999): The most Guerlain-like in the original bunch, it is a floriental with great tenacity and radience. Ylang Ylang is boosted by vanilla and fanned on soft notes of iris and jasmine. Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Flora Nerolia (2000): A memory of Sevillian orchards where bigaradiers and sweet orange trees sway their leaves and blossoms to the breeze. I find Flora Nerolia especially lovely, marrying as it does neroli, orange blossom and a hint of jasmine with a miniscule incense-woody facet in the bottom. (Lamentably) discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Gentiana (2001): Not groundbreaking, but if you enjoy the take of Angeliques sous la Pluie, you have good chances of liking Gentiana as well. Its mountaintop dry and cool air (due to wild gentiane) is a breath of freshness in a milieu where everyone is wearing something sweet and cloying. Discontinued. Was also available as scented massage oil.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Winter Delice (2001): The only truly limited edition, as it circulated in the autumn of 20o1 with a clear destination to be a Christmas/wintery scent, smooth, deep, sumptuous and comforting. The voluptuous depth of pain d'épices and labdanum is given a fresh counterpoint in pine (pinus sylvestris). Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Lilia Bella (2002): A classic lily of the valley "clean" floral, slightly dishevelled by the inclusion of a healthy dose of lilac. Springtime and youthful floral. Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Lemon Fresca (2003): The well-known diet drink called Fresca is synonymous with refreshment and energising. Guerlain took this idea, making it a tonic to spritz on, full of sour notes of lemon, lime and bergamot. A little wood underscores, while an anise touch (just a tad) adds an air de famille. But it doesn't venture far off the lemon start. Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Foliflora (2003): A millefleurs effect that was little convincing. Consisting of bergamot, neroli, apricot, white freesia, gardenia, sweet pea, angelica, vanilla and sandalwood, it's nice without rippling the pond. Discontinued.



Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Anisia Bella (2004): Aniseed is a classic mainstay in Guerlain fragrances from Apres L'Ondee and L'Heure Bleue onwards and here it's given a smothering of volatile notes such as bergamot and basil which complement its melancholic spiciness, alongside sweeter jasmine, violet and the discreet backdrop of cedar. Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Mentafollia (2004): The simpler side-kick of Herba Fresca, focusing on bittersweet herbs. The latter is better, somehow, more complete. Predictably discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Orange Magnifica (2005): This is the first of the "fruities" Aqua Allegorias that really ruined it for the rest. A lovely Calabrian orange with a discreet almond background, progressing from the fruity to the lightly floral (neroli, clean jasmine). Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Pivoine Magnifica (2005): A very clean, scrubbed floral that boosts the effect with hesperidia and the mainstays of iris-violet that Guerlain is famous for. Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Grosellina (2006): Fruity-candy, cassis composition that accented the whole with fresh citrus notes on top. Nothing noteworthy really. Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Tutti Kiwi (2006): An odd combination of kiwi and licorice, fanned on sandalwood and vanilla for sweetness. Probably my least favourite in the line. Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Angélique Lilas (2007): Aqueous floral with notes of pink pepper, lilac, angelica and bitter orange. Luca Turin calls it a "footnote on Eau d'Issey years later". I believe he means unnecessary; it's not that horrendously bad. Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Mandarine Basilic (2007): Two elements that contrast, orange-y sweet and spicy aromatic with ivy tones. Still available and in production according to official site.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Figue Iris (2008): Green fruity scent with fig leaves and fruits, very summery, dusted with a hint of iris so as to be reminded of the heritage. Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Laurier Réglisse (2008): Another unusual combination, this time laurel and licorice. This gives a soft and green fragrance that has a unique taste buds appeal. Original. Discontinued.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Cherry Blossom (2009): A sakura perfume, simple and spring-like. Fresh and a little bit sentimental fruity floral. [Not to be confused with the stand-alone Cherry Blossom limited edition in the Louis XV flacon].

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Tiaré Mimosa (2009): A tropical note (tiaré) and one which is inspired by a tropical destination (mimosa is an Australia native). Spicy accents and citrus lift the sweeter base that includes vanilla, clean musk and vetiver. The popular "suntan lotion" theme. Still available.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Flora Nymphea (2010): The anniversary edition to celebrate 10 years of Aqua Allegoria is a floral with youthful image. I wasn't particularly impressed. Available from a bunch of places, often on offer.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Bouquet No.1 (2010): This was a travel exclusive edition that didn't circulate widely. A peachy white floral (jasmine, delicate fruity notes), I thought Bouquet No.1 is an elegant play on the ubiquitous fruity floral theme.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Jasminora (2011): A lovely and true green jasmine soliflore, with a refreshing freesia note on top. Review of Jasminora here.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Bouquet No.2 (2011): A tropical take on fruity notes of litchi, fanned on rose and iris for tenacity and elegance. More info on Bouquet No.2 here.  

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Rosa Blanca (2011): More info on Rosa Blanca here.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Lys Soleia (2012): More info on Lys Soleia here. 

NB: Dicontinued does not mean introuvable; it means out of production. There is still old stock left, some of which I have linked on each of the fragrances.

Top pic via Le blog de la mechante. Other pics via parfum de pub.

Nina Ricci Nina (modern): fragrance review & comparison with vintage

I always wonder whether appearances correspond to the reality, the essence of a personality and vice versa, as I am sure you do too. The duality of a person is always fascinating to unravel. And an inconsistency often contributes to a greater fascination! Whether one will tolerate one in favor of another is entirely a personal matter. Nina, the modern perfume by Nina Ricci is such a case in point. It's hard to pass her by, because she's so popular ~even the bottle design was snatched by the producers of Twilight saga films, but courts decided in favour of Ricci in the end and it's now missing in action~ but the reality is less than convincing; at least for a purist such as myself, because it delivers and it delivers satisfactorily to its intended audience which is teenage girls if sales are any indication.

Created as a perfume to evoke in ladies' minds a modern fairy tale for “all young women searching for surprise and fantasy… in a wonderland where dreams dress reality”, as the advertising tells us, it promises to be magical and enchanting, full of charm and seductiveness. Fairy tales are the escapism valves of modern hectic lifestyles and if one is so easily within one's grasp, it seems like a much healthier idea than downing a couple of pills, don't you agree?

The store when the scent launched devoted their windows: a huge silver tree was posing, with factice bottles resembling glorious red apples hanging from its branches like magical instruments of witchcraft and pieces of ivory organza interlaid on a silvery snowy ground in the middle of summer. It was beautiful…. The bottle, designed by French agency LOVE, is indeed one of the most gorgeous of recent years, paying homage to Hypnotic Poison, Lolita Lempicka and Be delicious, but managing to be more friendly that any of those and less heavy than the former two. It is also reminiscent of another great bottle that has launched a few seasons ago, Delices de Cartier. Made of transparent glass and silver metal it becomes raspberry red by the inclusion of the bright-hued juice. On the top, silver leaves crown an ergonomic sprayer that sprays a fine mist.

The fragrance itself is touted as the brand's single most important release in 10 years, after several trials that didn’t take off as expected: Premier Jour and its variations – let’s face it- never took off (the same goes for Les Belles de Ricci, 3 interesting variations in similar bottles, long discontinued) although it’s a likeable perfume and the name of Nina Ricci has remained in its dove garlanded laurels for too long.

The modern Nina was composed by noses Olivier Cresp (the nose behind Angel, revamped Femme by Rochas and Noa) and Jacques Cavallier (of Eau d’Issey, Feu d’Issey, Ferragamo woman and Poeme fame) of Firmenich "with the Asian consumer in mind". I am not sure if by Asian they mean Chinese, Japanese, Thai people etc. (i.e. Far East) or they mean Middle-East and India, but the perfume could accommodate both tastes being tied with neither tradition or culture. The brand was simply hoping to strengthen their appeal in the international fragrance market and in particular in Asia, which is the emerging giant of consumerism.

Nina has a hard act to follow: Nina Ricci was one of the most popular couturiers in the mid-20th century fashion scene. Born in Turin in January 1883 she started as a highly talented apprentice, before devoting herself entirely to design.
She formed a partnership with her only son Robert in order to open her own Haute Couture house at 20, Rue des Capucines, in Paris. Her effort paid off well in quick success and just before the war the NINA RICCI firm occupied 11 floors and its workshops were filled with 450 workers.
Madame Ricci had a flair for highlighting the personality of her clients, resulting in very becoming dresses. She always favoured femininity over trends and elegance over dare. Ricci tried her hand in perfume making with the iconic spicy floral L’air du Temps, a fantasia of delicate undertones and tender warmth encased in the gorgeous Lalique bottle with the pair of doves on the stopper, that has been worn by our dearest and nearest for years. It managed to inspire numerous mysterious florals, Fijdi and Anais Anais being two of those and it became a bestseller in many countries, managing to sell one bottle every 3 minutes somewhere around the world! Alas, it has been so tampered with in its present version, as to render whiffs of it disappointing, failing to bring back the images of those loving female figures in our lives. A pity…
Farouche and Coeur Joie are another two legendary Nina Ricci perfumes that remain in the confines of the vast vault of on-line auction shopping...

Robert Ricci , however, Nina’s son, created or rather art-directed the original NINA perfume, a powdery floral with fruits and woodsy, green notes in homage to his late mother in 1987. Very recent in perfume terms... The experiment was very successful artistically, however the business end was not met satisfactorily, resulting in a semi-retirement of the old version, which is not available anymore.

The new Nina bears absolutely no resemblance to the older one, but the identical name surely causes trouble to the consumer and confuses those who like to order things on the phone or on-line. To compare modern and vintage Nina, whereas the old version was an affair of traditional elegance with a rich sparkle of aldehydes in the opening and a green chypre accord that was quite popular in the 1980’s ( if one considers the success of Diva by Ungaro), the new one is very different: The overall effect of the older version was delicately powdery and it smelled the way all perfumes smell in a young child’s mind: sophisticated, fabricated, not found in nature. It used costly ingredients that managed to evolve and mingle with one another in trails of white light.
The modern Nina is predictably a fruity floral with a gourmand touch. It opens on a very pleasing initial note of hesperidic crisp fruits that cascade off the bottle in rapid succession: lemon, bergamot, mandarin and especially lime"Caipirinha" (its approximation in non alcoholic form at least). The effect is sharp and surprisingly uplifting, like that of another pleasing fruity floral: Gucci Eau de parfum II (the lilac-pink juice in the heavy crystal lid square bottle), minus the berries.
The heart accord of red toffee apple with moonflower (an abnormality of nature, a new breed after a tornado at the Mohave desert, from what I recall from The Body Shop version) and peony is nicely balanced, quite sweet for comfort though, with a little vanillic veil that heralds the base of white cedar and cotton musk. That last ingredient alludes to lab work that produces the bulk of synthetic musks today. It manages to smell soft and enveloping, with an average tenacity on the skin, although on the blotter the candy and cedarwood effect are what remains mostly after the more effervescent notes have vanished. The drydown is vaguely reminiscent of the base of Mugler’s Innocent , a perfume variant on the Angel recipe without the patchouli, more orientalised/gourmand than Nina, surely, but with the same praline afterthought; of the two I vastly prefer the Mugler iteration.

Overall, it will disappoint those who expected something similar to the older version, and get the spirits up of those who love the fruity floral semi-gourmand recipe, although I can’t bring myself to say I love it and the genre has overstayed its welcome for faaaaar too long. The bottle however is another story…


The modern Nina is available in eau de parfum at major department stores.
The advertising commercial includes the late Russian model Ruslana Korshunova.

Frequent Questions: What's the Perfume Featured in "Single White Female" movie?

Viewers of that 1992 cult little thriller "Single White Female" staring Bridget Fonda and Jennifer Jason Leigh remember the delapidated NYC building, shot to reference the trilogy of apartment-house thrillers by Roman Polanski, and the plot which culminated into an early 1990s phenomenon. Summary? An ad for a roommate brought a stranger into Allison's life. Someone who shares. Someone who cares. Someone who borrows. Someone who steals. Someone who would kill to be her. A clinging, duplicitous psycho roommate all right! Viewers with a perfume interest however have long been perplexed on which perfume is featured in one memorable scene:

Allie brings a housewarming gift to Hedy, the psycho (played by Jennifer Jason Leigh). Upon inspecting her dresser, a bottle catches her eye; she handles the beautiful perfume bottle, sniffs off the top and dabs some on her wrists and neck. Hedy, who had been taking a shower in the adjoining bathroom, walks in on her, immediately perceives the scent in the air and comments on its use. Hedy will then proceed to offer earrings as a thank-you-in-turn gesture to Allie.

Allie:You haven't even been here two weeks and I'm already in your room.
     I was just about to go through your drawers.
Hedy: That smells nice on you.
Allie:I always wanted to try that.
Hedy: Sure, anything you want. Share and share alike.
Allie:I don't really know about that. I'm an only child.

The perfume on the dresser in said scene is in a light blue, cylindrical bottle, made of opaline by the looks of it. Theories on what it might be have abounded on perfume discussion boards for years; it's a recurring question to which no one had a definitive asnwer. Till now.
A freeze-frame on the video or DVD (a common enough practice for "crazied perfumistas") reveals that the bottle is tagged "Moi Même" which means...me, myself. Given the particular context of the film, in which director Barbet Schroeder explores the subjects of what constitutes identity and the implications of identity theft (through subtle and less subtle means pertaining to appearence, comportment and later play-acting), I had assumed it was a made-up perfume prop for the purposes of the film.

The cohabitation continues and things start getting weird. As Allie reunites with her cheating fiance, Sam, Hedy has in the meantime becometoo clinging. She will try to break up the re-united couple ~in an effort to make Allie keep her as a room-mate instead of leaving with her fiance~ by sleeping with him while pretending to be Allie. She uses perfume to sneak up on Sam, aiding to convince him in the dark of the night that she's really Allie.

Hedy:Guys like you don't change. You can't be faithful. And now she'll know.
Sam: She'll know what? That you came up here and pretended to be her?
  What is this hair? You're in her clothes. You're wearing her perfume!

The nuances of "stealing" someone's signature scent, like in that scene in the film, had provided the content for another essay on Perfume Shrine (which can be found in the link). At the time I had written:

"Copying someone's identity in its external manifestations and even their intellectual interests, emulating their fashion sense, their hairstyle, their makeup and colour choices and suddenly adopting the same music sense and book material can feel annoying and a little alarming for the one who is being copied: is it to be taken as a compliment or as an invasion of private space and the right to mark one's own territoty? That last part seems to me to be at the bottom of this particular annoyance. Although we have progressed from the jungle, the jungle hasn't left us: we still need to mark our territoty with the invisible olfactory stain of our id. And we do that with our loved ones and the scents we choose for them as well."

The context of that post still applies, but research has since revealed to me that the perfume in the dresser scene isn't made-up after all. On the contrary.


Two French companies have been producing perfumes by the same name: Desti* of Paris had a Moi Même fragrance launched in 1914 and Cyber, the producer of the semi-eponymous Cybera, launched another by the same name some years later. They're both art-deco scents in similar period-style containers and they would fit the context. The art director must have studied catalogues from antiques auctions or happened upon the beautiful opaline flacon browsing in some antiquerie. Certainly an art-deco bottle matches exceptionally well the art-deco building which is really the third protagonist in the film. What originally seemed random and superficial is revealed to be clever and fully intentional. More than a pretty prop, the signature scent in Single White Female stands as a meaningful and transient metaphor of self.

*In the same year, 1914, the company of Desti of Paris launched another 5 fragrances: Beatrice d'Este, Devinez (=Guess), Lilas, L'Invitation à La Dance and Saphir.

Guerlain Mitsouko: fragrance review & history

Few perfumes are entangled in such mythos and in such erroneous rumours as Mitsouko by Guerlain. Mysterious, balanced, sumptuous, it's nothing short of a Gordian Knot which demands a swift cutting through its mysteries to arrive at the truth. And truth is not easily provided for this 1919 fragrance which closed the era of WWI and opened up Les Années Folles.

Famous patrons & their fateful stories on Mitsouko
Jean Harlow, the platinum blonde sex-pot of the 1930s who was born on March 3rd 1911, all slinky peignoirs and ice put on the nipples behind those satiny gowns, used Mitsouko in Dinner at Eight; it was her favourite fragrance in real life. Her platinum head was not what the creators at Guerlain had originally thought of: Mitsouko was right from the start destined for brunettes, while L'Heure Bleue was recommended for blondes. She gladly embraced both, much like she let her hairdresser put peroxide, ammonia, Clorox, and Lux Flakes on her naturally darker hair.
Little did Jean know that her first husband Paul Bern would be found dead and drenched in Mitsouko in a astounding case of a suicide just one week after the wedding. Rumours say that it was impotence that drove him to his act of desperation. Jean was put to record saying all three marriages she got into were "marriages of inconvenience". Perhaps the sad story inspiring Mitsouko perfume was a bad omen for her love life as well.

It certainly didn't really bring good luck to other famous patrons, such as the impressario of Les Ballets Russes, Sergei Diaghilev (who drenched his curtains with it) or Charlie Chaplin. In the unexpurgated diary of erotic authoress Anais Nin, Henry and June, Mitsouko features prominently as the perfume that June Miller asks to be given her by Anais. Of course, to follow the truism by Gore Vidal [1], lying had become Nin's first nature, so all bets are off on whether that actually happened: What remains is that Mitsouko was indeed Nin's scent of choice, alongside Narcisse Noir by Caron. Such is the repercussion of the scent in cultural heritage that a pop sensation of the late 1980s, the French duo of Les Rita Mitsouko christened themselves after it!

photo via toutenparfum

The Legend of the Creation: Myth and Misunderstandings


Lore on the inspiration of Mitsouko wants Jacques Guerlain to have wanted to pay homage to a popular novel of the time, “La Bataille” by Claude Farrère. In it Mitsouko, a beautiful Japanese woman and the wife of Admiral Togo, is secretly in love with a British officer aboard the flagship of the Japanese fleet during the 1905 war between Russia and Japan; Mitsouko awaits with dignity the outcome of the battle, nobly overcoming her feelings. Hence derives the confusion about the spelling of the name: although Mitsuko [sic] is a Japanese word, neither is it spelled Mitsouko nor does it mean "mystery" as the official press of Guerlain would like us to believe. Like other perfume tales, it's just that: a romantic allusion to "zee love storee" that enslaves women's imagination and stirs men's loins.

It's a fascinating discovery to find that Mitsouko despite its technical mastery and sumptuous character, and my friend's wittism when sniffing off a vintage bottle that "it smells the way a porn film would", isn't one for seduction: Luca Turin in his 1993 French guide recommended against such a use. It's debatable whether he did so because he found it not immediately accesible for such a purpose or because he deemed it highly intellectualised to demean it via lowly feminine wiles. The fact remains that although highly revered, Mitsouko is one fragrance which the Western man rarely considers as traditionally "sexy" among a stable of fruity chypres that manage to convey the idea of sexiness and erotic proximity much more readily: Rochas Femme, Diorama, even YSL Yvresse... Fruity chypres due to their typically lusher, more "golden" character with an injection of decay (fruit can easily go from ripe to overripe, recalling how a woman can do so as well) are a noted exception within that group of cerebral fragrances known as "chypres". Mitsouko could be the equivalent of someone reading the Financial Times in terms of smarts and composure. Perhaps this is why its erotic tension is not immediately understandable.

Cinematic References
In Louis Bunuel's cult classic Belle de Jour respectable newly-wed doctor's wife, but frigid and masochistic, Catherine Deneuve accidentaly smashes a huge "flacon montre" of Mitsouko in a symbolic scene in her bathroom before setting to spend the afternoon as a prostitute. Would the scene work equally well semiotically with another perfume? Doubtful...

Perfume writer Susan Irvine recounts how one day in Paris she shared a taxi with a woman [wearing Mitsouko] who smelled "the way God intended women to smell: plush, troubling and golden" [2]. And goes on to reveal in a Vogue article that adopting Mitsouko for a year produced no comments whatsoever from anyone, contrary to her compliments galore success with YSL Paris!

Understanding the erotic dimension of Mitsouko

Perhaps what's most interesting about the strange position of Mitsouko in its erotic charge is how it encapsulates two quite different perspectives on how human bodies should or would smell of. The 19th-century Japanese referred to western traders as "batakusai", which roughly translates as "stinks of butter" due to their high dairy consumption which gave their skin a cheesy aspect (isovaleric and butyric compounds do that); while the Brits found the Japanese in turn "fishy", again a reflection on an insular diet. How would the British officer and the beautiful Japanese wife named Mitsouko would have found a middle-ground between their human scents of passion?

Nowadays, Mitsouko is Guerlain's top seller in Japan, in a reverse homage to the brand that ushered Japonism in the mainstream many decades ago. This goes against all received wisdom that the Japanese go for "light" perfume and only rarely ever put it on themselves. One wonders if the cultural milieu of accepting smells that are different than those perceived as pleasurable in the West allows them a higher appreciation of this masterpiece of a scent.

Deconstructing the scent & formula of Mitsouko

The composition of Mitsouko was revolutionary at the time, even though it updated and -arguably- improved on the seminal formula of F.Coty's Chypre: The innovative peach-skin note perceived at the heart of the Guerlain fragrance derives from a modern synthetic ingredient, aldehyde C14 or gamma undecalactone (Peach essence cannot be naturally extracted). The inclusion of the famous base Persicol ("bases" are ready made smell-chords for perfumers) which included it contributes to the peachy, warm effect. Flanked by murky oakmoss and refreshing bergamot at each end ~thus composing a classic chypre chord~, it adds spicy accents reminiscent of cinnamon and cloves ~especially felt in the Eau de Toilette version which circulated till recently.  

Mitsouko also utilizes rose, neroli (a light-smelling orange blossom distillation product), woods, vetiver and patchouli for a short but succinct formula which balances itself between apothecary and pattiserie. The candied orange peel effect mollifies every herbal aspect, while the flowers are so subdued and well-blended as not to be discernible as such; if abstraction is elegance, then Mitsouko is very elegant indeed, without nevertheless losing its sensuality; there's a furry little animal hiding underneath it all, although you can't really place it!

The mysterious, haughty fragrance is in chasm with every recent pop trend, making a difficult love-affair much like its storyline; nevertheless indulging in a bottle of Mitsouko is the hallmark of the true connoisseur, like a fine Pinot Noir wine can be an acquired taste. If you try and do not like it in the end, there is no reason to beat yourself up for it, just because we proclaim it such a beautiful and smart fragrance; but be sure to give it a chance in different times, different weather (it expresses itself wonderfully on rainy days, which bring to the fore its earthy core) and different moods. After all, as The Bombshell Manual of Style declares: “Mitsouko has more sensuous layers to unpeel than Rita Hayworth dancing the Dance of the Seven Veils as Salome."

Comparing Mitsouko concentrations & vintages

Different concentrations and different vintages produce different effects. Vintage parfum extrait is so rich and luscious as to render experiencing Mitsouko a rare occasion of olfactory satiation. The oakmoss galore of as recent crops as Eau de Toilette and Parfum de Toilette from the 1980s and early 1990s is exquisite in its unsettling, deeply mossy ambience. The modern Eau de Parfum version reworked by Edward Flechier (this happened in early 2007 due to oakmoss restrictions imposed by European Union legislature, with Eau de Toilette being the first to reformulate) is the best rendition closer to the original idea, while the current Eau de Toilette seems thinned and yielding a bread, yeasty note which I personally feel is incongruent with the image which I have in my head of it.

Bottle Designs

The classic bottle design, called “inverted heart” because of its cap, reprises the design of another Guerlain classic L’Heure Bleue which was issued in 1912, due to the shortages of World War I [3]. It's the golden standard on which both Eau de Toilette and Eau de Parfum still circulate to this day. After the success of Mitsouko, the design stayed, as a gentle stylistic reminder of the two bottles opening and closing the period between the beginning and the end of the war. And indeed if L’Heure Bleue is contemplative daydreaming and above all romantic like La Belle Epoque, Mitsouko is mysterious and emancipated heralding the era of flappers like no other perfume.

Other presentations include the flacons quatrilobe, amphora/rosebud and umbrella bottle (for the extrait de parfum) and the montres (cyclical bottles with a gold pyramidal cap) for the very lasting and robust vintage eau de cologne concentration circulating throughout the 50s, 60s and 70s with the mint green, round label.
A limited edition flanker called Mitsouko Fleur de Lotus circulated a couple of seasons ago (you can read our review on it on the link).

Notes for Guerlain Mitsouko:
Top: Bergamot, Lemon, Mandarin, Neroli
Middle: Peach, Rose, Clove, Ylang-Ylang, Cinnamon
Base: Oakmoss, Labdanum, Patchouli, Benzoin, Vetiver.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain reviews, The Chypre Series

[1] In Palimpsest, a Memoir
[2] Irvine, S. The Perfume Guide, 2000 Haldane Mason
[3] Guerlain archives
pics via felixhollywood blog and parfum de pub

Three Cheers for Perfume Chemistry

Much as perfumery has often been the marketing story of virgins amassing jasmine petals at the crack of dawn in endless emerald fields on exotic lands (and it is a lovely image), some synthetic molecules created in the lab have irrevocably revolutionized the fragrance industry as we know it: Hedione, Galaxolide and Calone for instance have left a footprint as big as the Yeti’s in modern perfumery, accounting in some cases for a big percentage within a formula in and of themselves (see Trésor and Cool Water or the odd case of Dune for instance ~also the iconic fragrances touched by hedione).


Sometimes these molecules were arrived at years before they were popularised in mainstream compositions the consumer buys off the counter today: Calone for instance, which catapulted the "marine scents" trend in the 1990s, was patended as "Calone 1951" in as early as 1966 by the pharmaceuticals collusus Pfizer. Sometimes, on the other hand, new molecules are the very reason why specific styles of fragrances multiply like Gremlins: see the recent cases of Ambrox and synthetic oud.

Damascones and ionones have brought their own particular challenges and risk-taking through the course of the 20th century, ending in beautiful specimens (examples include Nahéma, Féminité du Bois, Nombre Noir). I have always had a soft spot for nitromusks myself, which I absolutely love in vintage creations due to their intimate and warm character, but of course science and the industry go on and we must adapt with the times...

I like to think that we’re upon a Brave New World in which the not-forgotten old artistry of naturals alongside the sleight of hand, that relies in the proper dosage of synthetics, will produce astounding and unprecedented results: Safraleine is a beautiful example, exactly because it brings on both spicy and subtly leathery facets to the fore with a restrained hand. We’re seeing a new sophisticated generation of aqueous and “ozonic” molecules too, away from the obvious “watermelon slap” of Calone: Scentenal (Firmenich), Cyclemone A and Floralozone (both IFF); for instance the latteris featured in otherwise earthy Vétiver Extraordinaire in Editions des Parfums Frederic Malle, where it juxtaposes freshness to the mustiness of the grass.

Alternatively, in some cases, modern technology aims to replicate retro effects which we used to miss due to depletion of the original and shortage of technical solutions. Let me mention some examples:
White Moss is an IFF patent to create a green-mossy accord at the base of some nouveau chypres such as Lauder’s Private Collection Jasmine White Moss. I think it’s an excellent addition to IFF's already impressive stable as it manages to bypass the “problem” of oakmoss restrictions (as inflicted by the industry-self-regulating body IFRA) while at the same time smelling as a proper green chypre base-accord should (comparable to the original Cristalle for instance).
Jovanol by Givaudan is creating the creaminess and intense lasting power which we had come to associate with the “creaminess” of sandalwood, its lactonic facet ~perfume speak for that warm, milky cozy, cuddly effect that older Orientals and woody fragrances with a preponderance on Mysore sandalwood used to have. The anisic note which we have come to associate with anisaldehyde and retro effects such as those in L'Heure Bleue is given new lease by Givaudan's captive Toscanol (which is in its turn substitutes the similar chavanol), used to mollify lavender compositions. And who can disregard Cashmeran, that tactile "cashmere woods" note embraced so lovingly by both mainstream fragrances (DK Cashmere Mist, Alien by Mugler, CKin2u, Fleur de Cristal by Lalique) as well as niche (The Beautiful Mind series Intelligence & Fantasy)? Its encompassing woody-musky-soft and sensual profile makes it a passe-partout ingredient.

I like one small detail about musks in particular, how the newest mascrocyclic Cosmone by Givaudan (a warm musk with a nuance of ambergris, smell in DelRae's Panache for instance) is taking on the expanse and beauty of the Cosmos to graft it unto its name. One better from the previous Galaxolide which was also astro-inspired in regards to nomenclature! And the ironic touch that it’s used in a fragrance bearing such a cunning name as Pi Neo, which means "new" in Greek. Isn’t perfumery dreamy?

picture of perfumer at Lever Laboratories in New Jersey, c.1950 via howstuffworks.com

Perfumery Material: Coumarin, Tonka Bean & the Fougere accord

Open any perfume guide with fragrance "notes" or any online discussion or blog post on perfume description and you're bound to stumble on coumarin; one of the most common materials in many fine fragrances but also several body products, cosmetics and functional products. Its rich history goes back to the beginnings of modern perfumery in the late 19th century, bringing us right at the moment of the nascent concept of perfumery as a mix of organic chemistry and nature's exploitation. Coumarin as such is a synthesized material in most perfumes, but it's also found in abundance in natural products, such as tonka beans (Dipteryx odorata) where it is the principle aromatic constituent (1-3%). In fact the name derives from "cumaru", an Amazonian dialect name for the Tonka bean tree.

• Origin & function of coumarin

Chemically, coumarin is a benzopyrone (1-benzopyran-2-one) which, apart from tonka beans, also occurs naturally in vanilla grass (Anthoxanthum odoratum), sweet woodruff (Galium odoratum), sweet clover (Meliotus L.), sweet grass (Hierochloe odorata) and cassia cinnamon (Cinnamomum aromaticum) among other species. In short, it's rather sweet, as you might have surmissed by now, and evokes cut grasses. You'd be correct to assume both facts, but that's not all: Although coumarin in perfumery does add a certain sweet note of mown hay or freshly cut grass with vanilla overtones, it's really bitterish in flavour in high concentrations (its -now banned- inclusion in food would attest that). Therefore theorizing its plant origin one would assume it's produced by plants in order to defend themselves from predation. After all it's also present in cherries, strawberries, and apricots, prime targets for birds. You might have even seen it featured in your rodent pesticide: don't be alarmed (coumarin is included in miniscule quantities in foodstuff anyway), but now you know why!

• History of coumarin discovery & synthesis

Natural perfumers used and continue to use tonka bean absolute and tonka in powder form, as well as deer's tongue, a herb with brittle leaves to render a coumarin note. But the story of coumarin is largely one of organic chemistry. The component was isolated by A.Vogel in 1820, but the laboratory synthesis of coumarin first happened in 1868 from coal tar by W.H.Perkin (who gave his name to "the Perkin reaction" used to produce it). It took another year to produce it in an industrial scale at Haarmann & Reimer. The consequent memorable inclusion of synthesized coumarin in Jicky (Guerlain 1889) and earlier in Fougère Royale (Houbigant 1882) was the kickstart of a whole new fragrance family: the fougère, thanks to Paul Parquet's composition for Houbigant. Fougère Royale contained a staggering 10% coumarin of the finished formula! How one can dream a bit while reading Guy de Maupassant describing this fragrance as "prodigious evocation of forests, of lands, not via their flora but via their greenery"...

• The Fougere fragrance family

Fougère fragrances evoke the smell of ferns at least as we imagine them to be, as by themselves they don't have a particularly noticeable odour (Paul Parquet said that if they could, they'd smell of Fougere Royale). But the concept of a scent that is herbaceous, infused with aromatic lavender ~a popular material for both sexes at the end of the 19th century thanks to its propriety in the "clean" sense of the world~ and which leaves a malleable, soft, enveloping, yet discreet aura on the wearer was lacking: The era was still using the Victorian soliflores. Funnily enough, even those had their own categorisation; violets or roses for the respectable lady, jasmine and tuberose for the courtesan. Fougère scents were on the cusp between approved and revolutionary, creating a very desirable pull.
The other principle constituents in the accord are lavender and oakmoss: It was only natural; lavender by itself contains coumarin in its aromatic makeup. Thus the triad comprising the main accord of the rising fougère (i.e.lavender-oakmoss-coumarin, played together like a musical chord) made coumarin itself quite popular: many classic or influential masculine colognes owe their character to it, starting of course with Jicky and continuing with Azzaro pour Homme (1978), Fahrenheit by Dior (1988), Dolce & Gabanna pour homme (1994), and Gucci pour Homme (2003).
From there coumarin infiltrated its way into many modern fragrances belonging in other families. But it was its pliability and usefulness, like a trusty Swiss knife, which made it the perfumers' darling: Are there more contrasting fragrances than the icy aldehydic Rive Gauche (YSL 1970) and the intense floral Amarige (Givenchy 1991)? Perfumers tell me that coumarin ends up in some degree in 90% of all fragrances; and in concentrations exceeding 1% it accounts for over half of the fragrances in the market!!

• The odour profile of coumarin

Coumarin is a water-insoluble crystallized powder which has an odour that is pleasant, soft and warm, evoking cut grass or new mown hay, but it's more complex than that; it sometimes even veers into a smell of fresh paint! This is what gives Jicky its bracing almost "petrol" opening which alienates some people. Originally biosynthesized via hydroxylation, glycolisis and cinnamic acid cyclization, nowadays coumarin is produced via more sophisticated techniques.
Coumarin conjures warm notes of tobacco (useful in masculine formulae) and because it also has caramel overtones, alternatively it can be married to vanillic components (such as vanilla, benzoin or some of the other oriental balsams, such as Tolu balsam or Peru balsam, as well as ethylvanillin) in order to play down and sophisticate their foody aspects: see it in action in orientals such as the discontinued Venezia by Laura Biagotti, Lolita au Masculin(Lempicka) or Casmir by Chopard.
In dilution coumarin projects with soft hazelnut or almond facets underneath the hay, even licorice; smell Lolita Lempicka (1997). But in higher concentration it also has spicy fresh and herbaceous facets, no doubt reminiscent of its primary role in different grasses. In combination with vanillin and bergamot, we're veering into chypre territory: Elixir des Merveilles is a no man's land with its chypre tonalities and gourmand facets.
Its versatility and its ability to "fix" smell and make it last longer allows coumarin to enter amber or woody blends (witness Samsara or Vetiver by Guerlain) as well and even heighten the appeal of spicy materials: in fact it marries very well with cinnamon or clove. Pi by Givenchy is a sweet spicy woody with lots of tonka bean, or smell L de Lolita Lempicka by Maurice Roucel. Usually, indeed coumarin is mentioned in the form of tonka beans in the traditional lists of "notes"/pyramids for fragrances (see this Index for more ingredients contributing to which "note") but it can also hide underneath grassy notes, clover, lavender, or tobacco. Modern perfumers pair it with synthetic woody-amber notes such as Kephalis and Iso-E Super to surprising results. A wonderful material indeed!

• Fragrances featuring discernible amounts of coumarin

Addict (Dior)
A*men (Thierry Mugler)
Amarige (Gievnchy)
Angel ~all concentrations, esp. extrait de parfum(Thierry Mugler)
Angel Sunessence (T.Mugler)
Angel La Rose (T.Mugler)
Antidote (Victor & Rolf)
Azzaro pour Homme (Loris Azzaro)
Azzaro Elixir Bois Precieux (L.Azzaro)
Blue Jeans (Versace)
Bois des Iles (Chanel)
Brit (Burberry)
Chic for Men (Carolina Herrera)
Coco (Chanel)
Coco Mademoiselle (Chanel)
Contradiction (Calvin Klein)
Etoile de Rem (Reminiscence)
Fahrenheit (Dior)
Fieno (Santa Maria Novela)
Fougere Royal (Houbigant)
Florissa (Floris)
Gloria (Cacharel)
Jasmin Noir (Bulgari)
Jicky (Guerlain)
Joop! Homme (Joop)
Kouros (Yves Saint Laurent)
Lavande (Molinard)
L de Lolita Lempicka
Lolita Lempicka (L.Lempicka)
Le Male (Jean Paul Gaultier)
Musc (Molinard)
Navy (Lily Bermuda)
Pi (Givenchy)
Rive Gauche (YSL)
Samsara (Guerlain)
Tonka Imperiale (Guerlain)
Venezia (Laura Biagotti)
Versace pour Homme (Versace)

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfumery Materials one by one

source of coumarin pic via The Health Nut Corner, ad for Houbigant via Punmiris and Jicky collage via Perfumesbighouse

Guy Laroche Fidji: fragrance review & history

Fidji by Guy Laroche, coming out in 1966, revolutioned the industry in more ways than one: First, it was at chasm with the previous French aesthetic perfumes coming out from French houses & designers. Here there was a fragrance which represented escapism, but that escapism was communicated in very American-shaped methods. Secondly, it showcased that apart from imaginative names (a tradition which knew some excellent examples in the past anyway), every perfume had to deliver a specific story, a story that would address a need and a desire of the audience to whom it was aimed at. Fidji succeeded beautiful but it also happened to be a beautiful perfume to begin with.

Composed by one of the unknown forces in the industry, nose Josephine Catapano, long before perfumers became rock-stars or began composing fragrances to evoke orgasmic effluvia, Fidji, a freshly green floral with tropical inclusions of ylang ylang and carnation, is a fragrance representative of its times and one which influenced many following it, such as Guerlain's Chamade, Cacharel Anais Anais, Chanel No.19, Givenchy III, Climat and even Charlie by Revlon. Fidji pushed to its extremities, on both ends of its skeleton, could be said to have inspired even Lauder for her bitter chypre Private Collection. After all, Catapano also worked for Lauder and IFF for years where she later became the mentor of Sophia Grojsman. Michael Edwards confirms my theory when he says:

[Fidji] “pioneered a new generation of fresh perfumes: Norell (1969), Charlie (1973), Gucci No 1 (1975) and a hundred other fragrances following its lead”.

Guy Laroche launched Fidji at a time when the youth market seemed like a particularly desirable budding segment to advertisers; what with the upheaval of the 1960s which brought out the power of young ideals and the romanticism of following your heart, and what with the desire of the young to map out their own territories, their own olfactory landscapes. These landscapes often revolved around the East or civilizations away from the Western anxieties...such as those of the South Pacific where the Fidji islands are located and the managers of the brand were taking their vacation when the idea formed. The Beatles were leaving for India and the hippies were gathering at Haight Asbury. Refound paradises were especially suggestive. The market demanded different approaches than the traditional "keeping up with the Joneses" social approach (a respectable perfume to assert one's spending power) or the heavy seduction games of old. Thus woman became "an island and Fidji was her perfume" as the memorable motto went. Women-isles through the years clutched the bottle closely to their smooth bosoms in the glossy images; women as famous as supermodel Linda Evangelista who posed for the ads in the early 1990s.

The olfactory inspiration for Fidji comes from another youthful (in its time) classic: L'Air du Temps by Nina Ricci. The salicylate heart with the clove-y tint was taken apart and enrobed in a new cloth, the rest modernised by Catapano accordingly and given a very fresh fuzzy start which is green rather than peachy, and a base with more patchouli and sandalwood which lasts well.

The opening impression of the Laroche scent is one of bitterish freshness with a cool (rather than warm) heart of flowers in which hyacinth pops its head, at odds with the modern expectations of a tropical evoking fragrance atavistically smelling of suntan oil and tiaré blossoms. Fidji isn't especially tropical despite the name and feels just as fitting in an al fresco lunch in the Hamptons in June, silk dresses in shades of paradise birds blowing softly in the breeze, as it does in an outdoor cafe in August-hot Barcelona with Verner Pantone S chairs laid out in orange and green. Its feminine sensuality is derived from the milky woodiness of sandalwood and the subtle musky trail it leaves on skin after the fresh floral notes and the mossy green dissipate; it behaves with delicate elegance and knows its place, even if it keeps its escapist fantasies close at heart.

Unfortunately, Fidji is among the creations which are best savoured in older formulations, as the modern Eau de Toilette, a rare sight at department stores or online, alongside its ancillary products, seems a bit thinned out, although still quite pleasant and many cuts above many more recent launches. Vintage Eau de Cologne concentration looks like a fine medium if you can't get yourself some of the old parfum. It's still available although rarer and rarer in some auction sites.

Notes for Guy Laroche Fidji:
citrus (lemon), galbanum, hyacinth, ylang ylang, carnation (via clove), spices, Bulgarian rose, jasmine, orris, vetiver, oakmoss, sandalwood, patchouli, balsam, musk, ambergris.

Cacharel Anais Anais: fragrance review & history

Who could imagine a block-buster perfume today being promoted through porcelain-skined beauties in soft focus showing no inch of skin beyond their necks set to pre-classical music? And yet Anais Anais, the first perfume by Cacharel (1978), was advertised exactly like that and became THE reference scent for the early 1980s for droves of young women who still reminiscence fondly of it 30 years later. It's also one of the most influential perfumes in history, at least on what concerns marketing success ~a triumph of Annette Louit~ and top-to-bottom design, if not complexity, quality materials or classicism of composition. It didn't possess any of the latter.

Yet it's still featured on the Cacharel website prominently and is up front on perfume counters. For many,
Anais Anais by Cacharel was the first fragrance they got as a gift; or even better the first they cashed out their pocket money for: Its image was youthful from the start. No doubt the deceptively innocent scent, coupled with the dreamy advertisements accounted for that, as did the opaline packaging with the pastel flowers on it and the slightly suggestive name. It was the debate of many, to this day: Was Anais Anais a reference to writer Anais Nin and her ~"forbidden" to the young~ erotic literature, such as Delta of Venus? Or was it a nod to the ancient Persian goddess Anaitis, goddess of fertility? And which was more provocative?

Cacharel was specializing in retro knits at the time and both references for the name were valid enough, although the company always officially went with the latter. The goddess was testament to a peculiar cultural phenomenon on what concerned the position of woman in the zeitgeist: On the one hand Anais Anais with its imagery disrupted the context of feminism in perfume; the complete antithesis of Charlie by Revlon (1973), if you will, where Shelley Hack was dressed in pants skipping off to work or grabbing the bum of a cute guy in the street as an outward manifestation of her desire to be divested of her traditional passive role. These were both youthful fragrances advertised to the young. So what had intervened in those 5 years elapsing to account for such a change? Nothing much. (If you exclude the rush of spicy orientals in the market in the wake of Opium's success). The French aesthetic was always more traditionally feminine than the American one, going for Venus over Diana, and the marketeers soon realized that the beauty industry can't disregard the changes of times, but deep down, it will always depend on the passivity of the consumer into buying "hope in a jar". Perfume is perhaps the most mysterious of all beauty products, ladden with hundreds associations and legion aspirations. It was deemed best to start bouncing the ball back right away... Plus the youth market hadn't been exploited sufficiently (this was back in the 1970s remember) and someone had perceived that the young regarded standard perfume imagery as bourgeois and old-fashioned: they needed their own. Cacharel was extra attentive to grow the market; they put basins in department stores where they encouraged young women to plunge their hands in basins of water, dry them, apply scented cream on them and then finishing off with a spritz of Anais Anais, extoling the virtues of "layering" for a lasting effect. A youth phenomenon was at work.


And Sarah Moon was called for the Anais Anais advertisements: To take shots of women as pale-limped and virginaly innocent as paintings, lily-like, exactly like the opaline bottle and the main core of the fragrance which was built on lilies of the fields. The long limps gained an almost Piero Della Francesca sanctity, the doe-eyed gazes were soft and narcotized, almost. Were they beckoning unto the males watching, inviting by their easy-to -prey-on-passivity and odalisque-style harem numbers? Or were they nuzzling on each other evoking lesbian fantasies? Perhaps the most provocative thing is that the ladies in question all appeared so very.. young; almost under-age! Whatever the intention, the imagery is still memorable: It marks a mental no-mands-land between the advent of feminism in advertising and the regression to conservative values of the 1990s, peppered with some of the issues that still concern those of us who immerse themselves in beauty advertising with a critical eye.

Four perfumers were credited with the creation of Anais Anais jus: Paul Leger, Raymond Chaillan, Roger Pellegrino and Robert Gonnon, working at Firmenich. A surprising fact as the formula isn't complicated or challenging really. The opening is fresh and a little "screechy", a touch
of green galbanum resin felt all the way through the base (galbanum is in fact a base note but it's felt at the top), giving a herbaceous overture that segues into the main attraction: lily of the valley forms the core coupled with another "clean" note, that of orange blossom, sanctified through the wonders of analytical chemistry. White lilies melt as if gaining human form, tender, devoid of their customary spiciness and given a touch of woody dryness. There is a supporting accord of honeysuckle, jasmine and rose, played sourdine; it's not especially felt. The permeating cleanness continues for long before a hint of playful soft leather in the base surfaces alongside indeterminate, powdered woods to give an intriguing twist to the plot: is this an autumnal scent for more mature women, I wonder?
Although I seem to recall the scent of Anais Anais as a little bit more "substantial" in all its softness, there is no major change in its formula last I compared batches, probably because there is not much of allergens-suspect ingredients necessitating restrictions and because hydrocitronellal (lotv note) has been successfuly substituted anyway. It's a pity the parfum concentration has been extinct for some years now, as it played up the autumnal basenotes beautifully.

Notes for Cacharel Anais Anais
Top: Bergamot, galbanum, hyacinth, honeysuckle, orange blossom
Middle: Lily, lily of the valley, rose, ylang-ylang, tuberose, carnation
Base: Cedarwood, sandalwood, amber, oakmoss, incense, vetiver




Sarah Moon photography via weheartit.com and thefashionspot.com