Structure of a Perfume: What it is, How to Achieve it and the Myth of the Fragrance Pyramid

Consider flipping through a fashion magazine for a minute: Sandwiched between glossy pages of advertising with models in ecstatic surrender to the sheer beauty of any given potion of seduction, you will find editorial guides that teach you that fragrances are classified in olfactory "families" and that they develop like music "chords" into top notes, heart notes and base notes, built into a "fragrance pyramid": maximum volatility* ingredients first; medium-diffusion materials following them after the intial impression vanishes; tenacious, clinging for dear life materials last. That should make it easier, right? Well, not exactly.

 The thing is most contemporary fragrances are not built as neatly and the bulk of fragrance descriptors are written with a marketing consideration to begin with. It's not a plot to mislead, but the industry is still shrouded in mystery, offering a rough blueprint rather than an analytical Google map into the largely uncharted terrain of fragrance composition. After all, look what happens with "perfume notes"; we're given the effect in the press material but the real ingredient hiding behind the fragrance note is something else entirely.

So how does one go about it?

 The Fragrance Pyramid and Other Myths of Mysterious Structure 

 Recalling Pharaonic mysteries more than hard science the term "fragrance pyramid" entered the vernacular as a means to educate the public into how perfumes are actually constructed. It was legendary perfumer Jean Carles (Shiaparelli Shocking, Dana's Tabu and Canoe, Miss Dior) who used this stratagem to explain a perfume to an industry outsider. The "fragrance pyramid" concept embodies the classic three-tiered French structure of such great perfumes of yore as Ma Griffe by Carven (another Jean Carles creation) or Bal a Versailles (Desprez), where the denouement reveals distinct phases resembling a 3-D presentation. You get all different angles while the perfume dries down on the skin; a slow, engaging process to an often unexpected end.

 Consider too one of the tightest traditional perfume structures, the "chypre" (the name derives from the homonymous archetype perfume by Francois Coty, in turn inspired by the ancient blends from the island of Cyprus, i.e. Chypre in French): a harmonious blend (i.e. an accord) of bergamot (a citrus fruit from the Mediterranean basin), labdanum (a resinous extraction from rockrose) and oakmoss (a lichen from oaks). This compact form, like a musical sonata, has a clear progression of themes, from elegantly sour to resinous/sweet, down to mossy/earthy, but all work together in simultaneous harmony, becoming more than the sum of their parts. On top of this basic skeleton perfumers may add flowers, fruits, grasses or leather notes, giving a twist to this or that direction like a shift to a kaleidoscope; this allows them to flesh out the core's striking bone structure, just like makeup accents luscious lips and expressive eyes over solid jaws and prominent cheekbones.

Not every fragrance is built on the pyramid structure (or the "chypre accord" for that matter), nor is it a foolproof guide of deciphering a perfume's message. Guerlain's Après L'Ondée (1906) plays with the contrast of warm & cool between just two main ingredients: violet and heliotrope; the rest are accessories.

 Comparing Guerlain Shalimar (1925), Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps (1948) and Lancôme Trésor (1990) we come across three different styles of composing, of structuring a fragrance: The first is reminiscent of older-style fixation of natural ingredients (lots of bergamot) via the triplet of animal products (civet, an animal secretion), balsamic materials (benzoin, Peru balsam) and sweet elements (vanilla, tonka bean). The second is pyramidal. The third is almost linear, the same tune from start to finish, a powerful message on speakers.

 In linear fragrances the effect is comparable to the unison of a Gregorian chant: the typically fresh top seems entirely missing, replaced by trace amounts of intensely powerful materials boosting the character. Lauder's White Linen or Giorgio by Giorgio Beverly Hills are characteristic examples. Sophia Grojsman was in fact the one who introduced this minimalist style with maximalist effect, composing an accord of 4-5 ingredients that comprise almost 80% of the formula (as in Trésor, based on a formula originally made for herself). This accord was then flanked by other materials to provide richness and complexity. Times have changed, fragrance launches have multiplied like Gremlins pushed into the ocean and consumers' attention span has withered to a nanosecond on which to make a buying decision. No wonder contemporary perfumes are specifically constructed to deliver via a short cell-phone texting rather than a Dickens novel published in instalments in a 19th century periodical. Other considerations, such as robot lab compounding, industry restrictions on classical ingredients due to skin sensitising concerns and the minimalist school of thought emerging at the expense of Baroque approaches, leave recent launches with increasingly shorter formulae. But that's not de iuoro bad either. One of the masterpieces of perfumery, Guerlain's Mitsouko, consists of a short formula! A succinct, laconic message.

 Some fragrances are built like a contrapuntal Bach piece and others like Shostakovich: Comparing a fragrance by Jean Carles or Edmond Roudnitska with one from Sophia Grojsman or Jean Claude Ellena are two different experiences. That does not mean that contemporary perfumes are devoid of architectural merit. On the contrary. Refined compositions like Osmanthe Yunnan or Ambre Narguilé (both boutique-exclusive Hermès, called Hermessences) showcase the potential of this school. Structure is not only given by arranging the volatility of ingredients. It's how each material plays its delineated role into achieving the overall fragrance. Structure is consolidated by using the requisite materials and ratios to provide what is commonly referred to as "the bones" of a fragrance. Most often these materials happen to be synthetic, because they consist of a single molecule (in contrast a natural, such as rose absolute, can contain hundreds of molecules), they're stable and produce a closely monitored effect in tandem with other dependables.

For instance Grojsman's Trésor uses a staggering 21,4% of Galaxolide, a synthetic "clean"/warm smelling note. Jean Claude Ellena is famous for maxing out the technical advantages of woody-musky ingredient Iso-E Super in his fragrances for structure and diffusion.

In the end structural analysis is for the professionals. The wearer can experience the fragrance linearly, circuitously or languidly; it ultimately depends on his/her sensitivity, perception, attention-span and education.

ref: Robert R. Calkin, Joseph Stephan Jellinek, Perfumery: Practices & Principles, 1994 John Wiley & Sons
pic od ad coloribus.com

Definition: French Style Perfume ~Connotations & Meanings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The "Mousse de Saxe" Base: Creation History, Notes, Influence on Perfumery

Writing about perfume history is an acre of land strewn with minefields. Little has survived into its original form and the industry has been ferociously shrouded in secrecy. Writing about those more elusive, less known aspects, such as perfumers' bases, is even harder because it involves talking about raw materials, and raw materials that are a manufactured composite rather than a single ingredient/molecule at that. Among the most famous bases is De Laire's "Mousse de Saxe".

Structure & History of Creation of "Mousse de Saxe"

The "Mousse de Saxe accord" is comprised of geranium, licorice (created with anise), isobutyl quinoline (leather notes), iodine and vanillin (synthesized vanilla). It was used since the turn of the 20th century and produced by the great aroma-producing firm of De Laire, a composite made by Marie Thérèse de Laire. Edgar de Laire's wife gave birth to the new branch of the factory dedicated to the production of aromatic compounds in 1895. Founded by chemist Georges de Laire (1836-1908), the de Laire firm quickly became a source of synthetic aroma chemicals and "perfumers' bases" (i.e. a ready-made accord of ingredients producing a specific effect, such as famously Prunol, Bouvardia, Ambré 83 and Mousse de Saxe), but also of finished fragrances such as de Laire's Cassis from 1889 or Miel Blanc.

Dark, earthy, mossy bases were in production even in the late years of the 19th century, long before oakmoss and tree moss would fall under the rationing of perfumery regulatory body IFRA, and besides Mousse de Saxe there was also Mousse de Crête (Creatan moss) and Mousse de Chypre (Cypriot moss). The geographical names might hint at some inspiration coming from a material found in Prussia (most of the perfumery mosses traditionally came from the Balkans), much like the dark blue hue in painting is called Bleu de Prusse (Prussian blue) from the military uniforms of the men of the -then independent- Prussia, a counry sharing lands amongst modern day Germany and Poland (The dye was produced in the eighteenth century via sulfuric acid/indigo).

Odour Profile

Mousse de Saxe is a complex creation: It has a dark, sweetish, mossy-woody powdery aspect (indeed chypré) with green, fresh, bracing accents and a musk and leather background of "animalic" character, which is very characteristic once you experience it. De Laire probably infused it with its own revolutionary ionone molecule (which entered in Violetta by Roger & Gallet). The bracing, "cutting" freshness is due to the quinolines (bitter green leathery with a hint of styrax), as De Laire was among the first to produce these novel ingredients.
This base must have been a novel approach in the years of its creation and one can only imagine how perfumers of the time had received it, since perfume formulae have remained a well-kept secret for so long. That reception must have been overwhelmingly positive nevertheless, because of its influence in perfumery in later years.

Fragrances in Which Mousse de Saxe is Perceived

The Mousse de Saxe base is most prominent in Caron's classic Nuit de Noel (1922) but it's used in many Carons; especially the older ones composed by founder Ernest Daltroff. This accord is what gives many of the older Carons their dark undercurrent.

A similar effect is reproduced in perfumes from other brands; notably acclaimed perfumer Guy Robert admits as much as using the backbone of it in his creation for Rochas, Madame Rochas and in Calèche for Hermès.
Other perfumes which present a similar background note are Habanita by Molinard (which also used the Mouse de Saxe base), or the directly influenced base notes of Bois des Iles, Chanel No.19, Grès Cabochard, Shocking by Schiaparelli and YSL classic Opium.

Recently the term "Mousse de Saxe" has lapsed into the public domain and now belongs to Parfumerie Générale and its perfumer Pierre Guillaume who used it in his Papyrus de Ciane press material to describe the base notes used for his modern green, mossy fragrance. Dawn Spencer Hurwitz is also doing an homage to Mousse de Saxe in her Pandora perfume.

Mousse de saxe is discussed in Michael Edward's book Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Vintage fragrances (history, info, reviews), Aroma Materials for perfumery
photo on top via Lightyears Collection

Guerlain Cuir de Russie: fragrance review of a rare vintage

The Russian Leather theme (termed Cuir de Russie due to the invasion of the Francophones into the Russian diplomacy) was very popular at the end of the 19th century. (Refer to our article Cuir de Russie vs. Peau d'Espagne for history and differences between leather themes). Tanning de facto involved less than pleasant smells and tradition in many countries was to further aromatize the end product with fragrant essences to hide the manufacturing process off notes: In Italy they used frangipani (hence gants frangipani), in Spain camphor and ambergris, in France orange blossom, violet, iris and musk were the usual essences prefered. Legend has it that Cuir de Russie as a scentscape was randomly born when a Cossack warrior, galloping across the endless Russian steppe, came up with ‘the idea of rubbing his leather boots with birch bark in order to waterproof them’. Russians tanned their leathers with willows and poplars, as these are common species in the vast steppes. The finishing off involved birch bark oil, which when "cooked" in large pans over an open fire gives a very distinctive odour profile. This is roughly what we have come to describe as "Russian Leather" in perfumery.

This commonplace, rural idea gave rise to perfumes termed Cuir de Russie indeed by L.T Piver, Vonna, Godet, Figuenet, even 4711 or the Russian Leather by Davlin (but forget about Caron's famous Tabac Blond: that one was conceptually different), to results that would capture the imagination of perfumers for the better part of the early 20th century. The most popular and well-known incarnation is undoubtedly Chanel's Cuir de Russie (1924), but Guerlain took the idea and flew with it almost exactly 50 years prior to Coco (in 1875), producing one of the first documented Cuir de Russie fragrance types.

Chanel was inspired by the popularity of Les Ballets Russes in the 1920s and her affair with Russian Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich; Guerlain and their perfumer Aimé Guerlain by the military grandeur of all the Russias. At the 1870s Russia was in a pre-revolutionary turmoil, its population booming beyond any expectation (its peasants comprising four fifths of that sum), its military always feared whenever they intervened southerner of their Azov and Don border. Tolstoy was writing Anna Karenina (and publishing in instalments in The Russian Messenger) and War and Peace; both significantly involving military men in the plot. If the French had learned one thing through the recent Franco-Prussian War it was the necessity of building a modern army. Military themes were into the back of people's minds throughout Europe. And, irony of ironies, while the rest of Europe was paying attention to the much needed modernisation proceedings in Imperial Russia, the emerging clan of the Slavophiles was hard at thought on how to return to a simple peasant life!

With this historical  flashback in my mind, I was lucky enough to get some  of the preciously rare old Guerlain perfume through the dedication of an Austrian collector and the fragrance seems to me as the spermatic idea of the leathery backdrop to the quinolines of Guerlain's most classic scent, Shalimar. In fact what I smell is like a cross between Cuir de Russie by Chanel (elegant floralcy upon leather backdrop) and Jicky or Shalimar's drydown (smooth, suede-like, tactile feel, a little smoky).
Even though Cuir de Russie by Guerlain is initially properly bitterish with what seems like herbs, galbanum and oakmoss, with a smoky aspect and not too much tar, the progression veers into a much more supple finish superbly poised between masculine and feminine. The opening notes are folded into the spicy (like carnations), leathery, bitter-almonds facets of styrax resin ~and maybe a hint of the sweetness of Peru balsam as well.
The heart is fanned on jasmine (boosted and "opened" by animalic civet, possibly) and the intermingling with leather is delicious and lush: what I see through Guerlain's Cuir de Russie are purple suede gloves gathering Indian blossoms in the cool evening breeze; a warm wrap upon naked shoulders brushing off long, chandelier earrings while sitting at the dacha; the feel of a firm gloved caress rather than the crack of a military whip...

Related reading on PerfumeShrine: Guerlain series (reviews of Guerlain perfumes), Leather series (reviews, production & history of leather fragrances)

Visit Mr.Guerlain for great photos of Guerlain bottles
Painting On the Turf by Russian painter Ilya Repin

Chanel No.5 Bath Oil: Inspiring the Aspirational & History of No.5 Bath Oils

When the times are tough a little pampering goes a long way. But it also proves to be a wise marketing strategy with a purpose. French fashion house Chanel is enticing online purchasing and emphasizing its exclusivity with a limited-edition Chanel No. 5 Bath Oil and limited-time free shipping on its Web site. Chanel is no stranger to upping the aspirational factor, or even obscuring a few of the less than nice aspects of its history, in order to create buzz. In Tilar Mazeo's book these are plenty evident.

But today's world rolls on word of pixel, rather than just word of mouth ~or even aesthetically glorious advertising. Indeed the new bath product is advertised by just its bottle, with newsletters announcing it in bold typeface of white on black background. Very Chanel!

This current strategy has even inspired Luxury Daily to comment that "Chanel may be aiming for younger consumers by connecting with them on a channel where they usually are found. The brand could also be trying to connect with consumers who may not be able to afford luxury products now, but may be able to in the future. The younger aspirational consumer is a market that many luxury brands are trying to hit, most notably through online marketing".

“With the introduction of the No. 5 essential bath oils and all the hype around the product being labeled ‘heavenly’ by fashionistas everywhere, this is a great way to get a younger demographic onto the Chanel ecommerce site,” according to Tania Doub, retail strategy lead for Optaros, Boston, as quoted by the journalist.

For those who are wondering about the new formulation of the iconic Chanel No.5 feedback is positive. Chanel is no stranger to luxurious and silky body products. Indeed it was some years ago at the advent of the millenium when they last issued a specific  bath oil with the tag Chanel No.5 Huiles Essentiels pour Le Bain (Technically not 100% accurate; this was a three-phase product with segments floating on on top of the other which you had to shake in order to mix and pour, as you can see on the picture on the right. It made for fantastic displays on bathroom shelves, I can tell you! Plus it smelled like a softer, still musky, but much less aldehydic version of the scent of No.5, which is enticing enough for both those who can't stomach the aldehydic load and those who just flat out love the classic fragrance).
Chanel also produced a regular Bath Oil in the No.5 line as far back as 1966, advertised with the face and body of Ali MacGraw in memorable ads circulating in the UK.

But that's not just it!

The Bath Oil was produced prior to 1966 (and the subsequent 1971 campaign) still: Older advertisements from 1963 suggest "now bathe in Chanel", with just a sketch of a young agile woman putting her hair up in order to enter a bathtub filled with foamy water containing scented bath oil.

And two years later the formula becomes an After-Bath Oil Spray, thus providing a non-alcoholic version of the iconic perfume for fans to enjoy, at a reduced price and a more practical edition.


The new Chanel No.5 Intense Bath Oil formulation follows into the steps of the older one, providing either a stand-alone fragrancing product (as suggested by its intense moniker or to accompany Eau Premiere (with which it would amorously couple) or alternatively under any of the versions of the classic Chanel No.5 for loyal fans.

vintage ads via http://www.advertisingarchives.co.uk. Click to enlarge.

Perfume Stories: A Worth Quintet

By popular request, a new feature is launching on Perfume Shrine today: Perfume Stories; tales of fragrant history and exaltation of the senses interweaving snippets of inspiration into popular & less known fragrances' lore, which charm and seduce with their own mystery. For this first instalment, we immerse ourselves in the trail left by the Parisian house of Worth.

The house of Worth is invested in its own illustrious patina: Founded by an Englishman born in Lincolnshire, Charles Frederick Worth, it almost signlehandedly established couture upon opening quarters in Paris in 1858 in collaboration with Otto Bobergh, due to the lucky occasion of impressing Princess de Metternich, the wife of the newly appointed Austrain ambassador in Paris. She in turn impressed ~with her Worth-sewn dress costling only 300 francs!~ Empress Eugénie, the coquette and dazzling wife of Napoleon III at one of the three balls the royal couple gave at the Tuilleries Palace during the winter season of 1859. Thus is the story recounted:

"Eugénie had taken a liking to the young and vivacious Princess Metternich, and on that night when the empress noticed her dress (so the princess recounts in her memoirs) the following conversation took place: "May I ask you, Madam," she enquired, "who made you that dress, so marvellously elegant and simple?"

"An Englishman, Madam, a star who has arisen in the firmament of fashion," the Princess replied.
"And what is his name?"
"Worth."
"Well," concluded the Empress, "please ask him to come and see me at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."
“He was made, and I was lost," wrote Princess Metternich jokingly, "for from that moment there were no more dresses at 300 francs each."

 [ref: Metternich, Princess de, Souvenirs de la Princesse Pauline de Metternich (1859-1871), Paris: Plon, 1922, p. 136]

As is the custom, high society copied the monarchs, when they saw that the couturier was open for business and the birth of modern fashion was afoot. In fact, the house is so much considered a rite of passage for young debutantes and older customers of the haute monde alike, that it is mentioned as a necessary stop-over amidst the protagonists' honeymoon trip to Europe in Edith Wharton's Age of Innocence. Worth eventually branched into London, Biarritz and Cannes, popular resorts for the rich.

But despite perfumery making giant leaps with Guerlain and Houbigant in the throes of the 19th century, it was not until the founder of the Worth company died in 1885 and his grandsons (Jean Charles and Jacques Worth) took over, suceeding his sons, that they hired a high-calibre perfumer named Maurice Blanchet who worked on what would be a bewitching tale of fragrant romance.
Worth, under Jean Charles and Maurice Blanchet, released the five perfumes in a chronological sequence to tell a passionate story: Dans la Nuit (1925), Vers le Jour (1925), Sans Adieu (1929), Je Reviens (1932), Vers Toi (1934): "In the night...towards dawn...without saying goodbye...I return...towards you."

Apart from creating thus a mystical, subtle love confession simply via the names, Worth collaborated with René Lalique into creating memorable bottles for the fragrances: Dans la Nuit was encased in a blue boule bearing the stars of the nightime sky. Vers le Jour was on the contrary in bright, yellowing red glass like the dawn. Sans Adieu was in green, with a cone-head cap with cut-outs which makes an impression even today. 

But what is even more romantic is how Je Reviens in particular became a pop symbol of a landmark in history: At the end of WWII, when American GIs were going back home, after being welcomed into the arms and hearts of European women (women who had known for a brief second -it seemed- a solace from the deprivations of war), this was the perfume they gifted them with; imparting that final goodbye with the promise (and the crushed reality) of an au revoir: "I will return".

The perfumes were relaunched in 1985, and apparently again in 2000 as a "Love Poem" edition of five 0.33oz/10ml sprayers (depicted) crediting the historical perfumer but given a necessary reformulation to comply with modern standards of ingredients control. For instance, Dans la Nuit started its history as a wistful romantic woody oriental, bearing common "signature" traits with the best-known Worth, Je Reviens, and L'Heure Bleue, but recent changes have cheapened the formula by amping the synthetic sandalwood and jasmine constituents giving it a whiff of plastic. Vers le Jour was totally transformed into a modern hissy fruity floral, while Sans Adieu bears the totally anachronistic for a 1920s creation overdosage of Calone (watery melon note) we tend to associate with 1990s scents. Je Reviens was copiously produced, so earlier bottles can still be found rather easily, but apart from the collectable minis, there are two other versions circulating of Je Reviens: The 3.4 oz/100ml Eau de Toilette (bottle with big black cap), which is screechy and weak, and the 1.7oz/50ml Eau de Parfum in the dark blue crennalated bottle which retains parts of the floral aldehydic character of the original.


Still, the new "Love Poem" presentation is worth collecting for the charming story behind it, inspiring us to stack the bottles into confessing that untold passion again and again...
There is currently a 5-pack on sale on Ebay. (NB. Not affiliated).


Photo of bottles in boxes taken & copyrighted by RosieJane/MUA, used with permission. Vintage ad via adclassix.com, periodpaper.com & vintageadbrowser.com

On Lubin's Black Jade: a Perfume Fit for Marie-Antoinette

Parfums Lubin has been a rekindled fragrance brand, after the old house was brought into new ownership some years ago, when the niche market first boomed around the mid 2000s. Engaging Olivia Giacobetti was the first step, issuing and re-issuing fragrances was the second, crucial one; from the legendary Gin Fizz and Idole to the modern Vetiver, as well as the recent crop of releases Bluff, Figaro, Itasca, Inedite. The latest Lubin fragrance release, named Black Jade, is based on Marie Antoinette's signature scent, created by royal nose Jean-Louis Fargeon and inspired by the doomed queen's beloved Trianon gardens in Versailles.  

Black Jade thus contains rose, jasmine, and bergamot, Marie-Antoinette's signature notes. The name for the new fragrance, Black Jade, was inspired by the lore that the queen carried the fragrance with her in a black jade bottle at all times, even when she was imprisoned in the Temple Tower of Paris. It was only before her beheading that she confided it to the Marquise de Tourzel, whose descendants are reportedly still in possession of the original flacon.

Lubin is no stranger to French history: Pierre François Lubin founded the company in 1798 when he began supplying scented ribbons, rice powderballs and masks to "Les Merveilleuses," socially exulted women who frequented Thermidorian drawing rooms of Napoleonic France; and the "Incroyables," members of the subculture that mixed fashion and propaganda which emerged following the terror that was the immediate aftermath of the French Revolution of 1789.

The 2011 edition of Lubin Black Jade has been launched by fragrance company Aedes de Venustas, the well-known niche perfumery which holds a special place in the heart of New York perfumistas. In addition to the original focus on rose, jasmine and bergamot, perfumer Thomas Fontaine infused Lubin's Black Jade 2011 version with galbanum, cardamom, incense, cinnamon, Indian sandalwood, patchouli, vanilla, tonka bean, and amber notes. It belongs to the chypre floral family of fragrances.

This is not the first attempt to recreate Marie Antoinette's scent however: Le Château de Versailles had hired Francis Kurkdjian to create the orange blossom-based M.A. Sillage de la Reine and L'Artisan Parfumeur was inspired for the jasmine-rich  La Haie Fleurie du Hameau, composed by renowned perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena , by the French queen's fated passion for beauty and flowers.

Historical Smells Recreated in a Library of Scents at Osmotheque USA

"To put smells in a historical context is to add a whole dimension to how we understand the world. Boston’s Back Bay, for instance, has at different times been filled with the smells of a saltwater marsh, a cesspool, horses, and car exhaust. Some smells vanish, new ones arise, and some shift in a way that tells a cultural story. The jasmine and leather notes of a Chanel perfume from 1927 help us understand the boldly androgynous women of the flapper era, just as the candied sweetness of the latest Victoria’s Secret fragrance tells us something about femininity today."

To that end Roman Kaiser, a Swiss fragrance chemist, developed "headspace" (a method in which the air around an object, usually a living flower, is analysed and the scent recreated in the lab afterwards) while Christopher Brosius (of CB I Hate Perfume and formerly Demeter Library of Fragrances) has used that headspace technique to recreate more imaginative smells, such as fur coats or worn paperbacks. Others have made this an organized goal in the form of an archive, a veritable library of scents to speak, such as the Osmothèque, headquartered in Versailles, France, which keeps a collection of historically important perfumes, in their original formulas, chilled in aluminum flasks in argon, an inert gas that won’t react with the perfumes like oxygen does, helping them stay stable over time. "Laudamiel is currently spearheading an effort to bring some of these perfumes to New York City, and has created an Academy of Perfumery and Aromatics that will represent the Osmotheque in the United States."

Christophe Laudamiel, a renowened French perfumer who has a daring approach to fragrance and was responsible for the re-enactment of the smelly scenes of the novel Das Parfum (which materialised into a collector's coffret for Thierry Mugler),  is taking advantage of recent breakthroughs in historical exploration for his curating the US-based "library of scents", such as having McHugh of Harvard Universiaty turning on his list of detailed formulas of perfumes and incense encountered in Sanskrit texts; often to intriguing results, as the wealthy Brahmins who took notes on those scents described them in positive and occasionally in negative light. For instance, one of the fragrances Laudamiel has reconstructed contains notes of clarified butter, milk, mango blossoms, honey and sandalwood, while another reeks of rotting flesh, smoke, alcohol and garlic!

Perhaps the greatest challenge lies not in recreation however, but in context: How the people of the time experienced those smells, rather than how they smell to us today, as evidenced by the somewhat lacking recreation of smells in the Jorvik Viking Center in York, England, which takes visitors into the experience of smelling a fish market or a Viking latrine. The challenge of integrating the historical experience into smell recreations is what lies ahead.

data/quotes from Courtney Humphries "A whiff of History" in Boston.com. Read it in its entirety here.

photo of arc in Artemis temple in Jerash, Jordan via wikimedia commons

The Meaning of Perfume (and of Jealousy), as photographed by Helmut Newton

Perfume Shrine has the honour of presenting you with a rare document today: One of the most aesthetically creative editorials on fragrance, appearing on the glossy pages of US Vogue magazine, issue May 1977, and photograpphed by Helmut Newton, following a plot of erotic jealousy played on the exotic locale of Marrakesh. My historical research on the work of photography in relation to interpreting smells into images often leads me to discover old clippings & snippets on yellowed pages, and it strikes me how the main allure of fragrance hasn't waned, connecting perfume with memory and mood enhancing. It's interesting to note that by 1977 the editors of Vogue US were claiming that fragrance was everywhere, being definitively on the rise; it would become a serious industry in the 1980s with the cementing of the fragrance wardrobe idea and the concept of projecting an image through it.

The following pictures can be enlarged by clicking on them, revealing their full size which allows the images to display both their impressive glamorous aesthetics and their retro 1970s text, referencing some of the fragrances we have reviewed on Perfume Shrine, such as Paco Rabanne Calandre and Shiseido Inoui (classified as "greens"), Jean Couturier's Coriandre or Halston by Halston. It also gives some tips on skin type reacting with perfumes,l psychology of choosing a personal fragrance and weather-suiting advice, though I suppose most of our readers know about (and occasionally disregard) the latter. I hope you enjoy!

US Vogue May 1977
The Meaning of Perfume
Photographed by Helmut Newton

 

Thanks to forums at www.thefashionspot.com & MMA for the scan

Guerlain Aroma Allegoria Vitalisant, Apaisant, Exaltant: History & Fragrance Reviews

It's easy to lose track in the Guerlain portfolio: The vastness, scope and sheer volume of perfume produced is astounding, stirring the imagination of every serious perfume collector. Amidst it, some fragrances came and went in a blink: literally! This mainly happened in that moment in time when Guerlain was passing from firm, paternal care hands (i.e. Jean Paul Guerlain's) to luxury market behemoth accountants (i.e. LVMH) during the late 1990s and early 2000s. Aroma Allegoria, a trio spin on the bottle design and concept of the comparable Aqua Allegoria line by Guerlain (fragrances to introduce a new kind of customer to the house), was launched at that time-frame (2002), resulting in a bit of lost compass moment: The directors at the helm felt that the emerging market for "natural", "green" and "aromatherapeutic" was the new trend ahead (and that much was true), so they tried to reconcile that notion with the Guerlain perfume spirit. The experiment was short-lived, and by nature -no pun intended- not entirely successful, but not without some merit, as we will see in our short guide & reviews of the three Guerlain fragrances produced: Aroma Allegoria Vitalisant, Aroma Allegoria Apaisant and Aroma Allegoria Exaltant.

The ad copy went something like this: "For the first time, Jean-Paul Guerlain takes the aromachology path by launching three fragrances built around natural ingredients, which are selected for their soothing or stimulating properties. Although these Aroma Allegoria are beneficial for the mind, in the purest tradition of the House, they are genuine perfumes that are based on original accords. Aroma Vitalisant unveils tea and saffron notes for a stimulating effect. In Aroma Exaltant, cinnamon and cedarwood bring warmth and sensuality. In Aroma Apaisant, lime, chamomile and freesia bring serenity and well-being. The bottles, decorated with golden strings are smaller versions of the Aqua bottles".

Guerlain Aroma Allegoria Aromaparfum Vitalisant (Vitalizing) was launched in 2002 and belongs to the aromatic citrus family of fragrance. Top notes are citruses, bergamot and green notes; middle notes are tea, jasmine and peach; base notes are saffron and woodsy notes. Despite the freshness promised, the impression gathered is a rather camphoraceous, medicinal hesperide, like if the central accord of Shalimar went stale in an attic room where old sweaters are kept: It's hard to see how the customer who disliked that effect in the classic Shalimar (where the effect is very soon upscaled by the delicious opoponax and vanilla underpinnings) would opt for such treatment in this fragrance. The addition of milky and saffron-spicy notes adds creaminess and great lasting power, but also an allusion to food, which might also further alienate the customer who seeks a refreshing, upbeat experience, lured by the vitalizing tagline. If so, Herba Fresca in the Aqua Allegoria line or one of the excellent citrusy (or not) Eaux de Cologne offered by the house accomplish more with less.

Guerlain Aroma Allegoria Aromaparfum Exaltant (Exalting) was launched in 2002 and belongs in the woody oriental family of fragrances.  Top notes are bergamot, cypress, cinnamon and bitter orange; middle notes are virginia cedar, neroli, cardamom and coriander; base notes are vanilla, tonka bean, pepper and sandalwood. Easily the most typically and recognizably Guerlain in the triptych, Exaltant is delicious like a Christmas pudding consumed by the flicker of candles or a log-fire; creamy, lightly almondy, with a wonderful spicy top (fused with Arabian-like spices like cardamom and coriander, laced with a peppery warmth). I distinctly recall that trying it out at the counter, it was immediately my favourite out of the three and in fact I was contemplating of investing in it, at one moment. However I never did. If gifted with it, I would gladly wear it, nevertheless.

Guerlain Aroma Allegoria Aromaparfum Apaisant (Appeasing/Soothing) was launched in 2002 and belongs in the floral family of fragrances. Top notes are freesia and wormwood; middle notes are lime (linden) blossom, mimosa, chamomile and ylang-ylang; base note is vanilla. By its very concept a quiet, soft, child-like fragrance, full of the innocence and tenderness of linden honey, Apaisant is not very floral, in fact it has a softly gourmand touch, thanks to the mimosa (reading a bit like fluffy almonds and honeyed sugar) but remains true to its intended goal: soothing tenseness and providing a buoyant refuge from the stress of every day. I could best picture it as a linear bedtime fragrance, a luxury for one's self rather than a daytime fragrance to meet the world in.


All fragrances in the Aroma Allegoria line are credited to perfumer Jean Paul Guerlain (although only one recalls his style of composition, the Exaltant one) and are long discontinued. They make sporadic appearances on auction sites, although I'm not sure the prices asked are warranted.

pic via delo blog

Myth Busting: What Fragrance Concentration Really Means (Eau de Toilette, Eau de Parfum, Eau de Cologne, Extrait de Parfum, Parfum de Toilette, After Shave, Mist etc)

Although received knowledge wants fragrance concentration to be synonymous with lasting power and "strength" of the scent, largely influencing selling price as well, the truth is a little more complicated, with obscure terms like Parfum de Toilette, Eau Parfumée, Mist, Esprit de Parfum, Eau d'Abondance etc. confusing even some of the more knowledgable perfume lovers! In this small guide, prompted by frequent questions by our readers on fragrance, we try to explain the different terms that pertain to fragrance concentrations with some historical data showcasing the reasons why.

The concentration of a fragrance refers to the concentration of aromatic compounds in the solvent; in fine fragrances this is typically ethanol or a mix of water and ethanol, as denoted on the list of ingredients/allergens on the box. Although a general guideline is presented about ratio of aromatic compound percentage, different perfume houses assign different amounts of essences to each of their perfumes, further complicating the matters. Most agree on at least the general truth of the following though.

Extrait de Parfum, also known as parfum or pure perfume (or even as "perfume extract" following the literal translation from the French), is the highest concentration of scent, containing 15-40% of aromatic compounds. According to the International Fragrance Association (IFRA) the typical percentage is closer to 20% than to 40%. Even though extrait de parfum demands high prices (sometimes stratospheric) and comes in the smallest bottle, making you believe that it should be the strongest concentration, it would be more accurate to say that is in fact the longest-lasting. Several extraits de parfum can be rather subtle and skin-friendly, wafting from the wearer in a less aggressive manner than a loud Eau de Parfum formulated with lots of "projection" or sillage potential. Especially in classic fragrances, which are epoque-representative (such as Guerlain Mitsouko, and Shalimar, Caron Alpona, or Lanvin's Scandal ) or in cult, rare scents, such as Hermes Doblis and Shiseido Nombre Noir, experiencing the scent drop by drop, as befits something precious is the only truly satisfying method of cherishing them.

Originally all fragrances came in extrait de parfum: The perfumer mixes the compound for testing before diluting to several variations. Colognes (or more accurately Eau de Cologne scents, which follow a traditional recipe of citrus & herb notes with very little anchoring by base notes, in reality being a trademark and a specific fragrance) were the exception and formed a category of their own; indeed these were also made in abundance by local apothecaries and pharmacies throughout Europe, each had their own "edition". When fine fragrance was democratisized in the turn of the 19th century, through the invention of aroma synthetics, and more pointedly in the 20th century when it became a veritable industry, perfume houses began offering an Eau de Cologne (EDC) version of their popular scents: This meant a lighter concentration (about 5% of aromatic compounds) in a bigger bottle, which would mean lower price and more juice to be splashed on. These Eaux de Cologne however were not the traditional recipe, nor were they only "lighter" in strength and lasting power compared to the parfums they interpreted. Very often, as is the case of Guerlain, classic Dior and Chanel fragrances from the first half of the 20th century and into the 1960s or even early 1970s per individual case, these Eaux de Cologne were formulated to contain more of the brighter top notes as opposed to their more concentrated counterparts, so as to provide a "sparkle" upon putting on skin, familiar to the consumer from the quasi pharmaceutical/aromatherapeutic use of traditional Eau de Cologne for all ailments. Thus the progression from buying at the chemist's/apothecary and buying at the perfume counter of a famous couture or cosmetics house was made seamless.

Testing a vintage Eau de Cologne (see Guerlain's excellent Vetiver which retains that wonderful tobacco-laced accord) by Lanvin, by Guerlain, by Chanel or by Coty often means a quite lasting fragrance, close -or even better lasting in some cases- than a contemporary Eau de Toilette! They also tend to present different fragrant nuances than other concentration, exactly due to different construction (as infamously evidenced in many Chanels).

Eau de Toilette (EDT), a concentration of between 5-15% of aromatic coumpounds, is also a time-honoured concentration catering to the needs of those who could not afford the precious extrait de parfum, yet still wanted to partake of the dream of glamour that perfume promised, or alternatively  the version meant for daywear, instead of the parfum which was indicated for night-time wearing, much like jewels in bobbed hair and silk satin. The phrase came from the French "faire sa toilette" which denotes the ritual of getting ready, getting dressed. Putting on perfume was considered the final touch on an exquisite presentation of the self.

The first perfume to have the parfum made as an afterthought is rumoured to be Coco by Chanel: Perfumer Jacques Polge was intructed to think of the Eau de Parfum, the popular 1980s concentration, while composing, rather than the denser extrait: By the time that Coco launched, the new generation of consumers were oblivious to the old habit of applying droplets of scent with the dropper/stopper and were familiarised with sprays which had become the norm throughout the 1960s-1970s, catering to the "women on the go". Sprays/atomisers by their very nature tend to dispense a lot of liquid, thus familiarising consumers with abundance. As the 1980s rolled their weird mix of consumerism, carnality, frantic social climbing and political conservatism, fragrances became more and more agressive, a form of olfactory shoulder pads. Thus the idea of a stronger concentration that would introduce the wearer before they even entered the room was born: Eau de Parfum (EDP). Typically 15% (and fluctuating between 10-20% of aromatic compounds), this is a concentration that lasts a long time and is very perceptible in terms of "waft". For those who were of the "bang for the buck" school of thought it also made perfect economic sense, being the best of both worlds.
In certain brands, there might be a separate nomination to denote that, such as millésime at Creed (a term borrowed by wine, denoting a particularly good year).

Some Eau de Parfum fragrances are in marked contrast to their Eau de Toilette counterpart: This might be one of the reasons why the scent you smell on another smells rather different when you buy a bottle yourself. Famous examples include Chanel Cristalle which in EDT is a bright citrus with a light chypre-like base, while Cristalle EDP is a full-blown floral chypre with honeysuckle emphasized in the middle. Yves Saint Laurent Paris is more powdery and crisp in EDT, while being sweeter and more liquer-like in EDP. Chanel routinely twists their fragrances to be slightly different within the different concentrations.
In rare occasions they're a completely different fragrance altogether! Rykiel Women (Not for Men!) in EDP is a sensuous musky-leathery skin-scent. In EDT it is a bright and sweet fruity floral! Elixir des Merveilles, the EDP version of Hermes Eau de Merveilles (EDT) injects fruity-chypre tonalities in the sparser woody-salty scent  ambergris formula of the original.

From then on, there is a bit of chaos. Generally speaking Parfum de Toilette (PDT) is the equivalent of Eau de Parfum, perhaps a bit more spiked towards the higher end of percentage of aromatic compounds (20%), a very lasting, velvety concentration. One of the houses that really rode this notion high in the 1980s was Guerlain, before dropping the term in lieu of the standard Eau de Parfum in the 1990s: Each and every one of their Parfums de Toilette in their popular perfumes was stellar.
Esprit de Parfum  (no abbreviation available for obvious reasons) is a term that is seldom used: Poised between EDP and extrait, containing almost 30% aromatic compounds, it is most famous from Dior who used the concentration in their iconic of the 1980s scent Poison: Interestingly Poison originally came in Eau de Cologne concentration and Esprit de Parfum (alongside extrait de parfum of course), before these two being dropped in favor of the more standard Eau de Parfum and Eau de Toilette in the 1990s.
Secret de Parfum is a specific variant used by Yves Saint Laurent for Opium in the mid-1990s: The maroon bottle involved lattice-work, the concentration akin to Eau de Parfum, but the subsequent substitution with a reformulation of the formula for the Eau de Parfum wasn't unjustified: the product had a greasy, opaque tonality that betrayed the better facets of the original perfume, while the newer Eau de Parfum was truer till very recently (till the 2010 reformulation). 

Perfume Mist, Brume de Parfum, Voile de Parfum, Eau Parfumée, or Eau Sans Alcohol is typically the lightest form of a feminine fragrance: The ratio of aromatic compounds varies between 3-8% while solvent is typically non alcoholic. This was necessitated for two reasons historically: The aerosol mists using propellant were formulated so as not to sting or squirt alcohol in the eyes. Secondly, in the 1990s, when concerns about the allergenic properties of fragrance became more widespread, companies introduced the notion of a non photo-toxic version of their fragrances so that they could be worn all over or at the beach. Some of these fragrances are specifically made as such, such as Dior Bronze "Sweet Sun", which incidentally is launched as "Eau de Bienfait" (approximately Feel-Good, Beneficial Water, as it was included in their suncare line Dior Bronze). Yves Saint Laurent has a very light Opium flanker called Opium Voile d'été.
Please note that the older the fragrance tagged "eau", the greater is the chance that it is quite decent in the smelling/lasting department (superior to a modern variant by the same name): witness Eau de Lanvin concentration for instance for several of their vintage perfumes (My Sin, Arpege etc.)

Masculine fragrances present a mix-up: While as we said Eau de Cologne refers to either the traditional Eau de Cologne recipe/trademark scent first made in Cologne, Germany, or the lighter concentration of a given perfume, many men refer to their fragrance as "cologne". This is mostly an American or Anglo-Saxon phenomenon, due to the reluctance of ascribing themselves as "perfume wearing" (considered effeminate).For instance in Greek the term "cologne" (as well as perfume) is used to denote fragrance for either sex.
More elaborate, additional terms after the name on bottles, such as extrême, intense, or concentrée might seem like indicating concentration but usually they pertain to completely different fragrances, related only because of a similar perfume accord: compare and contrast Chanel's Pour Monsieur and Pour Monsieur Concentrée.
After Shaves of non-lotion-consistency are more old-fashioned: These typically contain a fant 1-3% of aromatic compounds, meant to create a feeling of euphoria upon putting them on without stinging sensitive freshly-shaven skin and quickly disappear altogether.

Eau Généreuse or Eau d'Abondance is a relatively new term, denoting the luxury of huge, honking bottles, meant to be splashed with abandon, a luxury trait inaugurated by the house Hermès (see Un Jardin après la Mousson for instance and the rest of their Jardins fragrances) and followed by Cartier (see Pasha Eau Généreuse or Declaration Eau Généreuse) These scents come in homonguous bottles but in reality are of Eau de Toilette concentration as usual.

Of course there are several other fragrant products, especially in vintage fragrances, when such practices were more common and more varied, from hair lotion (stillboide) by Guerlain to hand-sanitizing water, Eau de mouchoir (handkerchief scent from the Victorian era) and eau de dentifice (for oral hygiene). But they're beyond the scope of this little guide; perhaps we will return on a subsequent guide.

As with everything, largely concentration perception is a personal interpretation within the official guidelines: What seems more lasting or more forceful might have to do with personal sensitivity to specific ingredients and with associations rather than fixed ratios. So, when heading to the perfume counter or when savouring a vintage treasure, give a minute or two to think about what you're smelling exactly.

pics via gildedlife.com & seharm/flickr/somerightsreserved

Tilar Mazzeo "The Secret of Chanel No.5": Fragrance Book Review

Partly a biography of Gabrielle Chanel (nicknamed Coco) and partly a biography of the famous perfume she co-authored, Chanel No. 5, Tilar Mazeo's book is one I knew about right when it was being authored, because I had been approached to assist with a couple of fragrance history questions. That might be why I was so inexplicably late in actually reviewing it, hesitant to deconstuct that beautiful narrative into info and personal opinions on style. Yet, because it is a book that is a real page-turner and which deserves a place in the library of perfume enthusiasts, I find myself thinking about it very often since its release and needing to relay my thoughts in black & white; much like the aesthetics of this iconic bottle dictate.

Cultural historian Tilar Mazzeo, after her best-selling The Widow Cliquot, has written a new book about Coco Chanel's legendary scent, The Secret of Chanel No. 5: The Intimate History of the World's Most Famous Perfume. In it, she skillfully interweaves facts about Chanel's life based on accredited biographers, such as Edmonde Charles Roux's biography Chanel and Her World, and musings recorded by memoir note-keeper perfumer Constantine Wériguine who kept a record of Ernest Beaux's souvenirs (Beaux being No.5' s illustrious perfumer). The inextricable struggle for survival of Coco, who went from orphanage in Aubazine to the cabaret and then on to the fashion atelier, aided by powerful men (Arthur "Boy" Capel, prince Dimitri and von Dincknlage among others) who loved her and aided her, and of her most famous creation, Chanel No.5 is fascinating to unravel.
I can guarantee you that you will be reaching for your bottle of Chanel No.5 every few chapters, in a desire to refresh your memory of what makes this fragrance truly an icon. If you're truly obsessive like myself, you will be putting all your vintages and concentrations imaginable from Eau de Cologne to Eau de Toilette, via Eau de Parfum, all the way to Extrait de Parfum in various dates on the desk and inhaling furtively to catch the secret of a commercial mega-success as recognisable today as Coca-Cola and Nike.

Among the merits of Tilar Mazzeo's book is its fast-paced rhythm which makes it a real page-turner; its wealth of documentation, amply showcased in the Notes section, where yours truly appears twice, no less; in the careful style of language that is engaging and joyful to read; and in the small astonishing facts that appear throughout. Several facts will make perfume enthustiasts perk up their ears and take note, like the notion that Beaux didn't create the first draft for No.5 on command of his patron, nor did he just employ his former recipe for Rallet No.1 which was a Russian Court favourite, before the Bolshevik Revolution which cost Ernest Beaux his stay in the mother land. Beaux was actually questioning prisoners in a location in the remote Archangel port of northest Russia when he noticed the scent of icebergs, wishing to capture this elusive, fleeting odour into a fragrance that could be worn on skin. It will be also interesting to see how Chanel herself was No.5's worst enemy, as she had signed away most of the rights to her fragrance early on to the Wertheimer brothers, and how she spent over 50 years fighting to get it back or destroy it. Indeed if one thing becomes apparent to the knowledgable reader who knew some of these secrets is how the meticulous care and consistent savvy business decisions of the Wertheimers, like smuggling jasmine concrete from Grasse fields to New Jersey laboratories during Nazi-occupied France in WWII, and putting the perfume for sale in Army sale points, have resulted in making Chanel No.5 the legend that it is to this day: the world's best known perfume!

If there is a "flaw" in The Secret of No.5 it is that the author intent on merging the designer with her famous masterpiece narrates the story as if every past deed in Coco's life bears a significance in the creation of the perfume by perfumer Ernest Beaux. It did not, as Beaux was certainly busy composing several first and second and upteenth drafts of his sperm idea years before he met Coco Chanel. But in retrospect everything falls into place and it is this which probably make the author choose this type of narrative style. The composition resonated with Chanel because it embodied everything she and her past stood for: a true classic yet perenially modern; the smell of "Boy" Capel who stood for cleanliness and safety, of fresh laundry & scrubbed skin reminiscent of the Cistercian orpahanage in Aubazine and the fervor of the demi-mondaines, young cabaret performers & societal fringe-living, less-respected women who wore heavy, sweet jasmine and musk scents; a bridge between the risqué and the lady-like, all in an emballage that spoke of Spartan deco restraint and mucho class. So much class and desirability in fact, that GIs were standing in line to get the goods back home during WWII and even Marilyn Monroe publicly proclaimed she loved it without being paid one dime to say she did.
In that regard it reminds me a bit of the cultural approach led by Jennifer Craik in The Face of Fashion: Cultural Studies in Fashion, another recommended read.

Bottom line: The Secret of Chanel No.5, despite its relative lack of pictures (there are a handful but not many), is a perfume book that will not tire or confuse less seasoned/less knowledgable perfume enthusiasts and, at the same time, it will not disappoint those who are more immersed in the aficion. Can I say it is recommended without appearing prejudiced?

The Secret of Chanel No. 5: The Intimate History of the World's Most Famous Perfume
By Tilar Mazzeo
Hardcover, 304 pages
Harper
List Price: $25.99

Disclosure: I bought the book with my own money, even though I was offered an advanced copy at the time of writing.