It was a full seven years since Prada introduced an entirely new perfume for either gender, exploiting its established lines all this time. To my disappointment, the new women's pillar fragrance, Prada Paradoxe, fell short. It's a women's fragrance, yes, like periods are womanly, and it's clean like we're supposed to smell, sanitized.
But that's a pity, as it could be so much more. Especially from a pink colored bottle and box, one expects a touch of irreverence, as they did with the wonderful gourmand of Prada Candy - perfect from start to finish, the witty campaign most of all.
In her directorial debut, Emma Watson was said to embrace all her multiple dimensions – the artist, the activist, the actor, the woman – "in a dynamic, liberating film that captures the empowered spirit of Prada Paradoxe."
The usual suspect, Daniella Roche-Andrier, isn't behind this Prada creation. Three other perfumers are credited with creating Paradoxe. Usually, this fills me with trepidation. Surely one vision split in three, fixed here and there, means that rather than a collaboration of creativity, it is a project that needed multiple sessions in the drawing room to discuss faults and effects? I might be judging too harshly. The perfumers are certainly renowned and respected. I feel this is more of an odd corporate decision on the part of L'Oreal, who own the license for Prada fragrances, after taking over from Puig.
The initial olfactory impression of Paradoxe by Prada is equal parts fruity and floral, nectarous with orange blossom, with a resemblance to both My Way and Libre by YSL, oddly enough.
It then breaks apart and becomes sweeter and somewhat muskier, without abanding the shampoo cleanliness of its core message. Its creamy musk with touches of soft suede is held on the skin for a long time, but the fruit dissipates. Yet with so many floral woody muskies on the market at the moment, what is the purpose of another one in Prada Paradoxe that becomes less than the sum of its parts?
The Favourite is the latest fragrance by British brand Penhaligon's and the story behind it is inspiring. It involves as its protagonist Sarah Churchill, the Duchess of Marlborough (who had an intriguing story), and allegedly the favourite of Queen Anne's in 18th century England. They were formidable women, full of inner strength and conflicting passions, which history does not fully gives credit for. The fragrance is not entirely matching to this background, being more delicate and traditionally pretty than anticipated, though that's not necessarily a problem for those intending to wear it.
An English courtier, Sarah rose to be one of the most influential women of her time through her close friendship with Anne, Queen of Great Britain. Sarah's friendship and were widely known, and leading public figures often turned their attentions to her, hoping for favor from Anne. By the time Anne became Queen, Sarah’s knowledge of government and intimacy with the queen had made her a powerful friend and a dangerous enemy. She was also married to the general John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough, hence her title, so she was accommodated in powerful relations from all sides, one could claim.
photo by Elena Vosnaki
Perhaps the big velours bow in light, sugared almond pink on the bottle is best translating this effect. It's a cloud of fragrance surrounding you with prettiness, light yet persistent, like a ray of sunshine on a warm morning. Innocuous yet pleasant.
The formula by perfumer Alienor Massenet lies on a fruity floral chord, with an appealing and sunny aspect of what comes off to me as litchi at first. It's beautifully rendered, never too sweet, never air-headed, on the contrary tender and soft and leading to a beautiful garland of violets. These violets walk hand in hand with the rose in the heart; their temperament is balanced and they do not lean either candy-ish, nor vegetal, like violets swathed in their foliage which hides their character into verdancy. The violet-rose combination in The Favourite by Penhaligon's feels like the softest swan down puff for powdering your nose, which is apparently what lots of the ladies and gentlemen of the era were doing. Of course analytical chemistry is what we have to thank for the perceived association of violet molecules, ionones, being considered powdery and smelling cosmetic-like in the last 120 years. But it's a small historical detail that would distract from the ethereal character of The Favourite. The copious musk and mimosa/benzaldehyde components, that bring forth an intimate underground for the floral fruity core, are the finishing trail which reveals it was not all fun and games at the royal court.
Tempus fugit and with it tastes change. This is the contemplative conclusion I arrive to from comparing my vintage, original Guerlain Météorites Eau de Toilette (2000) bottle and the re-issued limited edition Météorites Le Parfum (also an eau de toilette) sample I just got. There is no accounting for the huge shift that has happened in the last 18 years and not just at Guerlain. If only by looking upon the chasm between the launch of both I realise I'm getting old; imagine, I had bought the original back then. And undoubtedly a part of my disenchantment with the new has to do with that comparison.
The new fragrance bears little relation to the old powdery floral version, although that's not programmatically a bad thing; one has to stay open for modern masterpieces and the polishing of older concepts being elegantly successful after all. Keeping one's self open for pleasant surprises is the essence of youth. In this case nevertheless it makes for a newer scent that's rather limp-wristed, a bit of a wallflower. Don't get me wrong, it's very pretty, but it could never conjure either retro glamour (like the Guerlain Météoritespowder beads themselves do), or nostalgic reminiscences about women in one's past. It's as if a girl is playing with her mock tea set.
Guerlain Météorites Le Parfum is quite the girly scent, upbeat, with a fruity-floral opening that's like apple-scented shampoo dissipating very quickly, and a rosier tint than its predecessor overall. The violet is present, though it feels more like the refreshing violet leaf we come across in scents like L'Eau de Cartier and Goutal's La Violette than sweetened Parma violets; this violet has a rather mineral feel about it and a flanking of clean musk for whisper soft longevity on the skin.
Thierry Wasser succeeded into translating the retro vintage vibe of the beloved Météorites powder pearls into a contemporary soft clean fragrance and in that no one can't fault him. Indeed the re-issue of Météorites Le Parfum feels like a composition which would equally make the scent of a posh shampoo, which is half the market right now. It's no coincidence that it's accompanying a seasonal makeup collection; it feels a bit of a prop rather than a mainstay in the line.
It's very pretty and very safe, people that feel chocked by powder would probably get lots of mileage out of it, wearing it in the office and on afternoon shopping sprees. People who would expect the heliotrope-violet powder that characterises some of the classic compositions of the historic house, such as Apres l'Ondee and L'Heure Bleue, on the other hand, will be rather let down. Which is rather odd considering Guerlain is well aware that the powdery sweetness of its classics is covetable, judging by their Secrets de Sophie and various incarnations...But it's all down to the times they're a-changin' I guess.
The re-issue of Guerlain's Météorites Le Parfum eau de toilette (2018) is at the time of writing available at Neiman Marcus, the Guerlain boutique at Las Vegas and Place Vendome Haute Parfumerie online.
Nothing could be further apart than the vivacious, gregarious ways of the Greeks and the orderly, over-refined ways of the Japanese celebrating "sakura", the ephemeral beauty of the blossoming cherry trees. And yet, in the transience of "we live only once", I can find all the inherent melancholy of Greek philosophy.
Life is transcient. It slips through the fingers like sand on an empty shore sometime in late September when the days draw shorter and the chill rises off the sea at dusk.
via Pinterest
Cherry blossom fragrances therefore greet me with the conundrum of transient joy over fruitful outcome. I picked this jammy-smelling scent by L'Occitane because it encapsulates disparate elements of the delight in the ephemeral: a touch of rain, a hint of apples and melons to come, peppery jolt in the air, the lingering aftertaste of cherry jam when the jar has been emptied...
Like Henry Miller said "the scent of playing [with a particular part of the female anatomy] on one's fingers is all the more beautiful after the fact because it carries the memory of the finished fact". I am paraphrasing. But you get my point.
The fallen berries that get smashed and mushed underfoot reflect something of the realization of so much waste around us that even useful, succulent things fall to their unintentional demise through a drive that obeys cosmic rules; gravity, fall, squish. Hedonist Cassis by young but talented perfumer Viktoria Minya is certainly not wasteful, bring the tang of blackcurrant and grapefruit into the core chord of Hedonist, her original creation, making for an intense experience that recalls gathering berries in the countryside waiting for mr.Fox.
Viktoria Minya has indulged her original composition with a cluster of variations, each highlighting a separate ingredient, Iris, Rose, and Cassis. The latest, Hedonist Cassis, possibly comes in the most attractive bottle, purple-ish with a touch of the late Prince, if you will.
Berry fragrances probably owe their heritage to the cult best-seller by L'Artisan Parfumeur, the original "berry" which spawned a hundred offspring over the decades since its inception.
The composition here however reminds me much more of the appeal of Yves Saint Laurent In Love Again (a combo of grapefruit and blackcurrant) by perfumer Jean Claude Ellena and doesn't fail to make me smile. The rose note is reminiscent of the chord in L'Ombre dans l'Eau by Diptyque; if like me you tend to shy away from overly prim, Jane Austen roses, and appreciate instead the tang that blackcurrants give to the above mentioned Diptyque fragrance, then Hedonist Cassis is sure to hit you with the epiphany of "oh, there's rose in it". Yes, but oh so delicious.
I am reminded of inconsequential things that have to do with late summer: the droning sound of the bees, the lazy contours of the calamus in the distance, the gentle softening of the sky as dusk sets in lilac hues; refreshing juice full of sour and sweet citruses served on the balcony and the canopy shading the rays while we're reading L'Education Sentimentale, the heroes leaping off the page in their game of social graces, platonic loves and carnal disgraces; freckles slowly forming on a long hellenic nose and lashes prettily faning on a smooth cheek, the comfortable silence of well trodden territory.
Extraordinary lasting power in Heodnist Cassis is an added bonus. For those of you who love a tart synthesis with great balance between sweet and sour and a stonking beat of lasting musky-wood this is your fruity floral pick for summer wear.
Fragrance Notes for Viktoria Minya Hedonist Cassis:
Top notes are black currant, grapefruit and rhubarb;
middle notes are bulgarian rose, grass and cassis;
base notes are cedar and musk.
I recall a particularly tough professor back in my University days demanded such hard-to-crack questions that one way to bypass embarrassment and speech impediments during the ordeal of the oral examination was to begin by defining what a thing wasn't supposed to be, the latter part of the definition implied to be known to both partners in the discussion at least. Example: "Kintsugihas absolutely no relation to ikebana." [ed.note all right, all right, apart from both being Japanese concepts, I mean]. This kind of "definition by negation" is sometimes useful to the fragrance writer because perfume descriptions are so very hard to do justice to in the first place. Palimpsest is one such case, not only because it has an indefinable quality of pure exquisiteness, but also because it is perfumer Mandy Aftel's very best.
Zil Hoque; Oil, 2009, "Palimpsest I" via (recalling the horse in Salvador Dali's Tempation of St.Anthony)
I can begin by saying that Aftelier Palimpsest is nothing like you'd expect an all naturals perfume to smell like; although I'm fond of the raw energy of some all naturals, there is a certain medicinal or vegetal quality that sometimes comes a bit too forcefully at first, which is probably the reason there is so much hesitation among perfume enthusiasts regarding this branch of perfumery art. One of the reasons for avoiding that might be that Mandy is using natural isolates for the first time in such a context, such as gamma dodecalactone (peachy, apricot-y) and phenylacetic acid (a honeyed note). They play out beautifully.
Another thing that I could negate is the official definition of a "fruity floral". Yes, the ripe peachiness is not unknown among fruity floral perfumes, but it's as far removed from the typical Barbie wannabe on the Sephora counter as could possibly be. With a name like Palimpsest I suppose one would expect it to deviate far and wide!
Palimpsest is a word I first came by when I was 15 and readingThe Name of the Rose, the famous novel by Umberto Eco, "a palimpsest" as the authorintroduced it. The cunning of the narrative technique relied on making the narrator retell a story that is based on an even earlier narration, lifted from an older manuscript and with extensive quotations from other books often in their turn referencing even older books. As Eco maintains throughout his opus in an intertextual turn of mind "books talk about other books" which is true enough in my, lesser than his, experience. All the tales are being woven into a "palimpsest", the old parchment scroll that bears writing over former writing that had been carefully scratched off to make room for new but is still vaguely visible beneath. In a similar manner perfumes talk about other perfumes and intertextuality in scent is a wonderful dialogue that I had occupied myself with breaking down a bit in the past.
Aftelier Palimpsest is one such perfume, taking inspirations from several points of departure and offering something new and coherent, recapitulating the history of perfumery, a given since it sprang from the research Aftel did for her book "Fragrant" out this October (you can order it on discount on this link), but being contemporary all the same! Midnight in the Garden of Eden; honeyed streams of lush florals (jasmine grandiflorum) with a sensuous and mysterious Lilith undercurrent of what I perceive as ambergris (a refined animalic perfume note), speak of a layered tapestry where one is hard pressed to see where one golden thread ends and another, in a slightly different hue, begins.
"The gum of the Australian firetree (also known as Christmas tree), or by its official name, Nuytsia floribunda, is sweet and eaten raw by the ingenious people of Western Australia. It's not a common ingredient in perfumery (the only other one I know of was the limited edition Fire Tree by Australian brand Nomad Two Worlds, and I had a hard time warming up to its rawness). I never smelled the firetree as a raw ingredient, so it's hard for me to tell how much of what I smell in Palimpsest comes from it and what is pure imagination. But fantasy is a big part of the perfume joy, isn't it?"
My palette of raw materials, though rather extensive, is similarly limited in regards to this particular essence, so any opinion I might proffer on the adherence to the natural facets of the material would be illusory and misleading. Mandy herself mentions that firetree has rose and lilac facets with a milky undertone that the longer it develops the more it reveals smoky, oud-like, leathery tones. Talk about a multi-tasker! "It possesses an unearthly beauty which, ironically, arises from the soil", says fragrance connoisseur and fairy godmother to indies Ida Meister.
What I can say with certainty myself is that the golden incandescence of Aftelier Palimpsest has to be experienced first hand and quickly at that. Aftelier Palimpsest comes as an eau de parfum (full bottle costs $170) and an extrait de parfum (same price). Samples of either retail at $6, while a mini of the pure parfum will set you back $50 on aftelier.com.
In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample vial directly by the perfumer for reviewing purposes.
Rose stands as a symbol of femininity, at least in the western world. Perfectly formed, delicately or more passionately hued, its scent combining freshness with powder and sweet liqueur can be heavenly ~or it can be hellish. All too often rose fragrances can turn sour or dusty, like moldy pot-pouri that has been sitting for ages unattended and unappreciated at the corner of the window ledge, sitting on a lace doily, fearing for its survival from the leap of a hundred cats vying for the tenant's attention. If you're nodding your head thinking "rose smells of old ladies" and the paraphernalia this cultural stigma evokes, I know you can understand my personal pained story with rose. But not all is doom and gloom in regards to the queen of flowers.
via Pinterest
So what can a perfumer and a clever conceived brand do to avoid this perilous and unpopular situation?
One solution is to go for earthy and thorny and pair rose with patchouli (and possibly white truffle notes), a time-honored, but especially galvanized by niche perfume companies recently, concept. (I think Voleur de Roses by L'Artisan Parfumeur was the pioneer in making this a niche trope).
Another, no less popular route, is to cuddle the rose in peachy lactonic materials, appearing as apricot, peach or nectarine in the list of notes. This has been a collective snuggly and hyper-feminine reference since that mega-blockbuster by Lancome, Trésor, the accord "décolleté" as its creator called it. Of course if you have ever sat next to a woman wearing Trésor you know there is such a notion as "too much of a good thing"; it's as subtle as a sledgehammer and as elegant as a 100 carat diamond hanging off your neck on a chain of thick gold. But this is where the niche brands can employ their finesse (see Liaisons Dangeureses by Kilian and Vive la Mariée by Parfums de Rosine for fine roses that won't suffocate) and M.Micallef is no stranger to the concept.
Rouge #1 by M.Micallef is part Le Collection Rouge (the red collection) which comprises two scents for now (Rouge #2 to be reviewed on another day). Rouge #1, composed by perfumer Jean Claude Astier, encompasses all the guiles of femininity and renders a fruity floral you won't be sorry to pick up for yourself and own. Polished, groomed, lightly powdery, with a fuzzy opening that unites summer fruit and rose, the floral part gains on nuance as the fragrance develops. It's unmistakably rose, but even if you don't usually like roses it manages to seduce you with a smile. The drydown has lots of (clean) musk indeed (with hints of rice pudding, a nice touch which fits with the refined gourmand successes of the brand). All fragrances in this genre are musky, but it blends in seamlessly here (after all Micallef does Royal Muska too, a lovely clean heavy-duty musk scent by itself). M.Micallef Rouge #1 is what you'd picture a young mother wearing, a woman in love and a daughter borrowing perfume off a mother's vanity to graft some of that admired but at the same time cozy, tender feeling onto herself as an amulet against the world. Alas, not fit for most men; sorry guys, this is all ours!
Good projection and very good lasting power from the dab on I have been using. The bottles as usual are hand-decorated by Martine Micallef herself with her usual flair for the artistic and the beautiful and pay homage to the Art Deco style. This is a case where niche isn't just an excuse for charging high prices for hot air.
Notes for M.Micallef Rouge#1:
Top: peach and tangerine
Heart: ylang-ylang, jasmine and rose
Base: white musk, vanilla and benzoin.
Uncanningly similar to the dressmaker's dummy bottle of Shocking by Schiaparelli (1935), a powerful and iconic animalic oriental of a long lost era, fashion's enfant terrible Jean Paul Gaultier began his career in perfumes with his own -originally eponymous (1993), later renamed Classique- Schocking copy bottle, that hid a floriental of intense sweetness and powderiness. The inspiration for Gaultier was his beloved and -we surmiss- glamorous grandmother's vanity with its vats of face powder and nail polish remover smelling of acetone. Interestingly the perfume however plays with this perception of femininity in nuanced ways which defy an accurate transliteration. Despite all that, it's a perfume I can't really stomach, but it deserves its own analysis.
Eye-Catching Looks for Classique
But it is the bottle and presentation that will go down in history, originally in a pink metal corset, later given a frosted glass costume over the smooth glass body of the bottle, so to speak; and then given all kind of variations in all the colours and patterns of the rainbow for limited editions and summer flankers. The box gives an avant-garde touch; like shipped cargo, functional and brown-beige, while the bottle is encased inside the box in a metal can, "like the ones for cat food at the supermarket", as Gaultier put it. Meow....
The commercials were equally eye-catching and memorable, with variations on the theme of femininity, conceived by master image creator Jean Baptiste Mondino to the soundtrack of Casta Diva from Bellini's Norma, as sung by Maria Callas.
Interestingly, if we're to examine the feminist and cultural subtext of the perfume visuals, the Jean Pauls Gaultier commercials themselves have become markedly tamer and tamer as the years went by, reflecting a more sedate "sexy" view of femininity, a conservative retake on the mistress which marks her man's memory with her perfume (alongside her corset and high heels; a panoply of restrictive femme gear that places woman on the pedestral of an object) Contrast with the eclectic bunch of sui generis characters sharing one common element: their love for JPG perfume from two decades ago. Or the apogee of quirkiness in a gay gender playing game in the combined commercials for Le Male and Classique from 2002.
Even the models were quirkier looking back then (Eve Salvail with her trademark shaved head, Kristen McMenamy with her irregular features...to the predictable beauty of Michelle Buswell) and we're just talking about nothing further than the 1990s.
Alice Classique commercial from 1995
Le Diner Classique commercial from 1997
Classique & Le Male commercial from 2002
Scent Description
The opening of Classique is rich in mandarin orange, peach, plum and cassis (a synthetic base that recaretes a berry/currant note), sherbety and sparkling-waxy thanks to the sheen provided by decanal (aldehyde C10), a characteristic element in the archetype No.5. The metaphor of nail polish is made through benzyl acetate, possessing jasmine-like and pear-drops notes. The heart is predictably rosy like the hue of the juice inside, with powerful cinnamic roses and damascones (synthesized molecules that give off intensely rosy-fruity tonalities) given an even fatter nuance by the inclusion of orange flower and ylang ylang, indolic and lushly sweet. A faint hint of spice is accounted by lily and ginger, but it's weak to really characterise the composition as a spicy floral; it resolutely stays within the sweet fruity floral with a wink to the floriental direction.
It is imperative that one loves powdery nuances in fragrances to like Classique, as the quite powdery base is built on a contrast of woody-amber Ambrox with vanillin, the two building to epic proportions of intense diffusion. A little orris note opens an interesting discourse of dryness in the base, beneath the amber-vanilla there is a musky-earthy footnote with a hint of animal; perhaps an ironic meta-comment on Shocking itself by perfumer Jacques Cavallier? Not enough, hidden under the syrup...
Le Boudoir Classique commercial from 2007
L'Appartment Classique commercial from 2009
The Perfumer's References& the Zeitgeist
Cavallier did cite classics, such as Chanel No.5, within the formula but interjected modern elements as well resulting in what proved to be a contemporary commercial hit. You might be forgiven for thinking Classique is va-va-voom material, only it is so for those people who can't help being a bit too flamboyant. For all its intensity and almost cloying fruitiness, it escaped the seal of "powerhouse" that Dior's Poison or CK Obsession bore in the previous decade. The era was ripe for a disruptive aesthetic so the blinding paleness of aquatics and the surypy element of "fruities" led this dance.
JPG's Classique consolidated its place by playing upon an idea that had already found its culmination in Lancome's Tresor in 1990: The peachy rosiness of Sophia Grosjman's modern classic had been the building block upon which a thousand beauty products from lotions and hair products to fine fragrance and fabric softener followed. Tresor's formula has plenty to admire in, but perhaps it's too ubiquitous to claim one's own. But whereas Tresor achieves the perilous balance of naturally lush bosom kept under decorum thanks to its solid perfume structure, Classique for all its rosy girlishness shows rather too much nipple for my taste.
Un Jardin sur le Toît, the fourth installment in the Les Jardins series at Hermès, a technopaegnia sample more than a simple fragrance, follows the success of Un Jardin sur la Mediterranée, Un Jardin sur le Nil and Un Jardin Après La Mousson. But whereas the narrative in the latter sprung naturally from the motifs of the house (Un Jardin sur Nil was based on a previous design of river greenery captured in porcelain) or the perfumer's own travel associations (Un Jardin sur la Mediterranée was inspired by the moment when someone brought a plate of cut figs at the garden of an Hermes's executive house in Tunisia, while Après la Mousson was purposely composed chasing the monsoon in Kerala, India), this latest entry feels a bit constrained.
Constrained for associations: Hermès tend to a rooftop garden (i.e.jardin sur le toît, you see) at Rue Faubourg Saint-Honoré above their Parisian headquarters, but come on; how spontaneous would it be to search for inspiration so close to home now, I ask you? Constrained for accomplishments, too: The fragrance feels a sort of déjà vu, despite its poetic arc and delicacy of execution, traits typically Ellena. Finally, constrained for marketing: Hermès went out on a limb ~amidst braving the hostile take-over attempts from LVMH~ and invited journalists to a cooking class, a horticulturist's part-time occupation and a press presentation no less, all three rolled into one! So the question is, does the fragrance succeed in what it set out to do? It depends on the angle from which you're watching it unfold.
From a purely aesthetic viewpoint, Un Jardin sur le Toît is ~as always for latter part of the house's fragrance portfolio~ an ethereal, beautiful, elegant composition. I wouldn't expect anything else from perfumer Jean Claude Ellena who eschews easy, run-of-the-mill recipes in order to cut out his own path. Un Jardin sur le Toît is typical Ellena; fans will be on the verge of orgasming, detractors will complain about his vegetal, unusual -for standard luxury- accords once again. But therein lies the danger of repeating himself as well: The problem with Un Jardin sur leToît is exactly what should be its strong suit: It's so reflective of its creator it's hard to differentiate it from his other opus. The top section is eerily reminiscent of Kelly Calèche, the drydown dangerously close to the woody-green parts of Un Jardin sur le Nil. Much as one might love both fragrances (and I do), they might wonder at the necessity of launching a separate third fragrance which sounds very much like conceptual looping: the accords sound like a talented DJ's sample scratches, looped into infinity. Inside info wants Jean Claude Ellena to have deemed the Jardin series complete at number three (that's Mousson) and being actively coaxed into producing a fourth one. Pas mal, considering.
Un Jardin sur le Toît from Hermès takes the scent of wet soil, foliage and wild flowers (really, a vegetable patch) as the stepping stone into an herbal epanalepsis of its creator's favourite soundbites. The top stage is effervescent with the tomato leaf (vert de tomate), slightly bitter green, pungent accord that he favours so much (even as far back as Sisley's Eau de Campagne). Whereas in the past this was a bracing breath of fresh air, totally unpolluted, this time Ellena fuses a slightly sweaty element; a bit tarrish, a bit like wet dogs, a bit like compost, in a good way, which merges in a refined way with the more flowery (rose) and fruity (pear, apple) elements. The rose is transparent, more like the greenery in L'Ombre dans L'Eau by Ditpyque or its tratment in Kelly Calèche than anything overtly feminine; peppered and citrusy, a whiff of magnolia in there. Officially classified as a floral fruity, this Rooftop Garden fragrance is as wildly removed from the standard surupy floral fruity as À la Claire Fontaine is from a mass supermarket jingle. Jean Claude Ellena describes it ‘the scent of sunlight and pleasure… a fruity botanical floral’ and that's totally on mark.
Fairly linear and totally unisex, Un Jardin sur le Toî, sustains that repetitive vegetal chord over an indeterminate woody-mossy bass which gives the background that makes the fragrance last and last. The inclusion of oakmoss (evernia prunastri) is what is so sorely missing from many modern time chypres: Who knew the elation of getting one's hands in good, honest earth was only a rooftop away?
The new Hermès fragrance comes in the standard bottles of Les Jardins series, this time in light green bottom, available in 50ml (£55) and 100ml sizes at the eponymous boutiques, major department stores and online.
Composed in 1987, Aria by Missoni is predictably as big as a house. In the 1980s, you see, fragrances announced themselves from around the block like a fat man with a protruding belly and you could smell them down the office corridor too long after the cleaning ladies had picked up after the staff (Missoni themselves had the now discontinued ~and replaced by a completely different animal by the same name~ Missoni by Missoni from 1982). For a fruity floral, the olfactory category equivalent of the shy type at the party who wants to blend in, yet appear a bit flirty like all the other girls, Aria is an unlikely candidate, a masquerade of a bold floral which dons a silly pineapple hair clip in case anyone takes her too seriously.
By no means dissonant, Aria is an euphoric big burst of a bubblegum actually, so suffused with flavourful florals and flowery fruits that it's easy to lose track and imagine things that are not there. The image of a giant, juicy fuschia bubblegum derives from the pink jasmine used, plus ylang ylang, which is buttressed by banana-pineaplle and peachy-lactonic notes. One edge is sweet, the other edge is rather tangy and the combined effect is melodious and expansive; the best of both worlds, really.
Aria never really caught many ears or noses at its time, probably because the brand wasn't particularly in your face and kept an elegant but vivacious Italian tricot profile, i.e. it never caught on the American market. Or it might have to do with the ugly bottle, a plain glass phial toped by a sincerely plastic purple cap that could adorn Debbie Gibson's Electric Youth or something. It just didn't feel like luxury, from the looks of it. Today, Aria by Missoni is discontinued, like much else from that time-frame: now that fruity florals are a dime a dozen it sounds like it's a shameful loss of especially good, happy jingles.
You can find old stock at stockists/online discounters or auction sites. There's even some at Amazon right now.
Notes for Missoni Aria:
Top notes: lemon, bergamot, pineapple, banana, raspberry, peach
Heart notes: carnation, tuberose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, lily-of-the-valley, rose
Base notes: sandalwood, tonka bean, amber, musk, vanilla and cedar.
Hearing that Marc Jacobs's latest foray into fragrance, Daisy Eau so Fresh, is directed at a "younger audience", one pauses to wonder if 5-year-olds are in need of a little grooming cologne for when they're going out to the playground to meet their friends. The original Daisy, in the bottle with the white rubber Takashi Murakami daisies, is already the personification of the young & hip bright fruity floral: Nothing earth-shattering, a pleasant smell that stands as the perfect "safe floral" for office wear, casual parties and anytime you just can't be bothered to indulge in the splendor and challenge of niche brands such as Serge Lutens, Amouage or Etat Libre d'Orange. In fact the canon of Marc Jacobs is unchallenging, inoffensive perfumes, with possibly the exception of Bang, an entry reminiscent of more exclusive-niche fragrances. Daisy Eau so Fresh, a flanker fragrance to the original following the success of its antecedant, continues on the same sure path that the rest of the Jacobs bottles are merrily heading with a rather nice twist.
What's that twist?Daisy Eau so Fresh is taking a slightly retro route to do so, contrary to the ad copy ~perpetuated via online media, haven't these people smelled the scent?~ which advertises this as "more fruity, more bubbly, more fun". We're obviously dealing with a marketing emphasis on what sells best (which in itself isn't very promising), because this isn't fruitier than the original, nor is it more "bubbly". On the contrary the fragrance's effect is composed in a roundabout way via the distinctive nostalgic note of violets: lots and lots of green violet and violet leaves (via ionones and methyl octyne carbonate /Nonadienal I'm led to believe). Allied to fresh rosy-berry accents and "clean" musks it is a scent on the cusp of "scrubbed" and pear-liquer-like: its sweetness comes via ways that do not recall foodstuff or lush white flowers.
In fact the formula reminds me quite a bit of the re-orchestration of Givenchy's L'Interdit from 2003 in the rounded shoulders rectangular with the small gold cap (there was another reformulation in 2007); same with the violet leaves heavy Balenciaga Paris from last season: the leitmotif is similar and it's a very pretty idea in the realm of "fresh" or "crisp" in a non-citrusy context that should be easy for spring or summer wear. Sillage and tenacity are average for Eau so Fresh.
If pressed to choose between the original Daisy and this one, I would probably pick Eau so Fresh over it, although you'd have to be quite persistent in your persuasion to begin with.
The company certainly used a bit of fanfare during the press launch: Guests were greeted by a horse named Dotty, proceeding to spend their evening sipping cocktails, eating steak, and listening to a DJ set by Daisy Dares You, all the while surrounded by the sweet aromata of raspberry and lychee. Top model Hannah Holman is the face of Marc Jacobs Daisy's latest advertisement, photographed by Juergen Teller.
The bottle, taller and more rectangular than the original Daisy, with a cluster of 6 rubber daisy petal appliques in white, yellow and pink, is simply adorable in its kitsch-cute way, even for a decided aesthetics cynics such as myself.
Notes for Daisy Eau so Fresh by Marc Jacobs:
Top: grapefruit, green notes, raspberry and pear
Heart: jasmine, rose, violet, litchi and apple blossom
Base: musk, virginia cedar and plum.
Daisy Eau so Fresh hits the US market on February 27th at major department stores in 75ml and 125ml of Eau de Toilette.
Sasha Varon Luxe Parfums is behind Soulgasm, the first of what seems a new line of perfumes self-positioning into niche territory. The main factor that I was interested in trying it was that part of the proceeds for each sale of Soulgasm goes to the charity Vitamin Angels. Vitamin Angels reduces child mortality by connecting infants and children under five with vital nutrients, especially vitamin A and zinc, and has been working in 40 countries around the world in 2009. Vitamin Angels has been awarded two consecutive 4-star ratings from Charity Navigator for sound fiscal management, so I guess they do send over the "green". (visit vitaminangels.org for more info)
The company boldyly presents itself thus: "Established to create masterpieces uniquely rebellious of today’s status quo, Sasha Varon steals the stage with its first offering; SOULGASM, Heaven Sent, Hell-bent… In an oversaturated market where packaging differentiation is crucial for sales success, Sasha Varon’s Soulgasm, with its provocative, sexy, vintage-inspired styling & feel takes you back in time, telling a story that reaches out and dares you not to pick it up and satisfy your curiosity". NOTES for Soulgasm: Head: Succulent Peach, Anjou Pear, South African Freesia, Ripe Black Currant Heart: Wild, Night-Blooming Jasmine, Delicate Eurasian Lily, Multi-Faceted Woodberry Base: Clean Musk, Warm Amber, Sweet French Vanilla
Sounds cool? Hmmm....Colour me sceptic.
I can't say I was impressed by Soulgasm's scent, certainly not in reference to the expectations that the ad copy creates (paradisial and inferno-touched at the same time, please note)! And the retro packaging and burlesque-inspired playful images (boosted by 40s-style jazzy music on the site) that accompany it prepare one for something completely different! In that respect there is a serious incongruity between image and scent: I'm sure they have their reasons. Left to one's own devices, one (not me, I'm afraid) might appreciate the fragrance for what it is: a very mainstream and potent fruity floral. Certainly in a sea of fruity florals it is difficult to differentiate between them and indeed smelling Soulgasm reminded me of something I couldn't put my finger on. Was it the peachy Maybe Baby and the pear-meets-wet-dog-note of Petite Cherie rolled into one? Perhaps. The thing is the scent is VERY fruity, peach-dominated with strong berry notes and not especially floral, more shampoo-directed. One would be hard pressed to distinguish specific notes under the fruits, although I'm sure there is synth lily of the valley and synth violet to help expand the feel and open up the fruits ~as if it was necessary. It is very lasting and judging by my small sample vial which allowed a few squirts it projects quite a bit. Fruito-phobics should keep their distance.
The fragrance is available exclusively online and at Beautycafe.com You can check out for yourself at Soulgasm (The site is really well done and the music is great auditory backrground if you're doing something menial, like washing dishes or taping envelopes at the office, while thinking about 40s classic noirs: I guess they did those things then too but more glamorously!)
In the interests of full disclosure I was sent a sample vial via a PR promotion.
When the same name for a fragrance is used through the decades to denote varying scents, things get entangled. Zen by Shiseido is one such characteristic example. To disentangle them here at Perfume Shrine we try to shed some light on what differentiates each version.
There are actually three Zen fragrances, all by Shiseido, in different packaging and smelling rather differently from each other. The original Zen Eau de Cologne (and parfum) from 1964 comes in a black bottle with hand-sketched gold flowers on it. It's a green spirit with fangs which bite hard! Unsettling and completely unbefitting the serene name, it makes for a thunder entrance: Bitter and sharp, white floral in the heart in the manner of gardenia chypres of old but quite angular still, and with an incense twist somewhere (smoky), while the base is all mosses and bitter leather. Excellent on a guy! In fact probably better than on a woman maybe. The re-issue available at Nordstrom's right now is supposedly very close to the original daring formula and is termed Zen Classic to differentiate it from the following versions. I have also come across an Eau de Parfum mist version of it online.
The chronologically intermediary Zen was encased in a pretty white bottle with rounded, friendly contours in a white box with beautifully tactile, subtly shiny surface. The fragrance was presented in Eau de Parfum Aromatique (that's what it says on the box). Less bitter, more fruity floral with a lovely rose note which Shiseido tells us was allegedly grown in space (the product of careful tending by astronauts aboard the space shuttle), it has no leather-mossy feel but ample musks & woods in the base. It's a soft and lovely rendition which approximates its name much more convincingly than the original version, was completely in tune with the 90s in both concept and visual representation (half pebble, half high-tech gadget) and the general Shiseido aesthetic and has been loved by many. It's now discontinued but still available online.
The new version of Zen was incarnated in a cube bottle, architectural, designesque and downright fancy in 2007. The smell however is nothing like either of the older ones. Modern Zen has a fruity-fresh opening, instead of the characteristic bitter green of the original, seguing to spicy and ambery (ambroxan)-patchouli notes. Although the base is generic and rather non distinctive, the spicy accent is quite pleasant, redeeming it. Still, in a sea of ambery patchouli fragrances with fruity notes it's not marking its territory in any significant radius.
There's also a flanker to that one -i.e. a 4th Zen, affectionately called Zen White- in a different coloured cube, supposedly for summer and more metallic-citrusy in tone. Finally there is Zen for Men in a greyish-blue bottle that follows the cube-shape of the modern Zen for women. Its scent is centered on spicy woods and musk. All the modern Zen versions are available at department stores wherever Shiseido is carried.
Accessing the popularity stakes and artistic success of a bestseller is never an easy thing. Perhaps it's the competitors who speak most frankly about its cachet: As Thierry Wasser, head perfumer at Guerlain at the moment, revealed in an interview on Swiss television, "Every one of us wants to make the next J'Adore!"
The aphorism ~on a fragrance with a name that means "I LOVE it!"~ was meant to convey the ubiquitousness of the scent, its staggering approval by consumers from young to old. Such ubiquitousness in fact that its commercial's televised air-time 10 years after its introduction in 1999 has raised questions on a popular perfume forum about the reasons behind it!
The makings of a best-seller
You see, gone are the days of Chanel No.5 when commercials were running for the same scent for decades: Today the fast-paced churning out of fragrances means that the bombarding with advertising images changes dramatically from season to season with the latest and the glossiest catching page after page and air-minute after air-minute in an attempt to lure us into the Great New Thing. Alas, so very few times they deliver. Yet there is no question about Christian Dior's fragrance enduring presence in both the media and ~what's more important~ on the dressers and the bodies of countless women on the planet: Yes, by that token Dior's J'Adore is a modern classic!
Stating such a claim makes eyebrows raise on perfumistas' foreheads, accustomed as they are to the exclusive, the arcane, the unattainable or alternatively the vintage, the classic and the ultra-rare. But the beauty of perfumery is that one doesn't need to go up digging for Alexander the Great's grave (a task several worthy people have been unsuccessful at, its location forever unknown); one can find a good thing even almost on their doorstep (or in this case their local Sephora) and like Alexander's golden locks it is gilded and shiny with its "giraffe women" necklaces around the stem of the bottle and screaming with every drop of its jus "I'm covetable". A gorgeous face in Charlize Theron's shoes strutting her statuesque shape is challenging ~but also promising to~ every woman to become a living goddess! "Woman is an idol, and must be adorned to be adored," wrote Charles Baudelaire and Dior was quick to snatch the immortal line for their own purposes.
Pinkification: more to it than meets the eye J'Adore (pronounced Za-DORH) clout however took an unexpected and fascinating path to form. Back in 1999 the fruity floral vogue was just catching on, as consumers tired of the acquatics and ozonics of the 90s and of the realisation that the dot com prodigies were not something to sustain the economy as foretold were searching for a little girliness, a little pinkiness ~even a reversion to the mental age of Barbie some would say! (and who can blame them in retrospect?) A recent article at The Guardian talks about the pinkification of our culture where beauty "gurus" emote in exalted girly-tones that could shutter crystal and have you screaming up the walls with devious and not so devious plans on assassinating the perpatrators of those auditory crimes. (parodies abound, so not all hope is foresaken). The cultural background of this phenomenon is vaster than the scope of those pages, yet a fragrance such as J'Adore managed to come aboard at the exact time when the wave of girlishness was gaining momentum. And we have to grugingly admit: Among all the girly fruity florals, J'Adore actually manages to inject a little womanly touch there too: It's not completely air-headed! In Dior's portfolio it is something of a chasm, a no man's land where the classics (Miss Dior,Diorissimo, Eau Fraiche, Diorama, Diorling, Diorella, Dior-Diorand Dioressence) along with the established (Dune, Poison and some of the latter's flankers) veered off in favour of the modern specimens which are targeted to a different audience (Addict, Addict Shine, Forever and Ever etc.).
In a way J'Adore was the catalyst which ushered the pounding thumb of fruity florals not only chez Dior but along the widths and the breadths of the feminine fragrance market. Calice Becker, the perfumer behind J'Adore, is famous for her symphonic yet non-obese florals. Essentially linear, J'Adore begins and ends on a complicated yet quite fresh bouquet that oscillates between the velvety sheen of orchids and champaca with their sensuous air and the fruitier elements of rich plum, sprinkled with droplets of sweet citrus fruit, hints of greenery and a soupçon of violet & rose coquetry (ionones). The whole is underscored by cassis (a synthetic base very popular in the 80s, also used in Poême with which it shares an indefiniable vibe) with subtle woods. The longer the perfume stays on the more it projects that latter element. The eau de parfum's tenacity is indeed phenomenal and it manages to radiate even from the blotter for a while.
And when all is said and done, it smells nice. I wouldn't trail the Himalayan Route for it like I would with other fragrances and it's a little too sweet and ubiquitous for my personal tastes, but it's a round, feminine scent that attracts compliments. Think about how women have passed you by at the street, your nostrils quivered at their scent and you almost murmured j'adore....
Notes for Christian Dior J'Adore: Mandarin, champaca flowers, ivy, African orchid, rose, violet, Damascus plum, amaranth wood, blackberry musk
Dior J'Adore Special Editions and Flankers The face of J'adore was initially Esthonian beauty Carmen Kaas, but it was Hollywood star Charlize Theron who really "clicked" and gave J'Adore an immense visual advantage.
J'Adore is available at every Dior counter everywhere, available in the following versions/flankers:
1) the original J'AdoreEau de Parfum concentration (1999) in the golden toned bottle depicted in the ads and reviewed above
2) the lighter and less plummy J'AdoreEau de Toilette (2002) in the silvery-toned design (pictured on the right). In 2011 the eau de toilette concentration was re-orchestrated (due to changes in perfumery regulations) by Francois Demachy, giving it a sweeter and fresher appeal, and repackaged in the gold scheme packaging and presentation, only differentiated from the EDP by the notification on the packaging.
3) the magnificent, limited (and costlier) edition of J'Adore L'Absolu (2007) a delightfully intense version of the classic favorite with Turkish rose, tuberose, and jasmine combine to make a truly pretty floral" (Eau de Parfum Absolute, created by Francois Demachy). A superior version of the formula, developed by Francois Demachy with premium floral essences.
4) the J'Adore L' Eau Cologne Florale 2009 (the bottle is in golden tones, but a little more slender), which reprises the floral theme with touches of lemony magnolia to render a very current modernisation of the brand. The range is complimented with ancilary body products and is often augmented with special editions that reprise the design of the bottle.
5) J'Adore L'Or is a essence de parfum edition launched in 2010 with the neck of the bottle in thin gold threads and the same amphora style body, available only in 40ml. It's an amped up and more expensive version of the eau de parfum with sweeter and headier florals and a more lasting and very perceptible vanilla base.
6) A limited edition from 2007 highlighting the jasmine note is J'Adore Le Jasmin, available in 100ml of alcohol-free eau de toilette for the summer. Longer, leaner amphora bottle, but otherwise same, with a box reading "summer fragrance" underneath the name. Not to be confused with the 2004 summer fragrance, which is encased in the familiar bottle that holds EDT or EDP, with the only difference being marked in the box ('summer fragrance').
The following limited editions are only different in the bottle presentation or visuals and do not bear a difference in the scent itself.
Special limited "anniversary" editions of J'Adore en Or come from 2004 and 2009 (for the 5 and 10 years of the market respectively); the former with curved drawn "lines" on the upper body of the matte gold bottle, the latter with a golden medallion with the initials CD hanging on a thread on the transparent glass familiar amphora-shaped body. A shimmery version called J'Adore Divinement d'Or (Gold Supreme) was issued in 2006 with gold shimmer suspended in the juice.
"The recipe for Pêche Melba, created by Auguste Escoffier for Dame Nellie Melba, is set down in his encyclopaedic Le Guide Culinaire (1903) with bald simplicity: “Poach the skinned peaches in vanilla-flavoured syrup. When very cold, arrange them in a timbale on a bed of vanilla ice-cream and coat with raspberry purée”. Melba apparently adored the chef’s Pêche Cardinal au coulis de framboise, of poached peaches in a “cardinal’s coat” of crushed raspberries". [1] If you substitute Péché (sin) for Pêche (peach), they could be talking about the latest fragrance by Parfums MDCI, Péché Cardinal, hold the sweeter aspects of the famous pod and substitute with lightly phenolic. I might be forgiven the gustatory association, given my intense appreciation for all things culinary.
Péché Cardinal is a naughty, juicy, succulent yet also classy and enticing peach fragrance of the latest crop of fruity compositions. The playful name alludes to both the gigantic peach at its core, as well as Cardinal Sin, what it translates to from the French. The fragrance was developed by perfumer Amandine Marie from the acclaimed Robertet firm, drawing from their rich palette of self-sourced materials. The Parfums MDCI Paris brand was founded by Claude Marchal, inspired by the "Galerie d'Apollon" in the Louvre Museum, the Musei dei Uffizzi in Florence, the fabulous Schatzkammer in Vienna (the Treasure Room) and the Greek and Roman antiques in the collections of Cardinal Mazzarin, the Medicis, and the Sun King Louis XIV. He wanted to create a line that would make no cut-backs but would give carte blanche to the talented perfumers who were free to explore any direction and to use any precious material they saw fit regardless of the price.
The juiciest, most buttery peach note (is it Decanoic acid 5-hydroxy- lactone?) is immediately bursting on the skin upon application of Péché Cardinal, lasting for several minutes, and with a warm feeling that reminds one of hot spring days and tropical cocktails drunk with an hibiscus tucked beneath the ear. The surprise comes however in the underlying darkness which emerges slowly in the form of va-va-voom tuberose, a little smoky, dusky cedar and the feel of human skin that exalts them. The plummy/fruity/rosy damascones add a plush, silky feeling not unheard of since Nombre Noir and Feminité du Bois became a household name. Davana oil, a CO2 extraction, comes from artemisia pallens, a South India plant cultivated in Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh and was previously featured in Parfumerie Generale scents (such as the salubrious Cozé, more of which later on). Its rich, fruity candy note with an earthy facet runs through its fibre. The composition of Péché Cardinal is like the most vivid brocard which shines from certain angles and subsides from others. And the lasting power is very good indeed!
Nevertheless, much as I like the peachiness and vibrancy of its mien I cannot really envision myself wearing Péché Cardinal a lot, my usual tastes running into shadier, less vivid peaches overladden with oakmoss galore to make them wistful instead of outright sexy. But those who have been dreaming of an enormous fruity embrace that is devoid of any soupçon of tackiness thanks to its drydown troublant (in a good way!), have just found their peachy floral to end their quest. You can imagine characters such as the following wearing it with panache!
Regarding the much discussed about packaging, personally ~and perhaps exactly due to my background~ I find the Roman bust caps of Limoges/bisque on the bottles somewhat disproportionate (top-heavy) and maybe a bit kitschy in their classical antiquity nuance, reminding me of descendants of glorious civilisations feeling compelled to include gypsum busts of ancient Gods on the front lawn next to the pool. But apart from that very minor gripe, I can't complain as the line is created with exceptional artistry and elegance. Taking in mind the bust-topped bottles retail at 610$ at Luckyscent for 60ml of Eau de Parfum, I find that the modest refills at 235$ for the same quantity are a much more logical alternative.
Apart from samples at Luckyscent (for a comparatively meek 4$), as well as larger ones at Aus liebe zum duft (but for 12 euros each), there is an option of a sampler set at the official MCDI site. The MCDI line also includes two masculines: Invasion Barbare and Ambre Topkapi as well as three feminines: Rose de Siwa, Promesse de l'Aube and Enlévement au Sérail, composed by perfumers Stéphanie Bakouche, Pierre Bourdon and Francis Kurkdjian. The newest entries for 2009 along with Péché Cardinal, are Un Coeur en Mai, Vêpres Siciliennes, and Le Rivage des Syrtes by perfumers Jeanne-Marie Faugier (Technicoflor) and Patricia de Nicolaï (of parfums de Nicolaï)
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