Guerlain Chamade (1969) Fragrance Review Series Part 6: Afterward & Thoughts on Fragrance Criticism

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

Tout entière

Le Démon, dans ma chambre haute,
Ce matin est venu me voir,
Et, tâchant à me prendre en faute,
Me dit: «Je voudrais bien savoir,

Parmi toutes les belles choses
Dont est fait son enchantement,
Parmi les objets noirs ou roses
Qui composent son corps charmant,

Quel est le plus doux.» - O mon âme!
Tu répondis à l'Abhorré:
«Puisqu'en Elle tout est dictame,
Rien ne peut être préféré.

Lorsque tout me ravit, j'ignore
Si quelque chose me séduit.
Elle éblouit comme l'Aurore
Et console comme la Nuit;

Et l'harmonie est trop exquise,
Qui gouverne tout son beau corps,
Pour que l'impuissante analyse
En note les nombreux accords.

O métamorphose mystique
De tous mes sens fondus en un!
Son haleine fait la musique,
Comme sa voix fait le parfum!»
—Charles Baudelaire


All Together

This morning in my attic high
The Demon came to visit me,
And seeking faults in my reply,
He said: "I would inquire of thee,

"Of all the beauties which compose
Her charming body's potent spell,
Of all the objects black and rose
Which make the thing you love so well,

"Which is the sweetest?" O my soul!
Thou didst rejoin: "How tell of parts,
When all I know is that the whole
Works magic in my heart of hearts?

"Where all is fair, how should I say
What single grace is my delight?
She shines on me like break of day
And she consoles me as the night.

"There flows through all her perfect frame
A harmony too exquisite
That weak analysis should name
The numberless accords of it.

"O mystic metamorphosis!
My separate senses all are blent;
Within her breath soft music is,
And in her voice a subtle scent!"
—Charles Baudelaire, translation from ReadBooksOnline.net



Let me tell you when I first promised our Elena to review Guerlain Chamade for this blog: December 11, 2008. In fact I still have a copy of my request:

"Just wondering if I may review Chamade and/or Samsara. I've been accumulating material for those two and they are going to be interesting. (You would be surprised by how the Buddhist definition of samsara, considered the root of pain and suffering, is worlds away from what Guerlain is trying to portray.) As for Chamade I may even upload the actual drum beat! (Plus the pivotal moment of the movie.)"

Well, writing a review for Samsara was not that labour intensive. Yet as all of you could tell it took me more than three years to get this review done, and never would I imagine turning the piece into a multi-part marathon.

Why? As some of you might have noticed I have chosen to blog less and less over the last couple of years. Started out as a mild lethargy and gradually morphed into a full-blown hiatus at one point. Have I been busy? Yes and no: I’ve always managed to find time to blog before, even a miniature piece or two.

So what happened? I started to see a huge chasm between the artisanal and the commercial in this business, the art really not lining up with the money. Don’t get me wrong: as a business graduate I know very well that perfumery houses are here for its survival. Yet the interesting side effects of the 2008 financial meltdown are still unfolding among perfumery brands: all major players, for one, are more lean and determined to get a piece of the action. Translation: the bottom line now really counts, more than ever.

To be perfectly honest I’m all for marketing research, and pushing a product nobody wants to buy, at least to me, is the greatest sin on earth; with this being said I can only stand mindless renditions of Marc Jacobs Daisy for so long.

Kindly allow me to reiterate: I’m not against commercial viability; I’m just against mindless plagiarism. I’m not against approachability; I just don’t like philistines all that much. I don’t even mind cutting costs on material and development; I just won’t stand thoughtless slash across the board because nobody was “supposed” to know when materials are downgraded.

I prefer, in all my sincerity, modernization—but I want to do it with standards. If it comes at the costs of cutting excessive corners than, well, what good are brand managers, let alone executives?

Of course, I know there are still passionate, conscientious people working in this industry, working very hard to make a difference. And my thoughts are not in any shape or form trying to disparage the true artists. (Please don’t ask me to name names of this or that—because I simply won’t.) But I decided to listen more since then. And to really start thinking about what makes the legends of the past so great in the first place: after all, those who cannot learn from the past are doomed to repeat the failures.

That’s my ultimate purpose for reviewing Chamade, articulating what made it great in the first place. Perhaps the ideas could be transported and lifted for generations to come, even though the exact ideas might not be in vogue any more.


To me the ultimate reason behind the success of Chamade is quite simple. People cared. Say what you will about French perfumery, its politics: people took the time to think about the genuine dialogue between the product and the culture, how the time affects its culture before coming up with a genuine proposal. Making genuine products with perfectly valid constructs. Again, I know not every perfumer can be Ernest Beaux, nor all fragrance account managers have the immaculate tastes of Coco Chanel, but if the latest release is a very simple xerox of the latest marketing reports (bottled, of course) with zero imagination attached then, again, what good are people arming diplomas from top-notch MBA programs?

Thus by the same token I am still stand behind my favourable review of Hermes Hermessence Iris Ukiyoe (2010). Or Chanel No. 5 Eau Première (2008). And honestly I am even that tough of a fragrance critic—but showing one’s work is a pre-requisite in my book. Kindly allow me to repeat: showing one’s work is a pre-requisite.

Still, back to my story: I started writing this series on Tuesday, March 6—

It's going to be the longest review I've ever written! I'm at the bottom of third page and haven't fully covered the cultural background.

That’s when Elena’s common sense kicked in: otherwise all of you would have to read this series in one, extra-lengthy post. Five parts in one sitting.

(At this point I have to give credit where credit is due: without Elena’s tireless patience in the first place not a single word of this series would come to life, let alone her often thankless edits of my unruly writing. She’s really a trooper.)



The series, once get going, proved to be a quick waltz. Part 1 through 4 was submitted within one day. Part 5 came a day later because I couldn’t find the right artwork: luckily Ms. Danielle Jarvis showed me her piece; otherwise the readers would have to stare at nothing but words upon reading the blooming epilogue.

Before I go I want to share with all of you one more thing about my thoughts on Chamade. I’ve always deduced that Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2 in E Minor, Op. 27, its third movement Adagio, is a musical approximation of its ideas, the romantic mad aches. Try testing the fragrance while listening to the performance below: there’s nothing on earth quite like the pairing.




Thank you all for listening. It’s been a joy from the heart.

To read the whole Guerlain Chamade Series, visit Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 clicking on the links. 

Photo: Guerlain Chamade advertisement, via Google

Guerlain Chamade (1969) Fragrance Review Series Part 5: Epilogue

A poem records emotions and moods that lie beyond normal language, that can only be patched together and hinted at metaphorically.
―Diane Ackerman

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

Love is the great unpredictable, the original X factor: almost everyone admits that love is a necessity for our survival, yet no one agrees on just what exactly it is. Even the concept itself is an enigma: scholars manage to trace the idea back to the Sanskrit word lubhyati, meaning “desire”; yet its root disintegrates thereafter. The word we now use actually is of German origin and not set until Middle English:

From Old English lufu (“love, affection, desire”), from Proto-Germanic *lubō (“love”), from Proto-Indo-European *lewbʰ-, *leubʰ- (“love, care, desire”). Cognate with Old Frisian luve (“love”), Old High German luba (“love”). Related to Old English lēof (“dear, beloved”), līefan (“to allow, approve of”), Latin libet, lubō (“to please”).*

Perhaps all this confusion is a direct reflection on the often chaotic nature of the heart, how it governs its affairs? Comes with the territory is the gamut of expressions: Guerlain Chamade is surely a memorable grace note in the mankind’s on-going paen.

Jean-Paul Guerlain was certainly amorously inspired when creating Chamade: “I won’t tell you the name of the lady for whom I created Chamade, but she was very beautiful. For me, Chamade was Guerlain’s first modern perfume after Shalimar and Mitsouko. I am still in love with it” (Edwards, 148).

The influence of Chamade on French perfumery is subtle yet fascinating upon a closer second look. Its combination of hedione and blackcurrent, pairing with white florals, was reprised almost a decade later when Jean Claude Ellena created First (1976) for Van Cleef & Arpels, the master perfumer’s initial success. Its green floral motif would even resurface arguably in Chanel No. 19 (1971), which Henri Robert was busy developing with Mademoiselle Chanel when Chamade came out, though the soft vanilla base was no doubt stripped away in lieu of a more assertive chypre base.

On a personal note I really wish the structure of Guerlain Chamade played a more prominent role in the recent modernization of the house, for the scent’s stunning bone structure leads to many possibilities: the opening verdancy could easily be morphed into milky greens such as Glycolierral, the ivy oxime that provides so much glow in the opening of J’Adore (1999) by Christian Dior. The fruits could be softened with more transparent floral notes such as fresh sambac jasmine, and woods more ethereal. Yet I’m not sure this is the current emphasis of Guerlain, nor am I certain if Thierry Wasser, the current in-house nose, would want to partake in that direction. Neither am I certain that people are courageous enough to take the time to get it nowadays when everything is going at a breakneck pace.

Chamade is not for everyone, nor is that the underlying idea. The development is complex, the embedded cultural depth required for its appreciation is advanced. Yet those who take the time really appreciate how the fragrance manages to get things right. For this post I’m going to leave the last word to Luca Turin, who calls Chamade a miracle in the original Parfums: le guide―

A smooth green top note introduces a miracle that develops over a few hours, indeed a few days. As the initial breath fades, a powerful white note slowly evolves, polished and seamless, powdery and sculptured, developing with no hint of becoming simpler or thinner. Typically Guerlain in its flattering and tender character, Chamade is an arrogant perfume, pure and far removed from the chic audacity of Jicky and Shalimar. Its tenacity is amazing. One might even think it was composed to be smelt after two days, so put it on at least two house before you ask it to be effective. [Chamade is] a masterpiece of elegance and poetry, one of the greatest perfumes of all time (Edwards, 150).

Photo: Original photography from designer and friend Ms. Danielle Jarvis. All rights reserved by the artist.

Citation

Edwards, Michael. Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances. Crescent House Pub, 1999. ISBN: 0646277944

Turin , Luca. Parfums: le guide, Editions Hermè ( Paris , 1992), p. 37, 38

* http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=love

Guerlain Chamade (1969) Fragrance Review Series Part 4: Separating the Myths

Morsels of legends, however interesting, may not necessarily be true within the sea of civilization.

―By guest writer AlbertCAN

Upon discovering Chamade yours truly was told that master perfumer Jean-Paul Guerlain conducted over 1,100 fragrance trials. While there is a grain of truth in this story-since all memorable vintage Guerlain fragrances were the results of meticulous modifications- the title of the most fine-tuned within the Guerlain realm officially belongs to Nahema (1979). Guerlain Chamade was developed for years before coming to light, but whether it took over 1000 tries is another debate of itself.

Chamade bottles via estellana.com

pic via Basenotes.net

And then there's the bottle: even Guerlain the company can't agree on the same story. Officially it's a heart upside-down, pierced by the arrow stopper, but its creator Raymond Guerlain begs to differ. His actual muse? See below.

The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli, complete with the giant clam shell as the bottle and the young goddess as the stopper. Interesting how life works sometimes.

For a fragrance review of Guerlain Chamade refer to this link. For Part 1 Introduction to Chamade and Part 2 Guerlain's Chamade and its Muses refer to these links.

 

Photos: Detail of The Birth of Venus from Google; Guerlain Chamade bottle from Etsy

Guerlain Chamade (1969) Fragrance Review Series Part 3: The Fragrance

"Perfume is made mainly so that one remembers the woman who wears it. I like to call it the elevator effect. This is the man who goes to meet his lover—whether it be his fiancée, his wife, or his mistress—who has entered a building before him. She is wearing perfume, and he smells it. Suddenly his heart beats faster and the blood rushes to his head."

—Jean-Paul Guerlain via “Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances” by Michael Edwards (1996)

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

[For Part 1 Introduction to the Myth and Part 2 The Muses refer to the links]

Of all the approaches to fragrance criticism I’m most dreary of the revisionist approach, pulling a scent out of the context of its time and aiming at regurgitating an ill-advised paradigm. Somehow the critic’s bias shines through more than anything else. Of course, fragrance masterpieces deserve to be respected—and insincere efforts need to be chided—but a fragrance ultimately needs to be judged based on its genre and its cultural context. It’s not a fragrance critic’s job to ignore the innovations set forth by a classic fragrance, nor forgetting to mention the classicism within a new launch. They are simply two sides of the same coin in perfumery.

After more than four decades Guerlain Chamade is of course deservedly termed a grand classic, but to assume that a classic-smelling French fragrance lacks an ounce of rebellion is not a correct notion, either.

Perhaps the biggest misconception about Chamade is its doyenne status. There lies the paradox: sure, the definition of youth has changed dramatically, but back in 1969 Chamade’s opening would be considered quite interesting. Hedione. Blackcurrant. All then new materials and not widely used. Of course Edmond Roudnitska employed hedione brilliantly in Eau Sauvage (1966), but the chemical hadn’t been widely dared in women’s fragrances. Nowadays the blackcurrant note has been used to a fault, but Chamade was arguably the first to have done so. Again, one shouldn’t fault the early adaptor, even if the innovation becomes commonly accepted.

But I’m really ahead of myself. The trembling of the heart really starts with two key players: the interplay of galbanum and hyacinth. Both are quite polarizing, having a refreshing but strong-willed diffusion—hyacinth, having an unapologetically white floral scent with a slightly bitter edge; galbanum, emitting an all-out, almost knife-sharp verdancy. The chills, when set on the typical Guerlain warmth, surprisingly pulsate and mimic the intrigue upon feeling "the mad ache". (Doesn’t one often feel a moment of clarity even when falling madly in love with the wrong person? The interplay of fire and ice can be so cruel sometimes.) Had the opening act been allowed to dominate the fragrance would have been reduced to a bony, postmodern solarium, but all this feels like the opening clash of the battlefield surrender signal.

The undulation between the cold and the warmth really creates a dual effect when narcissus and vanilla add to the tension. Within the context of ylang ylang and blackcurrant the narcissus feels opulent and insolent at the same time, yet there’s a certain ambiguity about the shapelessness of it all, as if the character of Sagan’s heroine Lucile comes to life. Chamade the fragrance would have been the necessary luxury she craves, yet like the fragrance she doesn’t fully give in when facing her feelings, essentially not out of defiance, but actually coming from an undulating ambivalence. Do not be mistaken by the gauzy, silken aura with a slight golden sheen: Deneuve has that the necessary indirectness down pat—the confusion is essentially self-serving and really the destination, not the process.

Come to think of it Chamade’s legendary development curve adds a beguiling interplay to the theme of Sagan’s novel as well: this has never been a forthcoming, no-barred-hold type of wild attraction story at heart, but more of an exquisite torture. The pang of the hyacinth and galbanum really hold fort for a good while before the drydown of the narcissus-amber sets in. In fact it’s exactly this character that makes exposes the problem of testing fragrances on paper blotters: testing a multi-dimensional olfactory sculpture on a two-dimensional medium is an act in futility in itself.

On a personal note I was determined not to make that sampling mistake when presenting Chamade to my godmother Jeannie, instead testing the scent directly on her skin. Surely enough the golden gauze envelopes her upon first spray; after decades of using L’Air du Temps, Chamade became her signature, no doubt in part because my beloved godfather was hooked from the get go!


Photo: Guerlain Chamade fragrance advertisement from the 80s, via Google

Guerlain Chamade (1969) Fragrance Review Series Part 2: The Muses

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

The idea of la chamade floated wide in the Parisian psyche years before the Guerlain creation. Françoise Sagan (1935–2004), a French author best known for works revolving around the romantic lives of wealthy but disillusioned bourgeois characters, first published her novel “La chamade” in 1963. Set in high-society Paris in the mid-1960’s, the plot reads like an anti-fairy tale romance as the novel tells the story of Lucile, torn between Charles—twenty years her senior but rich enough to keep her comfortable—and Antoine, the more age-appropriate but broody young man she is attracted to. Classic Jane Austen romance would give Lucile a more determined heart, but alas, true to Sagan’s heroines she has a flighty soul:

“Life mostly made sense to me until I left my parents' home. I wanted to get a degree in Paris . But it was all a pipe dream. Ever since I've been looking everywhere for parents, in my lovers, in my friends, and it's all right with me to have nothing of my own—not any plans and not any worries. I like this kind of life, it's terrible but true.”*

Over the years Charles had a steady supply of mistresses at a salon he frequented, hosted by Claire. The arrangements would usually last a year or two, but Lucile turns out to be different as Charles doesn’t exactly have a trivial relationship with her:

What he couldn't say to Lucile was this: "All I care about is you. I spend hours and hours trying to fathom your psyche, I'm hounded by one single idea. And I, too, am frightened, just as you were saying, frightened of losing what I have. I, too, live in that perpetual state of despair and yearning you described."†

Antoine, a typical French 'intellectual' romantic hero of film and fiction, is kept by an older woman as he falls for Lucile. Thus begins a delicate social dance: people within this small circle are all aware of this attraction, even be pushing them towards it, but Lucile and Antoine do try not to betray those who love them. As Lucile notes, Charles "might be able to accept my sleeping with Antoine, but not my laughing with him". She eventually gives passion a shot, but life in the garret doesn't suit her one bit; worse luck, she finds herself pregnant but unfit to be a mother. Lucile’s solution to life thus requires funds, leaving no choice but to return to Charles, still loving Antoine but no longer loved loving him...

The imperfect love story might pale in dramatic intensity compared to Sagan’s magnum opus “Bonjour Tristesse” (1954), but Catherine Deneuve eventually gave her blessing in 1968 as she starred in the cinematic adaptation, continuing her wardrobe collaboration with Yves Saint Laurent along the way. Now here’s that movie in its entirety, complete in its original dialogues: I couldn’t negotiate English subtitles so unfortunately some would have to read between the lines.



Thus what exactly is this French word chamade? Unfortunately there isn’t a comprehensive English equivalent to capture all of its French nuances. Sure, the English dictionary recognizes its antique military usage, denoting a distinct beat in battlefields that signals the surrender of the troops, most notably used during the Napoleonic age. (La chamade would have been played prominently when Napoleon lost the decisive battle of Waterloo .) Now not many people have actually heard of the actual drum beat so here’s an enriched sample below.



Yet the French also have another usage of the word, the expression un coeur qui bat la chamade, a double entendre to our wild heartbeats when surrendering to the latest object of affection. It is this second meaning that plays a huge influence to the Guerlain fragrance―but to be precise, all of the influences above have contributed to the character of this fragrance, which I shall explore in detail in Part 3.

Photo: Still from the film La Chamade (1968)

* Unless otherwise noted all English excerpts are from “The Mad Ache”, the 2009 translation by Douglas Hofstadter

† The original text uses the French formal “vous” and the second person pronoun; normally a more intimate “tu” is applied in this context.

Guerlain Chamade (1969) Fragrance Review Series Part 1: An Introduction

‘Now come’, thought Lucile, ‘he’s only holding my hand as we cross the park. It’s spring, no need to worry. I’m not sixteen any more’. But her heart beat wildly. She felt the blood drain from her face and her hands, and rush to her throat, choking her ... Son Coeur bat la chamade.

―Françoise Sagan, “La chamade” (1965), excerpt taken from “Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances” by Michael Edwards (1999)

~By guest writer AlbertCAN

chamade [ʃə’mɑːd]

n

 

(Military) A signal or an army’s surrender during battle, usually by drum or trumpet

―coeur qui bat la chamade: French expression for heart beating wildly due to strong emotions (literally “heart who beats the chamade”)

[from French, from Portuguese chamada, from chamar to call, from Latin clamāre]


The heart perhaps is the most impossible of all. The untamed is virtually untouchable by a sound mind, marching to its drum beat, questing for only its desires. Logics and perspectives may temporarily girdle its mad gallop, only to let it rampant again once passion reigns supreme. Often mankind speaks of progress and civilization, how the likes of smallpox or polio are either eradicated or nearly so from the face of the earth. Yet no modern physician can ever cure a broken heart―and the latest gamut of anti-depressants only address the brain’s chemical balance―nor any vaccine can successfully prevent one from falling in love with the wrong person. Caesars and czars may come and go, inciting awes and fears with the might of the day, but the hardest thing to govern, as shown time after time, is still the heart.

Nowadays one need not to venture far to see the modern casualties of the heart: tabloid newspapers or gossip standards shall be evident of our fascination of its unpredictability, ranging from the latest indiscretion of the Hollywood stars du jour to the myriad of advice columnists dispensing hope to the unrequited. Or the plain crimes of passion, a plead of temporary insanity that allows one to walk away even from murder. The brain may be our largest organ, yet we speak from the heart when feeling amorous; when emotions run rampant we wear out hearts on our sleeves. We make a promise to our love by crossing out heart, and our hearts go out to anyone who loses their significant others. And when we know what we want? We set our hearts on it. Our intelligence may set us apart from a Darwinian point of view, yet it is our heartbeats that set us in motion, navigating through the illogics of it all.

The heart of Paris at the end of the Sixties was certainly beating wildly: a flourish of intellectual and artistic new waves, combined with a sound economic welfare, marked a full turn from the sobriety of the Fifties. Yet that few years of gaiety were "killed" by the 1968 Paris uprising: urban trenches were erected in the heart of Paris as street cobblestones were turned into medieval artilleries. Order, calm, harmony all gave way in that heated moment as everyone’s heart beat la chamade. It’s under this mixture of simultaneous cultural boom and bust, this combination of light and darkness that perfumer Jean-Paul Guerlain put his finishing touches on Chamade (1969), one of Guerlain’s fragrance masterpieces.

That’s the simple version of this story.

True to any Guerlain crown jewels cultural icons endorsing one another in Chamade, drawing upon references of different époques and interlocking them all in the most fascinating ways. Literature, cinema, military history all play part in its development; even a beloved Italian Renaissance masterpiece painting is involved.

In the next episode I shall explore the immediate cultural muses to Guerlain Chamade and answer an all-important question―What exactly does French novelist Françoise Sagan, cinematic icon Catherine Deneuve and Napoleon have in common?

Photo, from left: Guerlain Chamade poster and fragrance editions, via Google

Guerlain Habit Rouge: fragrance review

Sensual, warm, elegant, Habit Rouge was conceived by master perfumer Jean Paul Guerlain in 1965 when faced with a surprising and novel problem. Men who loved Shalimar perfume on their wives and lovers wanted a comparable powdery composition translated into a virile structure they would claim as their own. Thus Habit Rouge was born, the name alluding to the red jacket landed gentry loved to don on hunting days in the countryside and henceforth adopted for riding competitions.

Guerlain of course wasn't the first to associate horses with perfumes: Hermes was there before (beginning as saddlers), but it set an example for others later on, namely Ralph Lauren. The important thing is Habit Rouge quickly became a Guerlain classic, the exact antithesis of Guerlain's Vetiver in spirit and stance; a  concept best encapsulated in a vintage ad proclaiming: "The Body, The Soul, a Guerlain cologne is for both" where the scents are described thus: "the agressive boldness of Habit Rouge, the understated elegance of Imperiale, or the subtle, penetrating depths of Vetiver".

The Scent and Structure of Habit Rouge
The magic synergy in Habit Rouge, a combination of resins and tree gums such as benzoin and opoponax, creates the photographic effect of a hazy glow all around the subject in an old black & white photograph. These resinous scents have the ability to deepen the voice, the equivalent of a lion's growl reverbrating over many kilometres to effortlessly mark its territory. Those elements form the basic oriental core of this formal, somewhat flamboyant but ultimately humanly sensual fragrance, lifted by traditional citrus notes in the opening (lemon, bergamot and mandarin alongside orange blossom) to mirror the idea in Shalimar, deepened with the spicy notes of cinnamon and carnation and burnished by the pungency of a little leather, which takes on suede smoothness rather than harsher or fetishistic nuances of hard-core leather fragrances. The whole smells like sweet orange talc, powdery and somewhat sweet. 
Habit Rouge is mature and dense, yes, but such a wonderful aristocratic classic that its acquaintance simply should be made by younger generations.

On a woman, it can be deeply alluring!

Packaging
Habit Rouge follows the Vetiver presentation until 2000. (This was the year the latter changed its looks dramatically) Habit Rouge took the simple travel container and red-capped sixties style atomizers. In 1988 it changed into the briefcase-inspired Eau de Toilette flacon design by Robert Granai. It has stayed there ever since, its red label modernised by a slight simplification.

2002 ad for Habit Rouge

Reformulations and Comparison of Concentrations & Batches
Habit Rouge was recognisably reformulated in 2003, as evidenced by the change in packaging, coinciding with the launch of the Eau de Parfum concentration. It's still a great fragrance however in all its forms and worth chewing one's teeth on, man or woman.
Comparing Eau de Parfum (one of the rare masculine fragrances to come in such a concentration) to the most well-known form of Habit Rouge, the long-standing Eau de Toilette, the two almost overlap in the initial 20 minutes, with the citrus & orange blossom notes  lingering somewhat more in the EDP. But after that phase the two diverge, with the EDP losing the orange blossom (which can give a soapy, clean feel), becoming spicier and muskier as it dries down with the addition of a modern "oud" note and a chocolate tinge, while the EDT retains the lighter "flou" character all the way through, making the EDT the perfect signature scent choice for any time, with the EDP being a bit heavier and therefore more reserved for formal evenings. It's also the most "modern" of all concentrations, somewhat skewing the retro feel of the Habit Rouge fragrance, so purists might want to consider that. The Eau de Toilette boast a big lemon-neroli accord o in the beginning and a soft, smooth suede note in the background, while on the whole it's the most powdery/dusty incarnation of the fragrance.
If you can find it, buy the limited edition Habit Rouge Parfum which tones down the powder and "cleaner" qualities in favour of a muskier, more leathery and camphor-nuanced scent like the vintage Shalimar meets Vol de Nuit.
Of special note is the traditional and vintage Eau de Cologne concentration, the original thing, which is the least "dusty" for those concerned with the powdery aspect of the scent, becoming crisper and more flesh-like vanilla oriental. The sensual aura of the Habit Rouge Eau de Cologne is surprisingly lasting, easily 6 hours on skin and therefore this is a concentration to acquaint yourself with if you're serious about perfume.

Habit Rouge also circulates in various limited editions (Beau Cavalier etc), on which we have posted news on these pages. According to Mr.Guerlain the batches come from: 1965, Dry '67, EdT '88, EdP 2003, Légère '05, Parfum '08, Sport '09, and L'Eau '11.

You can watch the official Habit Rouge L'Eau clip here.

Notes for Guerlain Habit Rouge:
Top: Lemon, Sweet Lime, Bitter Orange, Mandarin, Bergamot, Rosewood
Middle: Cinnamom, Patchouli, Pimento, Basil, Cedar, Carnation, Lavender
Base Note: Vanilla, Amber, Leather, Benzoin, Labdanum, Olibanum, Sandalwood, Leather accord.

pic Degas, Cavalier en Habit Rouge

Guerlain Coque d'Or: Fragrance review & history

When art history enchiridia are written they emphasise how Art Deco style covered almost every sphere of human life in the 1920s and 1930s: architecture, interior design and furniture, aviation, fashion & jewelry most certainly, cinema and the visual arts... But they leave out perfumes and the industries that cater for them, such as cristalleries and glass blowers. In that regard, if we're to present emblematic Art Deco perfume specimens, the very rare but exquisitely designed Coque d'Or perfume by Guerlain should top the list. And not just for its looks, either!

History, Presentation, Chronology of Bottles

Coque d'Or was issued in 1937 in a cobalt blue bottle of Baccarat crystal encased in a gold metal "sleeve" shaped like a bow (and further encased in a white lined wooden box designed by acclaimed designer Jean-Michel Frank). However this fragrance is NOT to be confused with the entirely different Eau du Coq Guerlain "cologne" (after the famous French actor Benoît-Constant Coquelin, nicknamed Coquelin aîné) from 1894.

The name Coque d'Or [Cock-DOORH] literally means "golden shell". This type of bottle is typified as "flacon noeud papillon" (papillon meaning butterfly in French) in the Guerlain archives at 68 Champs Elysées, as it's so reminiscent of the masculine black-tie accessory.
Even though the original design included the gold gilding of the blue bottles apart from the upper edges (as shown in the pic), some speciments come without the gold.

The reason is less poetic than we might think: The factory doing the gilding burnt down during WWII... It is the larger size bottles of the original 5 (and the subsequent two molds by Pochet et du Courval) that display the base cobalt blue colour, always numbered in the crystal specimens, not in the glass ones. In the Baccarat mold the cap can be smooth OR faceted, while in the Pochet et du Courval mold the cap is always smooth.

Production of the noeud papillon bottle stopped altogether in June 1956. However, till that time, other perfumes were presented in it as well: the even rarer Guerlain Kriss (1942-1945) and Guerlain Dawamesk (1945-1955).

The fragrance of Coque D'Or was also available later in the big goutte bottles (shaped like a drop or a tear, containing Eau de Toilette) and the standard quadrilobe (very familiar from Jicky and other Guerlain fragrances in extrait de parfum concentration).

Scent Description

What I smell in Coque d'Or is a cross between Guerlain's Mitsouko structure and Vol de Nuit, with very detectable oakmoss in the base, very rich as both of these fragrances used to be in vintage form, and typically Guerlain, as established by perfumer Jacques Guerlain who has shaped the Guerlain aesthetic through his many classics. The correlation seems logical enough as Mitsouko launched in 1919 and Vol de Nuit in 1931 and the lavishness of the l'entre-deux-guerres period is palpable.The orientalised effect with the chypre-leathery background with oranges, flowers (clove-y carnation) and the Persicol peach-skin base on top (as in Mitsouko, but rendered less austere) is smooth as a caress, sweetly melding with the skin, there most certainly, but at the same time what the French call "doux" and "enveloppant"  (soft, enveloping, wrapping, tender, tactile almost...)
The leathery hint wraps the flowers and ripe notes in sophistication, much like it was the enigmatic quality in Vol de Nuit, with an ambery glow like fine cognac sipped from crystal glasses across a blazing fire, and the oakmoss persists like a warm, melodious, baritone voice.

Today the name Coque d'Or is a vibrant pink shade (#120) in Guerlain's Rouge Automatique lipsticks. The preservation of the copyright of the name is perhaps proof of the existence of God of Small Things. I have forwarded the plea to the proper Guerlain authorities, asking to re-introduce this gem  into current production, even as a one-off limited edition or a tiny-production exclusive (due to the high oakmoss content) so as to perserve its patina for future generations who haven't visited L'Osmothèque perfume museum. 

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain news, Guerlain Series of fragrance reviews

Erté  illustration via Fashion Loves Films

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

Guerlain Vere Novo: fragrance review of the extremely rare & vintage

"All is mystery; but he is a slave who will not struggle to penetrate the dark veil". Benjamin Disraeli's quote rings in my ears each time I try to apply my scientific skills into unravelling a perfumery puzzle: The who, the what, the when, the where, the intricasies tied into the interaction between these parameters; each time they create their own small district. Far from pontification, the work on Perfume Shrine aims to reconnoiter, to probe, to create sparks that will lead to personal explorations and a new way of thinking. Imagine the gluttony in my eye upon hitting on a rare specimen, the pearl beyond compare, the diamond in the pile of coal; it's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it, right? Out of the blue, one such thing came rapping, rapping at my chamber door: Vere Novo by Guerlain. 

Arguably the most beautiful of French perfume houses (certainly the most prolific one), Guerlain, since its foundation in 1828 on the Rue du Rivoli, has produced over 800 perfumes, creating a unique trajectory in history. Beautiful, evocative, dreamy, obscure names litter the catalogue, like a queen-bee populating a new hive with frantic pace: Senteurs de Champs (1828), Cyprisine (1894), Le Jardin de mon Curé (1895), Voilà Pourquoi J'aimais Rosine (1900c.), Bon Vieux Temps (1902),Violette à Deux Sous (1902c.), Avril en Fleurs (1905), Vague Souvenir (1912), Mi-Mai (1914), Bouquet de Faunes (1922), Ne M'Oubliez Pas (1923)... We have reviewed on these pages some rarities too: Pour Troubler (1911), Guerlain Djedi (1928), Loin de Tout (1933), Fleur de Feu (1948), , Atuana (1952), or the lush tuberose of Guerlain Marie-Claire...

My own precious sample came through the inquisitive kindness of Liisa of Under the Cupola, whom I trust implicitly. She sourced her own stash through the vast and intricate world of international auctions & splits, so I can't vouch for who the original seller was. (Isn't that true for most decants sourced?). But this thing smells glorious all the same, negating any doubt I might have for its comparatively light colour (the wee shade is close to how Après L'Ondée used to be or Jicky); and it does smell like a Guerlain through and through!

To my nose Vero Novo bears Jacques Guerlain's name (it's exactly contemporary to Le Jardin de mon Curé, both from 1895; though other sources mention it introduced sometime between 1883-1889) and seems to bear traces of both his own themes explored later on in Vol de Nuit and his predecessor's (Aimé Guerlain) in Jicky.

The name comes from Virgil (Georgicorum, libri quator) and translates [J.W.Mackail, 1934] as "in early spring". But to Italians, spring begins on February 7th [Varro, I.28], and Virgil was familiar with the sight of the Alps from childhood, witnessing the earliest sign the gradual melting of snow. To the Guerlain family, the melting of snow is mingled with the cold-warm, cuddly, slightly animalic, slightly leathery scent of the cassie (a richer, muskier variety of mimosa, with violet tendencies complimented by anisic accents and full of farnesol which is terpenic-smelling, i.e. dry piny-woody).
It was in 1869 that heliotropin, a golden standard for Guerlain, was discovered by Filtig & Mielk, its structure analysed two years later (by Barth) and synthesized from safrole in 1890 by Eykmann. Vanillin from guiaicol was synthesized by Reimr and Tiemann in 1874. This was a time in history when the breakdown of many materials created the modern face of perfumery as we know it, almost to this day.

Mingling the imaginary accords with the natural, Guerlain took the plush of civet-smoky vanilla in Jicky and diluted it threefold (watching to bring forth the piperonal in vanilla, but not dusting discernible "powdery notes"), adding what later became the velvet, earthy sheen in vintage Vol de Nuit,  plus some woody resinous citrus-peel notes (bergamot & some petit grain?) with a pine-needles effect (discernible in the opening), thus producing in Vere Novo a great skin scent, full of overall softness and the delicious contrast between fragrance dryness and buttery, sweet tones.
Vere Novo wafts deliciously, mingling the hint of patisserie with a suede note. I caught myself catching my wrists to sniff and question: "Do I smell that good?", more times than I care to admit. I suppose this is part of the classic Guerlain magic: Creating an experience that compliments the wearer's decolletage and mingles with the aroma of culinary pleasures that wrap an evening full of earthy delights.

Vere Novo was being produced by Guerlain from its launch in 1895 till the outbreak of WWII according to most records and official Guerlain text ads (in the form of little stories bearing the names of famous perfumes of the house) that were in circulation during L'Entre Deux Guerres (i.e. the 1920s and 1930s). Meaning it's discontinued and extremely rare to get hold of. The fact that several Guerlain fragrances from that era, such as Shalimar, Mitsouko and L'Heure Bleue (as well as Vol de Nuit) became classics and best-sellers for the French house probably explains the demise of some of the older products, such as this one. Pity and we can mourn to eternity, but there you have it. The surprising pleasure of discovering a diamond within the coal pile however is the perfume historian's not so humble lasting delight.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain series

Illustration: Withered Spring, by Aubrey Beardsley

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

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Jasminora: fragrance review

It's easy to be convinced that the later day Aqua Allegorias have been subpar: The history of the Aqua Allegoria line by Guerlain proves they were not always so, yet the fruity examples of the last few years have been steadily dwindling. Nevertheless, I really surprised myself with Jasminora, Guerlain's latest addition in the line: A fresh jasmine floral which should delight fans of the classic Diorissimo (due to the latter's hyperbole of lily of the valley flanked by the grace of jasmine), as well as the acolytes of Chanel Cristalle and Ormonde Jayne Tiare (due to the crackling effect of both scents' citrusy trompe-l'oeil atop the green floralcy). The Aqua Allegorias have firmly moved from fruity territory into florals (judging by Flora Nymphea and travel exclusives Bouquet No.1 & Bouquet No.2) and if this one is any indication, there's hope yet!
 

According to Guerlain: "Aqua Allegoria Jasminora is a limited edition for 2011. This fresh floral fragrance opens with notes of galbanum, bergamot and cyclamen. The heart features Calabrian jasmine, freesia and lily of the valley, while the base consists of musk and amber."

In Guerlain's Jasminora the protagnonist is hedione (Methyl Dihydrojasmonate, the sparkling, limpid green note isolated from jasmine, paired with the lightening pepperiness of freesia. Here the perfumer used specifically Hedione HC from Firmenich, taking on citrusy touches reminiscent of bergamot juice and magnolia petals. The airy tang is complimenting the floral heart, taking on the refined delicacy of classic vintage Guerlain colognes (like in Eau de Fleurs de Cedrat) and echoing one of the most successful Aqua Allegorias, Flora Nerolia to date (Where the lightly bitter-sour neroli takes on a sensuous overlay, thanks to jasmine). The initial impression is one of electric shock, the peppery flash of freesia and some citrus creating a shockingly "fresh", piquant aura, the air ripe with the promise of rain.

This is supported by a chord of lily of the valley and jasmine which unmistakably translates as "green floral" (the resinous backbone of galbanum grass is furthering this "fresh", bracing impression). Hence my (tentative, as they're not really alike) comparison with vintage Diorissimo, especially in the lighter, fresher concentrations. But whereas the Dior classic veered into a decidedly naughty note in the background ~most notable in the extrait de parfum concentration~ in Jasminora the refined feel is that of a Japanese garden, misty at the edge of dawn and full with the electricity in the air before a rainstorm.
The aqueous elements are woven expertly alongside a sweet note reminiscent of the headiness of honeysuckle, resulting in an uplifting, refreshing melody which is heard though canopies of bright white. The lasting power is very good for an Eau de Toilette, in what is by definition a light genre, through the synergy of modern musks (only lightly powdery) and a subtle mossy note, boosting the freshness into an exploding sense of elation.

Much has been written about how Guerlain is abandoning la patrimonie of their impressive tradition, but with Jasminora they're revisiting part of that heritage with surprisingly credible results and a modern fresh feel. If I might be allowed to grumble amidst a positive review, it's a profound pity Guerlain reserved it for just a limited edition.

The newest Aqua Allegoria, Jasminora, by Guerlain, is available from major Guerlain stockists, £35 for the standard 125ml spray bottle.



Music by Manos Hadjidakis The waltz of lost dreams, from the 1961 Greek film Χαμένα Όνειρα (Lost Dreams).
Picture of Greek actress & dancer Maria Nafpliotou

Guerlain Shalimar Parfum Initial: fragrance review

Much as I was predisposed to at least enjoy the unashamedly girly Idylle Duet and dislike the sanctimonious (I thought) Shalimar Parfum Initial, both new releases by the historic house of Guerlain, the perfume gods tipped the scales off and landed me into a case of reverse hubris: I found myself being quite lukewarm on the former, while enjoying very much the latter! How's that for irony?

Indeed Shalimar Parfum Initial, credited to perfumer Thierry Wasser as well, is in almost an unrecognisable style to the other feminine release of this year: rich, satisfying, with a smoothly polished texture like silk moiré, it bears little relation to the anaemic and maudlin composition of Idylle Duet. A sufficient dose of healthy scepticism had struck me like a ton of bricks upon setting eyes on the press release images of the new flanker to the iconic Shalimar: a pink Shalimar, for Christ's sake? Isn't anything sacred? My eyebrows were reaching the roots of my hair in exasperation! But upon testing the actual jus on my skin and letting the blotters, lavishly soaked with it,  on my desk for some days I realised that, corny as it might sound, we're not to judge a book by its cover. Shalimar Parfum Initial is the brave, valiant and well-crafted effort of Wasser and Guerlain to present the house with their own Eau Première, much like Chanel did with their own numeric monstre. After all, much of Guerlain's prestige resides indeed with such venerable classics as Mitsouko and Shalimar.So, what's wrong with "Mon Premier Shalimar", the tagline for this flanker fragrance, assuming the juice is good? Absolutely nothing, that's what.

From a marketing angle, everything is set for success with Shalimar Parfum Initial, aiming at the target Guerlain is so keen on attracting, the fashionable 20-something to 30-something woman with money to spare: The warm pink-fleshy tint of the liquid is familiar to consumers of fruity and gourmand perfumes, attracting them by the token that the colour of the juice is indicative of something more than just a pretty shade. The boosting of citrusy notes up top (the synthetic bergamot is not wildly different than the one used in the reformulated classic, yet it smells more vivid and more vibrant here) give the necessary "freshness" that is a sine qua non for modern audiences. The lush vanilla and tonka ensure that the trademark sultriness of the seductive original is not lost nevertheless.
The beautiful bottle (much sleeker in real life than in images) is tactile, friendly, yet imposing too; its deep blue cap with a tiny ribbon attached an homage to the classic design but also a pretty object that presents itself as something novel. Naked Natalia Vodianova posing in the advertisements of the perfume, shot by Paolo Roversi, is testament to the fact that both men and women stop to stare (and occasionally ogle) at a beautiful supermodel who promises sex at the wink of an otherwise nubile eye.All boxes checked for the marketing team, thank you very much!

The composition of Shalimar Parfum Initial focuses on a precarious balance: the standard oriental accord of bergamot and vanilla is fused with zesty orangeyand light notes which "lift" the base up much like Shalimar Light did with its lemon cupcake opening modernising the old standby admired on grandmas and mamas, but shyed away from my the daughters. Still, what would Shalimar be without the come hither? Guerlain quotes rose petals and jasmine for the floral elements, but it's essential to note that should you be searching for florals, you should look elsewhere: this is a wonderful and wonderfully oriental specimen with little flowery prose; all heaving, all sighing, with the seductive warmth of tonka beans (rich in the cut grass and hay note of coumarin) and of rich, caramelic vanilla pods on woods and what seems like the resinous opoponax. The addition of fresh, warm and sweetish white musk is something that would be polarising for the standard perfumista in search of more complex, "dirtier" musk, but the growling part is transmitted through the low hum of the smoky base that is as animalistically seductive as a rutting beast, just hiding beneath the subtle eroticism promised by the top notes. If I were to find a fault with Shalimar Parfum Initial it is that in essence it is no less than the 4th re-twinkinling of the tried & true Shalimar Light Eau Legere recipe in search of a frontman presenting it to the public now that Jean Paul Guerlain is exiled from his own house...

Shalimar Parfum Initial is available as 40ml, 60ml and 100ml of Eau de Parfum concentration, available from major department stores.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain fragrance reviews, Oriental fragrance reviews

Flankers/derivative versions of Shalimar by Guerlain (with linked reviews & comparison with original):

Shalimar Eau Legere/Shalimar Light

Eau de Shalimar

Shalimar Ode a la Vanille

Shalimar Parfum Initial

Shalimar Parfum Initial L'Eau

Limited editions of Shalimar (without change in the perfume formula itself):

Eau de Shalimar Flower

Shalimar Charms edition & Eau de Shalimar Charms edition

Shalimar Fourreau du Soir

Shalimar extrait de parfum in Bacarrat quadrilobe flacon 2011 edition

The music in the commercial clip is Initials BB by Serge Gainsbourg.