Hermes Hiris: fragrance review

Once upon a time, concubines in the Far East were fed animal musk, so that their bodies would sweat in sweet fragrance. Nowadays they feed themselves angelica roots, boiled carrots, and almond baked in tin foil, with the tin foil intact. They spray themselves absent-mindedly with an obsolete hairspray that engulfs them in musk, sending electrical sparks like a loose train set on liquid tracks, running in the storm to nobody knows where. They work under azure skies which never betray the greyness of their gaze. They dream of "Et la lune descent sur le temple qui fut". Some girls nowadays are fed Hiris by Hermès...

Hiris: from the flower to the fragrance, the modern and refined mindset of a unique soliflore, all devoted to the splendor of the iris. A perfume of emotion and subtlety conceived by perfumer Olivia de Giacobetti in 1999, it expresses its charm with an infinite delicacy; sometimes floral, sometimes powdery or plant-like, always one of the olfactory wonders of nature.

The quintessential dry powder scent, Hiris by Hermès is the yardstick against which orris scents can be measured in a sweetness to dryness climax; this one is set on ultra-dry. For sheer uniqueness it could only be compared to the cold melancholia of Iris Silver Mist by Serge Lutens, but it's less gloomy, less sombre, warming a bit through the skin-like ambrette seed. It's for INFP types for sure.
And it falls naturally into the pattern set out by Hermès, a house that caters to an effortless sensibility of quiet sensuousness, of subtle sexiness, of refined intellectuality. A precious keepsake.

Fragrance notes for Hermès Hiris:
Top Notes
Iris, Coriander, Carrot
Heart Notes
Iris, Neroli, Rose, Hay
Base notes
Honey, Almond wood, Vanilla, Cedarwood, Ambrette seed

NB. The older bottles are in blue frosted glass packaged in an orange carton. The newer ones are in a transparent glass bottle with gold cap and a blue label, packaged in an orange and blue carton. 

Serge Lutens Chergui: Hay Heaven-Fragrance Review

Oddly enough, though I love both orientals and Serge Lutens fragrances on the whole, both of which I own a rather significant collection, I rarely reach for Chergui. I attribute this to its not finding it challenging enough or wistful enough; Lutens fragrances in particular either lure me with their pensive, introspective mode (Iris Silver Mist, Douce Amere, L'Orpheline and La Myrrhe...) or with their exultation of taking a chosen artistic direction to its natural apex (Fleurs d'oranger, El Attarine, Arabie, Sarrasins and Tubereuse Criminelle...). Chergui nevertheless enjoys the kind of popularity that makes me revisit it at disjointed timeposts...when something new and terrifying lies in the horizon or when I'm particularly congratulatory of a penitent interval.

Lutens promises the exoticism of the east with Chergui (ascending from the name onwards...) but delivers a quite restrained composition that is not too challenging. It melds with the skin and complements it, plus it's mildly sweet (very popular with modern audiences) and subtly powdery like a greige sweater that's comfy enough to hide one's melancholia behind.

The Lutensian story behind the fragrance is certainly highly visual:

"A fire fanned by the wind, a desert in flames. As if bursting from the earth, Chergui, a desert wind, creates an effect that involves suction more than blowing, carrying plants, insects and twigs along in an inescapable ascent. Its full, persistent gusts crystallize shrubs, bushes and berries, which proceed to scorch, shrivel up and pay a final ransom in saps, resins and juices. Night falls on a still-smoldering memory, making way for the fragrant, ambery and candied aromas by the alchemist that is Chergui."

The facet which is dominating on my skin is the coumarin (what we refer to as mown hay). Indeed hay absolute plays a prominent role in the composition, but it's still pertinent to stress that on my skin Chergui by Lutens is not a pipe tobacco dream oriental with masculine proclivities as sometimes described, but a cuddly roll in the hay that sticks on you for long after the deed. It's soft and warm and lasts for a full 48 hours, which is quite impressive and a good recommendation for people who have longevity issues with fragrances in general.

It has been remarked upon before but the shift from the rather medicinal opening (in the older formula) into the fluffier hay core is a point of tension. It's the one and major change that happens in a fragrance that remains mostly linear on my skin. Still it presents its own "a ha!" moment.

Chergui by Serge Lutens is dry, befitting the name but at once lush and dense, and it brings to mind a certain opacity to the proceedings which is typical for most Lutens fragrances, which could be easily attributed to an oriental character; even the florals! Chergui is redolent of oil paintings by Dutch masters, somber yet textured, and as if you can taste it. I find this a quality that resonates with Lutens buyers and therefore Chergui is probably a safe purchase.

Reveling in Hay

Today is probably the first cool day of autumn. Not exactly cool, mind you, we're under partially sunny skies and it's just crisp in the morning and evening, but warm at noon, but you know what that means for a perfumista; sorting out the winter wardrobe of fragrances, making room at the front of the perfume closet for the cozier, warmer, sexier scents to rotate when the mood strikes for a little mulled wine in the evening to replace the chilled sangria and a light mohair cardigan over the summery strappy tops.

So what did I choose, perfume-wise? Chergui by Serge Lutens. A fragrance steeped in the warm brushstrokes of hay absolute; mollifying the ennui of daily chores, caressing instead of highly stung, reassuring, comforting like a pair of trusty flannel slippers after a long walk home in stiff stilettos, or a roll in the hay with someone you know since childhood.

Hay is a glorious aroma in a fragrance and I'd love to hear your favorite perfumes with a hay note in the comments. Let's get inspired for the cooler season ahead!

pic of Jane Russell from the Outlaw via arizonaslittlehollywood.blogspot.com

Patricia de Nicolai Kiss Me Tender: fragrance review

Heliotrope is at once deep, soft and mysterious, a note traversing the rainbow from the yellow of vanilla pods and almond, to the light blue and green of anise right to newly mown hay. Kiss Me Tender by Parisian niche brand Patricia de Nicolaï feels like being submerged in a warm bathtub on a cool evening, the translucence of water clouded by the full range of the delicate, powdered notes of heliotrope.

The simplicity of structure in Kiss Me Tender shouldn't fool us into believing there is no skill involved. Heliotrope might be a full perfume in itself, but De Nicolaï weaves it both subtly and deliciously, a hint of retro without ever falling into the pit of dated. If you always liked the powdered aniseed core of the classic L'Heure Bleue perfume but found it too mature, rejoice: the main components ~anise, orange blossom and synthetic heliotropin (for heliotrope notes, as the flower cannot be extracted)~ are present in both the classic Guerlain and the newer Patricia de Nicolaï; it might all be in the genes, the woman derives from Guerlain stock after all! (For those who don't know, she's the grand-daughter of Pierre Guerlain). But it's more than that just modernising and streamlining a beloved structure and one of the quintessentially Guerlain notes. It's underscoring it with a freshness and tenderness like never before.

The almondy facets in Kiss Me Tender bolstered by vanilla overlap into the gourmand oriental fragrance group; tempered, good-mannered sweet, a touch of white pastry confectionary like marzipan accented with spicy bites that are just this side of edgy. The hay facet is clearly discernible, over abstract solar notes (salicylates) of ylang ylang and non-indolic jasmine, floating on a watery pong, the two woven in the ethereal way of Hermès Vanille Galante.

More delicate and subtle with skin-soft musky notes than livilier interpretations of the note (such as the latest versions of Guerlain's Apres L'Ondée which are eclipsing the violet in lieu of heliotropin) Kiss Me Tender comes closer to the feel of being wrapped by goose down in L'Eau d'Hiver (F.Malle) or the lighter interpetations of Shalimar and Habit Rouge; after all it shares the flou, hazy base of opoponax resin with the latter two. The deviant, fresh and slightly green, minty-anisic top note takes Kiss Me Tender on a different track than the usually opressive routes of other gourmand or floriental fragrances built on almond and gives it a unisex aspect that men might enjoy too. (The trick of coupling anise with vanilla for lightening the latter is working for Jo Malone in Vanilla & Anise as well.)
For its elegance and versatility, Kiss Me Tender is a must-try for those who always sought for a discreet daytime heliotrope fragrance but probably a bit too pastel for those who like their floral orientals hard-core and khol-eyed.

Notes for Patricia de Nicolai Kiss Me Tender:
vanilla, aniseed, almond, heliotrope, fresh cut hay

Kiss Me Tender is available in 30ml/1oz for 39 euros or 100ml/3.4oz for 99 euros of Eau de Parfum available on the official Patricia de Nicolaï site and select stockists.