The Unisex Beauty of Guerlain's Jicky (Photo Collection, Short Review & Perfume Musings)

Jicky by Guerlain is a gender bender perfume to end all gender benders; changing sex and direction mid-stream in its illustrious career like an adolescent fulfilling a transgender urge.
The issue of what differentiates female from male idiosyncrasies in general is complicated enough, so it's only natural that one of the most popular questions in perfume for and general discussion is how the opposite sex perceives and decodes the fragrances meant for the other sex.
In perfume terms the composition of different formulas for the two sexes, roughly floral and oriental for the ladies, with a sprinkling of chypre and fruity, reserving woody and citrus for the gentlemen, is a relatively recent phenomenon, dating from the dawn of modern perfumery in the end of the 19th century. Up till then, there was pretty much lots of leeway for men to delve in floral waters of the Victorian era or even the rich civet and musk laden compositions of 18th century decadence.

photo by Elena Vosnaki

Why the name Jicky? "From his student days, perfumer Aimé Guerlain kept the enamoured memory of a young woman named Jicky to whom he paid a beautiful homage with one of his most wonderful olfactory creations. By pure coincidence, the diminutive of his nephew Jacques was also Jicky. Jicky initiated the creation of "abstract perfumery" as opposed to "figurative perfumery". With its interplay of unique facets, it was the first in the perfume world to have such a trail and tenacity. This forerunner of new modern olfactory creations is the founding father of the legendary Shalimar."

Or so the story goes...because it is but a story, a fabricated myth that shows how fragrance tales were used to be told in the olden days...

photo by Elena Vosnaki

Nowadays, lavender , as in a classic like Jicky, is almost code-name for men's cologne, the backbone of a typical fougère fragrance for men, especially since archetypes such as this originally-aimed-at-women-then-usurped-by-men of good taste cemented this notion. The tension of the citrus top note with the animal character of the base is what makes the "jam"; lots of musk and lots of civet too in the older formula, evident in extrait de perfume formula and the not so distant kinship of Mouchoir de Monsieur fragrance, also by Guerlain.

Evaluating a masculine or unisex fragrance is always harder for me than evaluating a fragrance that is divested of its loaded semiotics of gender, or which appeals to my own femininity heads on. At least I can asses femininity first hand and dismiss the hyperbolic claims of modern advertising with a wave of a well-manicured hand. 

In perfume terms the composition of different formulas for the two sexes, roughly floral and oriental for the ladies, with a sprinkling of chypre and fruity, reserving woody and citrus for the gentlemen, is a relatively recent phenomenon, dating from the dawn of modern perfumery in the end of the 19th century. Up till then, there was pretty much lots of leeway for men to delve in floral waters of the Victorian era or even the rich civet and musk laden compositions of 18th century decadence.

It's therefore somewhat fitting the zeitgeist, with the discussion about gendered IDs flaming up again, that Guerlain revisited their roots tentatively when launching Mon Guerlain in 2017 with their merging of lavender (more prominently than in the Yves Saint Laurent fragrance Libre) with their trademark orientalized vanilla. From it, a spawn of feminine fragrances with lavender came forth like mushrooms after the rain.

photo by Elena Vosnaki

Jicky by Guerlain remains a monument, a beacon of taste in a tasteless world. 

Perfumery Material: Coumarin, Tonka Bean & the Fougere accord

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

• Origin & function of coumarin

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

• History of coumarin discovery & synthesis

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

• The Fougere fragrance family

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

• The odour profile of coumarin

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

• Fragrances featuring discernible amounts of coumarin

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

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfumery Materials one by one

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

How much more gorgeous can you go?

Seek and you shall find: it is these biblical words that come to mind upon seeing the gorgeous advertisements of the year 1972 by Guerlain.
I was seeking an ad that would depict a red-haired beauty for Mitsouko in a futile search for the entertaining although completely frivolous concept of perfumes for certain haircolours,; a concept that had been in practice however at the start of the 20th century when houses would produce indeed fragrances aimed at different types of women, as classified per haircolour. Patou was one of them. Guerlain also had created Mitsouko for darker women and L'heure bleue for blondes, as I had read in a perfumer's confession to a journalist acquaintance.
And then I stumbled upon these. And a vista of beautiful possibilities opened up...

Shalimar for a raven-haired seductress


Mitsouko for a redhead introspect

L'heure bleue for a wistful, enigmatic dark blonde

Jicky for a dynamic, sizzling blonde



and finally, the pièce de resistance:
Vol de Nuit for a regal auburn-shaded brunette




Never mind that it looks like it's the same model on all the above ads. Ah...the perfume lover can dream, can't she?




all pics courtesy of okadi

Lies and Misdemeanors

How many times have you heard a story regarding the creation of a perfume and in the end realised it must be a fabrication?
From the almost bordering to the homeric notion of "genius through incapacitation" of Coco Chanel picking up the specific batch of Ernest Beaux's No.5 while having a severe headache to another tale ~ according to which Beaux's assistant was the culprit behind the revolutionary amount of aldehydes poured by accident into a vat of jus ready for the making that resulted in a new category of perfumes.
From the melancholic Mitsouko name supposedly meaning "mystery" in Japanese (well, it means "child of light", if you want to know) and the tale that Jicky was the nickname of an unfortunate coup de foudre that Aime Guerlain harbored for an English girl (in reality it was the nickname of his nephew Jacques) to the couturier Marcel Rochas commissioning Femme as an exclusive wedding present for his great beauty of a young bride, which proved to be such a short-lived exclusive that the following year he launched it publicly...

And cut into the modern classic that is Angel, commissioned to smell like the "the caramel scent of sugared apples, the sugary notes of candy floss and the smell of the fun fair" by Strasbourg-born Thierry Mugler. (You can read an interesting article brought to my attention on the gourmand scents mentioning this byclicking here).
Or even the references made by consumers when they talk about a favourite or just plain hip of-the-moment perfume they have fallen for: Remember how Madona in the mid-90s talked about how she chose Fracas, among many others, because it reminded her of her dearly beloved mother who used to wear it, just when the whole chic crowd was rediscovering this forgotten classic and had similar stories to recount?

Perfume needs a tale behind it to sell, it seems. Every single one of the classics has a tale behind it. Every single one of those tales has some element of fantasy. It has to, because perfume seems to be aspirational: people want to buy into a fairy tale, an illusion, a flight of fancy that would make them feel happier, more elegant, more glamorous, more alluring, certainly more attractive. At its basest level perfume is used as an element of attraction. There is an inordinate amount of questions on which perfume would draw in more people of the opposite sex on perfume fora. It practically pops up every day. It also makes column inches in advertorials and articles in the press, especially when it's time for the mega-launches before the Christmas season.

However, perfume also serves other purposes: it signals a certain persona behind it (and this is not used in the Bergman sense) that is projected through the use of something upscale as an emblem of wealth, societal status, taste and cultivation. This is the reason why when giving gifts of perfume of brands that are considered upscale the face of the recipient lights up significantly more than when presenting them with an equal -monetarily speaking- offering of an unknown brand. They feel like they "belong" and that they are validated when presented with said offering, same as when they whip up the credit card to do it themselves. And people mostly want to "belong".

A variation of the latter nevertheless is the undisciplined spirit of people who want to be perceived as breaking the mould, as forming their own individual fashions and opting for something that would set them apart. In a world that is crammed with people smelling the same, the olfactory ID of a different scent acts much like the shoulderpads of the 80s, creating a little distance and hauteur that allows people to mark their own territory. And this is where the ever expanding market of "niche" perfumes falls. Based on the premise that limited ditribution creates exclusivity and that limited advertising saves money for better-quality ingredients, accounting for a better effect, as well as some leeway of an artistic vision that is not as aysterely restrained by "suits" in marketing boards, niche brands opt to play the game by their own rules.
But that is not meant to imply that they do not engage in their own literature of fantasy. Ambre Sultan is supposed to have been inspired by lumps of vegetal amber found in Moroccan souks and served as an inspiration to Lutens to come up with a perfume that has become infamous due to its perceived naughty undertones that to some smell like lady bits. Or think how Annick Goutal reading "Memoirs of Hadrian" by M.Yourcenar envisioned the young philosopher emperor smelling like a crystalline mix of Sicilian lemons and cypress resulting in Eau d'Hadrien. Or yet the very romantic tale of Antonia Ballanca Mahoney recounting the story of her grandfather and a Sicilian song named Tiempe Passate (=time passes) that served as the inspiration behind the homonymous fragrance of austere cedar and powdery orris.

Are those new tales true? I guess it doesn't matter too much. And sceptical readers will have already drawn their conclusions. But it's nice while they last. In a pedantic world they help us dream a bit.


Pic is from the film "Lady in the water", a fairy tale about how fairy tales might help us; courtesy of athinorama.gr