Puredistance Opardu: fragrance review & draw

I am doubtful as to whether an elegant yet lush floral with woody undertones is really reminiscent of the opulence of the 1920s and 1930s. Historically, I know these were years when florals were given the sheen of aldehydes, transposing them from worlds of flower beds into vistas of abstraction (Je Reviens by Worth, Chanel no.5, Bois des Iles), and big profuse chypres, often with decadent fruity notes (see the pineapple in Colony by Patou, the peach-skin in Mitsouko by Guerlain et al) or leathery scented accents (Cuir de Russie by Chanel, Scandal by Lanvin for instance), reigned supreme. In that sense Opardu, the latest fragrance by Puredistance, is rather incongruent, but it is delightful all the same in its own genre, much like all the fragrances in the line have proven so far: from the smooth bravado of M by Puredistance to the nostalgic femininity of Antonia, the compact line is well thought of, evidenced by the lack of continuous releases heaping up like an avalanche on us -much like it happens with some other niche lines that shall remain unnamed.

via http://osullivan60.blogspot.com

No, Puredistance makes an effort and as soon as the first transparent drops of the new elixir, Opardu, landed on my skin I knew that this was another quality fragrance from them. My only complaint? For a parfum concentration, it seems weaker, less lasting than the others. But don't let that stop you from trying for yourself.

The inspiration
The word 'OPARDU' is a creation of the owner and creative director of Puredistance: Jan Ewoud Vos. "When he came up with the word OPARDU he felt that this word had always been there, in a mysterious way... evocative and strangely familiar" the official story goes. I can't say it means anything specific to me, yet it does evoke leopards, bringing to mind Visconti's glorious and utterly romantic Il Gattopardo in mind.

"It took more than a year to further work out OPARDU. Central to the 'feeling' of OPARDU have been the expressive paintings of Kees van Dongen, in particular one of his illustrations for the book 'PARFUMS' by Paul Valéry, published in 1945 in a limited edition of 1000. (Jan Ewoud Vos is the owner of book no. 429)." [according to this info]

 The bouquet in the middle below is an illustration of Kees van Dongen

The perfumer

When Jan Ewoud Vos showed this illustration of Kees Van Dongen - a rich and lush bouquet of flowers - to Annie Buzantian, the famous Master Perfumer from New York, she instantly fell in love with it. The first word that came to her mind was 'Opulence'. She also felt this nostalgic feeling for the early years of the previous century; the golden age of perfumery. And then her work began. As a starting point Annie used a reinterpretation of a classic carnation she had already created which was safely stored in one of her 'secret' drawers.

How it Smells 

To my nose the dominating sensation is not of a classic carnation (those tended to be clove-spicy affairs, like in Caron's Poivre & Coup de Fouet), but rather of lilacs; pollen-dusted and with nectarous facets that mingle with a smidgen of green, transparent gardenia impression and a hint of powder and cedarwood. These lilacs are divested of their more melancholy, rained-upon ambience that En Passant by perfumer Olivia Giacobetti for Frederic Malle's perfume line has turned into a cult. That was a passing impression of walking under an umbrella in the early spring just catching a whiff of white lilacs in the distance from some stone and cement-walled garden afar. Here, in Opardu, the purple lilac is trembling under the morning sun and the white flower notes (not especially indolic, but not sanitized either) provide a tinge of honeyed sweetness. The wink of a bit of spice could be said to evoke a carnation interpretation, though I'm mostly struck by the inclusion of the non mentioned powdery soft and woody-earthy garland of ionones (rendering a violet note) and what I could liken to a hawthorn/mimosa note with a little muskiness. If you have always admired Vacances by Patou (1936) but have been frustrated by its rarity (now that even the 1980s reissue is discontinued for so long), Opardu can provide a good substitute.
This delicate bouquet in Opardu makes for a very feminine and subtle composition that is graceful rather than opulent and restrained in very good taste. I would have loved it to be a bit more maxed out for the opulent effect and for greater tenacity, but that's just me.

Notes for Opardu by Puredistance:
Main notes in Opardu as announced in time of writing are: carnation, tuberose absolute, jasmine absolute and gardenia with a background evoking the gentleness of romance through soft powdery notes. (All notes will be officially revealed in the first week of November, when I will update).

OPARDU will be available in a 17.5 ml. Perfume Spray and a 60 ml. Perfume Flacon as pure Perfume Extrait (32%) only, in November 2012. Available at select carriers.

A sample of the as yet unreleased Opardu parfum will be given to a lucky reader who comments on this post. Draw is open internationally till Sunday midnight. Draw is now closed, thank you!

 Music: Φεύγω (i.e.I'm leaving...all those years I'm leaving) by Greek songwriter Orpheas Pieridis, adapted here & sung by Dionyssis Savvopoulos.

In the interests of full disclosure I was sent a sample for consideration.

Flora Attica: Galivanting amidst the Greek gardens

The last day of May had me leafing through the photos that I had taken throughout the Veniamin month of spring. The fragrant orgy of the warm Greek spring was simply irresistible not to lock away in digital form for the gloomiest days of winter and the promise of a rampant summer was achingly palpable in every petal and every leaf.
Here are some of them as a small tribute to the glory of scented walks in the city...




The season of the lilac is all too brief, its passing leaving behind a nostalgic pang for beauty betrodden.

I like to prolong their fragrant whisperings by wearing Tocadilly, After my Own Heart by Ineke and Highland Lilac of Rochester well into the early throes of summer, when their lush, ripe beauty is but a distant memory. (click the links for reviews)






Pittosporum tobira (the dominant blossom in the heart of the strict, celebral chypre Knowing by Estee Lauder) hides in its small little corola a sweet, intoxicating smell of white floral longing.
The whiffs caught in the evening make the heart palpitate with pleasure and rapture.




The vibrant flowers of oleander in pink, white or salmon are characteristic of the Greek landscape and truly abundant, even in the intense heat of the summer. Their dusty, bittersweet aroma that combines earth and stem is indicative of their poisonous nature, yet tempting to a tentative taste.





Robinia pseudoacacia (mock acacia) on the other hand blooms safely in May and the white grappes hanging off the trees are swaying in the cool breeze of early morning with the promise of sunny happiness.



Small statuettes are very common in doorways and porticos and here we have a Venetian lion under a climbing vine and fuschia bougainvillea bush. The early peaches are visible on the peach tree at the background. The succulent juice of the fruit whets my appetite for Péché Cardinal by parfums MDCI, in which the sinful peach is the indomitable protagonist.




Fig trees, their mighty shade and their dusty, bitter tang of the leaves always a welcome solace in the schorching rays of high summer, are already producing their first figs, unripe and green. They're bitter still, their white-ish "milk" making one's face grimace upon smelling like a child sucking on a sour lemon for the very first time.
The refreshing quality of both tree and fruit is lovingly captured in L'artisan's Premier Figuier, Cielo by Napa Valley, and A la figue by Satellite.







Scarlett bougainvilleas are sadly without their match in perfumery, but their emblematic contrast with the white of the houses casts our mind to summer vacations on Greek isles and their respective irresistible bouquet of aromata of herbs and foliage.

Roses are early bloomers in the warm climate and the juxtaposition of this most English of flowers with the terracotta of the archaic metopes and akroteria is arresting in its unexpectedness. Whenever the mood strikes me for a lush rose fragrance such as these blooms I turn to the embullient rose and violet combination that is Yves Saint Laurent's Paris; its crystal melody speaking of feminine elegance and almost tipsy romanticism. When I want an earthier companion to my rose, Une Rose Chyprée by Andy Tauer and Frédéric Malle's Une Rose provide the rich, dirty feel that enrobs my roses with the pungent soil odour following a summer thunderstorm. And finally when I'm all out for an orientalised classical rose that "would smell as sweet", nothing will do but Guerlain's Nahéma.


Last but not least, this garlanded doorway of delight had me stop in my tracks even before I turned the corner of the small alleyway; the fragrant stream of the jasmine trellis was so potent, so intoxicating, my feet had a will of their own trying to track the source of the heavenly aroma! Nothing caprtures the beauty and the awe of summer jasmine in the warm embrace of the Mediterannean like A la Nuit by Serge Lutens ~its enveloping hug is as mesmerising as falling in love all over again: not only with one's beloved but, more importantly, with life itself.

All photos by Elena Vosnaki, copyright for Perfume Shrine. Click to enlarge.

The Elusive Smells of Lilac and Osmanthus

Some smells in nature are elusive in their misty, delicate nuance, in their complexity which defies classification. Two among them are the scent of lilacs and osmanthus blossoms. The former is at once lush and fresh, intimately fleshy and pollen-dusted sweet in its corolla, the spin of April lanceloate yarns of purple and white, goosebumbing their small blooms in the cool breeze. The latter is an intricate dentelle of fruity-leathery smells evoking plums, apricots and prunes hidden in a suede pouch upon a warrior-poet’s belt in the stunningly beautiful landscape shots of the film "Hero".

The hunt for the perfect lilac (syringa) has taken me into semi-treacherous paths of testing dubious essences concocted in amateur workshops, as well as laying out good money in the pursuit of the unsatisfying (ie.the let-down that was En Passant for me personally, because of its watery-yeasty direction) or the perfectly congenial (Tocadilly by Rochas and Ineke After my Own Heart). Now that the season of lilacs has here reached its end, it is with the somewhat premature nostalgia of tasting the end of a beautiful phase that I find myself reaching anew for one of the scents which utilize lilacs in a realistic rendition: the Highland Lilac of Rochester, NY, the Lilac Capital of the world. Every May the Lilac Festival of Rochester consists of a lavish array of flowers and attractions which commemorates a flower traditionally close to the heart of Americans: from the garden of Thomas Jefferson to the Custis and the George Washington Families who financed the region abundant in the blooms.
The fragrance was conceived in 1967 and developped by International Flavors and Fragrances perfumers consequently becoming the romantic choice of no less than 5 US first ladies. Each Spring, the rare double flowering and other special varieties of lilac buds and blossoms are harvested, collected and tested to ensure adherence to the original composition. The formula seems to undulate between an oily, yet fresh top note not unlike that of hyacinths, with a spicy whisper of anisaldehyde. The sensuality of the drydown brings a lightly powdery, not too sweet darkness that speaks of lovers amidst the bushes. Among lilac fragrances Highland Lilac of Rochester stands as the one which best captures both facets of the natural blossoms.

Osmanthus fragrans (Sweet Osmanthus) or 桂花/ guìhuā in Chinese and金木犀/ Kinmokusei in Japanese is ~like lilac~ another member of the Oleaceae family and its fresh and highly fragrant aroma is a natural wonder professing a nuanced texture. Also known as Tea Olive (because olive is the pre-eminent member of the Oleaceae family) it is the emblem flower of Hangzhou, China. It is therefore not surprising that one of the best renditions of the elusive wonder is made in China. The local company 芭蕾 producing it translates as "Ballet", which is highly appropriate considering the dancing nature of the scent on skin. Highly fragrant and succulent in its peachy-apricoty top note it is nothing short of mouthwatering. The effect of the natural flower is undoubtedly enhanced with a synthesized apricoty creamy note (benzylaldehyde, aldehyde C16, amyl butyrate?), giving an almost velours effect along with an ionone note of sweet violet. Later on the scent takes on the delicious aroma of a freshly taken-out of the wardrobe suede coat, its butyric creaminess a welcome contrast to the fruity-floral heart.

In both fragrances the fleshy naturals are flanked by man-made essences which bring diffusion and radiance, yet the surprise they created in me was pointed: here were two elusive scents captured lovingly!


Highland Lilac of Rochester can be purchased online on the official Highland Lilac site (1oz for $49.95) I do not know of an online source for the above osmanthus fragrance, alas, as I was given a decant by a friend to try out. However Hove’s of New Orleans Tea Olive ~although not quite as faithful~ is a very nice rendition with white floral accents.

Top pic of Zhang Zigy from Hero via Chrisohnbeckett/flickr (some rights reserved) and second pic via evilelitest.blogspot.com.
Osmanthus via wikimedia commons.

Tocadilly by Rochas: fragrance review

There is a French expression "mettre en valeur" which roughly translates as to highlight, to draw attention to one's best features. This is what Tocadilly by Rochas does; an ethereal scent that highlights the flowers of spring I love ~lilac, wisteria and mimosa~ beautifully, yet transcends the genre of floral. The feeling I get, when I sort this out of my perfume wardrobe at the first hints of spring, is just like the interplay of cool and warm one experiences upon imprinting their breath "fog" on a wet window pane.

Tocadilly by Marcel Rochas is a floral which launched in 1997 amidst a sea of aquatics and marines. It was said that it represents the younger sister of Tocade, an intensely rosy vanillic fragrance by Maurice Roucel from 1994, yet I do not perceive the kinship of spirit that should tie them in such a close relationship. They both have the same design of flacon, nevertheless, created by bottle designer Serge Mansau; but to Tocade's red packaging hues Tocadilly conterpoints blue-green-purple tones and the aura of the scent is complimentary.
Perfumer Christopher Sheldrake (currently at Chanel) is best known for his oeuvre under the wing of Serge Lutens composing a sumptuous line of persuasive orientals and opulent florals. In Tocadilly those preconceptions are shed and Sheldrake reveals a light, lacy touch that is capable of creating diaphanous effects which do not lack staying power or diffusion. The composition is segmentated into interesting facets of aqueous, fruity, floral and lightly ambery-powdery, fusing into a playful, cheerful and tender composition that is above all soft.

Three years before the modern aqueous lilacs of En Passant (2000), realised by Olivia Giacobetti for éditions des parfums Frédéric Malle, Tocadilly had captured this unholy allience between "clean" and "dirty" (Lilacs naturally have an anisic spiciness/powderiness recreated through anisaldehyde and heliotropin in fragrances, as extraction is so uneconomical/unyielding*; yet they often also possess an animalic undercurrent like pollen dusted on impolite feminine parts, especially the mauve-tinged blooms). The watery impression of Tocadilly is less "marine" than En Passant and the yeasty note is absent completely, rendering a must-try for both lovers and haters of En Passant.
The unusual pear note comes from the flavour industry and was contemporarily explored in Annick Goutal's Petite Chérie. Yet in Tocadilly it's not as easily decomposed and the absence of intense sugary lappings helps along, focusing instead on the almost pollen-like aroma of wisteria and lilacs. The mimosa is detectable ~and delectable, providing the emotional foil for the overall spring-like tonality which runs through the fragrance. Yet one would be hard pressed to designate Tocadilly to any particular season. It's utterly friendly and wearable in almost all settings and all climates, easing itself with an insouciant shrug of the shoulders and a child-like innocence that's not without a little mischief.

Notes for Rochas Tocadilly:
Top: cucumber, lilac, hyacinth, pear, jasmine, tiare, wisteria, mallow, mimosa and mandarin.
Heart: glycine/wisteria, coconut and heliotrope.
Base: sandalwood, musk and amber.

Sadly discontinued, Tocadilly is still available online.

*There is a fragrance that is purpotedly using a natural extraction of the flower itself, Highland Lilac of Rochester, to which we will return soon.

Photo Dreams and Cookies II via meren.org. Lilacs shot by PerfumeShrine, all rights reserved.

Patou Ma Collection: part 5 ~Vacances review

This painting of Marc Chagall, Lovers in the Lilacs, has always striken me as the quintessential mark of an unanswered question which both love and flowers wear like a corona: how can the ephemeral be coaxed to last?
Lilacs especially live and die for all too brief a season, creating the yearning that short-lived pleasures know how to taunt us with, reminding us of our own mortality.
Vacances by Patou, a fragrance which tries to make them last, was composed by Henri Alméras in 1936 to celebrate the first paid vacations in France (“vacances” in French). Coincidentally it was the same year that Jean Patou himself died of apoplexy at the young age of 49, immersed in business worries and anxious for the future of his house. It seems that his touch on the pulse of trends wasn’t as firmly set in the 1930s as it had been in the 1920s. Luckily the house was saved by Raymond Barbas, his brother-in-law, who would persist and would be commisioning other fragrances to his in-house perfumers Henri Alméras and Henri Giboulet: Colony in 1938, then L’heure Attendue in 1946, and Câline in 1964, as well as other less-known ones such as the 1956 Lasso, Makila, Délices…

Patou himself would have loved to see the deep appreciation lilac and hyacinth lovers feel for his wonderful fragrance, however. Vacances is the best showcase for the simultaneously green, oily and metallic aspects of hyacinth, but also for the richest lilac note one could wish for in a fragrance this side of respectable. And I am saying this because lilac blossoms are profoundly dirty-smelling really, but with such beauty, such wistfulness and such abandon that they know how to play with my heartstrings.

The elusiveness of lilac is due to its resistance to yielding a sufficient essence for use in perfumery, making it the par excellence recreated note, which so often recalls housecleaning products or air-fresheners (the molecule hydroxycitronellal which is also used to recreate muguet/lily of the valley is often the culprit, as well as Terpineol) The IFF Lyral base has also been used in lilac perfumes. On some occasions, perfumers go for an unexpected combination to provide a needed counterpoint, like the aqueous note along with yeast for En Passant by Olivia Giacobetti for F.Malle; or the modern dusty take of Ineke in After my Own Heart.

But immerse your soul into Vacances and you will understand that the message of the lilac panicles is more fulsome, beckoning you to oblivion. The rays of spring sun fall on flowers as if for the first time. But despite its allegiance to spring it can be worn year round.
The starkly green opening of galbanum in Patou's Vacances is the frame to the opaque jade and peppery spice of hyacinth, with its wet green stems smashed. And then the full force of oily-sweet indolic lilac, pretty and dirty like puce-pink knickers dusted with pollen, worn for a day too long and a shower too short. The golden muskiness that remains is subtle yet definitely there, posing a gigantic question mark seeking an answer that will never come.

Notes for Vacances: galbanum, hyacinth, hawthorn, lilac, mimosa, musk, woods

Although Vacances outlived Patou himself, it got to know a hiatus until 1984 when it was re-issued as part of Ma Collection by then in-house perfumer Jean Kerléo. In a coup of inexplicable tragedy, all the scents in Ma Collection however have been discontinued and are quite hard to find. Let’s fervently pray the masterminds at Patou ~and P&G who own them~ bring it back from the dead into the realm of the living where it so passionately belongs.

"Lovers in the Lilacs" by Marc Chagall, courtesy of abcgallery.com. Bottle pic by Frances Ann Ade via Basenotes.

After my Own Heart by Ineke: fragrance review

"April is the cruellest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land"

says the famous line from the Waste Land.

Lilac has always stood for me as the very emblem of April, "stirring dull roots with spring rain". So inextricably has the month been linked to the bloom's Greek name. Πασχαλια/Paschalia (Pa-scha-leeA) means "Easter blossom" simply because lilacs bloom exactly around the time of Orthodox Easter in April. But like the festivities and the spring rain, alas they last all too briefly. The much needed rain is a brief occurrence in our warmer climate.

The hunt for a realistic soliflore that replicates the lush character of this elusive bloom has occupied me for years, ever since I was a child, buying little oils at herbalist shops with my pocket money after school.
Lilac's odour profile is unique in that it incorporates the clean and the dirty rolled into one and is romantic as well as sexualised. When one buries one's face into the large panicles, the smell of intimacy, like worn musky undergarments by a lover scintillates, mingled with the honeyed pollen and the translucent dewiness of soft petals; conspiring into a spring plot to ensnare you into surrendering all thought and yield to its fragrant message to howl "the eternal yes".

And yet perfumers have never been able to extract a good and abundant enough essence for use in perfumery, therefore the combination of other natural oils and synthetics such as Apo patchone, Lindenol, Nerol 800/900, Terpineol Extra, Dimethyl Benzyl Carbinol to replicate the scent of the living flower are used. Too often the final product turns out to smell like tin foil and unappealing to anyone who has had the good fortune to have had cut branches of the real thing adorning their homes at spring, emitting their heavenly aroma beneath gauzy curtains gushing in the wind.

Syringa (Lilac) is a genus of 20–25 species of flowering plants in the olive family (Oleaceae) which are usually a light purple (commonly referred to as lilac or lilas in French) or less often light pink or white. Native to Europe and Asia, it is said that Syringa Persica has been brought to Europe at the end of the 16th century, from the Ottoman gardens, while Syringa Vulgaris grew in the Balkans. The Holy Roman Emperor's ambassador, Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq, is credited with supplying lilac slips to Carolus Clusius, in 1562. Botanists of fame, like the herbalist John Gerard, soon had the rarity in their gardens: he notes lilacs growing “in very great plenty” in 1597. In the American colonies lilacs were introduced in the 18th century.
It is also interesting to note that purple lilacs symbolise first love and white lilacs youthful innocence (see Language of flowers).

In Ineke's After my Own Heart, I found a satisfying lilac interpretation that is innocent, yet not without the throes of first love vibrating its delicate heart strings. Described as "the scent of fresh lilacs floating on the early breeze" it fulfils its promise of a fresh perfume with a romantic inclination. The fragrance opens on a lightly powdery burst of greenery with a slightly bitter background of chilliness, like the rush of wind on a cool evening, bringing up goosebumps on warm skin. Almost instantaneously, however, a warm sweetness like that of pollen is surfacing to mollify and caress, with the delicate touch of a dot of marzipan paste on a plate of berries drizzled with a touch of Alsatian Riesling not short of its goût petrol. The composition is modern, with a more or less linear presence on the skin, meaning there is no distinct development, sustaining the impression of flower and dusty air for a good while.
To compare After my Own Heart with another modern approach on a lilac soliflore, F.Malle's En Passant, by nose Olivia Giacobetti, I would venture to say that the latter is pronouncedly more limpid and aqueous, with a slightly sour note, like sniffing fresh yeasty bread dough. Although both go for the fresh approach they divert ways very soon, as Ineke's rendition is a little dustier and sweeter and probably less dependent on particular skin chemistry. They resemble watercolours for which the artist thought of light green tones and white opalescence of a cool, bracing morning (for En Passant) and of the pinky blue skies of afternoon warmth (for After my Own Heart).
Guerlain's Angelique Lilas in the Aqua Allegoria line is another interpretation, this time with the watery theme veering into the bitter terrain of rained upon angelicas, but the pronounced Calone element in it might seem harsher than Ineke's approach.

Contemplating whether my personal lilac-strewn Eldorado has been reached, I find that like the mythical town it is best to dream and find elements of it in the fragrances on offer. Perhaps the search will never end until technology and analytical chemistry sufficiently unravel the thread of Ariadne. Until then, real stems of lilac in a vase along with pleasant fragrances that echo its sweet message such as After my Own Heart will keep me company.

Notes: bergamot, raspberry, green foliage, lilac, sandalwood, heliotrope and musk.

Info on how to obtain the fragrance and samples at Ineke.com
You can read an appreciation of the whole line from A to E clicking this Ineke article.




Les Atelies du Parfum has posted a lovely lilac poem for those of you who read French.

Clip of Erik Satie's Gymnopédie No.1 uploaded by Kyromaster on Youtube.
Pic originally uploaded by princesshaiku.