Paco Rabanne La Nuit: fragrance review

 Naked Lady Godiva, Countess of Mercia, rides on her proud gray horse, with leather bridles and wet saddle, keeping her word as a personal wager against her husband, on the occasion of relief from her husband's excessive taxation to the residents of the county. A peeping Tom peeps despite the curfew of the residents. 

This is the image that gradually appears and disappears in my mind - and maybe Rabanne's own, as he was immersed in spirituality for the latter part of his life- as I smell this wonderful creation by Jean Guichard for Paco Rabanne, La Nuit de Paco Rabanne. 

 John Collier's famous painting of Lady Godiva

 

The glamorous image of the TV spots with the woman in an evening lamé dress and flowing long hair, coiffed in 80s style with lots of volume tell only half the tale... 

 

This bold leathery chypre is proud and daring. The green whiplash of artemisia is precious as it segues into honeyed notes, rich and lush. It's easy to get back because it's so horsey at this stage. The alliance of oakmoss with civet and leather in Rabanne's La Nuit raises it into the pantheon of cult classics, though and it remains an unparalleled gem in the collection by the great designer. It's a shame that this gem was discontinued so soon, yet it will always remind me of the great designer of the Space Age, of the 1960s and 1970s. It is at once so much in style with his boldness and at clash points with his overt futurism. 

La Nuit Paco Rabanne... Partout où est la nuit (Everywhere where it is nighttime).

Emanuel Ungaro Diva: fragrance review & reminiscences

People sometimes say things are not what they used to be, and in the case of fragrances, they're unequivocally right. Despite a certain glamorization of the past, which usually indicates dissatisfaction with the present, the fragrance game has changed radically in the past 20 years. Not necessarily for the worse overall, but the bite and edge of fragrances in the mainstream sector has suffered indeed. Some of them, nevertheless, show a predisposition for resisting. Diva by Ungaro seems to be one of them, apparently surviving relatively unscathed. It's still a glorious chypre with an indestructible "hear me roar" bawl that can be heard from the rooftops

(pic via)

I was offered a bottle of Emanuel Ungaro's Diva when I was 19. By my young boyfriend, no less. In today's standards, that would be the equivalent of being offered a petal dress in organza silk, combined with diamond-encrusted earrings to match, to wear to a black-tie ball. Talk about a glamazon! Those were different times, though; we weren't afraid to be adventurous with fragrance or over-apply occasionally. 

Jacques Polge, the legendary perfumer who is the father of the current in-house perfumer at Chanel, Olivier Polge, made sure to include everything and the kitchen sink while composing the byzantine formula of Diva back in the early 1980s. There is the standard big, voluminous, and arguably synthetic rose of the1980s, immortalized in creations such as L'Arte di Gucci, Knowing, and Paris (YSL). It's balanced with a big dollop of patchouli and oakmoss, which give a very distinct aloof quality to the flower, eschewing the prim and romantic allusions of those blossoms and instilling a glamorous and somewhat demanding vibe. You can definitely see how it was an offer of supplication from a boyfriend to one's mistress...

 This wonderful and classic chord is then cleverly wrapped in a honey note, which only sweetens it just so, and a string of animalic notes, from civet to musk (it's almost YSL Kouros-like in its intimacy of warm naughty notes under the clean starchness). It is these elements that help make Diva congenital even to warm ambery perfume lovers. People who like Paloma Piccaso Mon Parfum but find it a bit harsh might find the Ungaro fragrance more simpatico to their sensibilities; it's worth trying and comparing to see the common lineage at the very least.

There is warmth and plush in Diva, as well as a dollop of other flower essences than rose, which enhances its femininity, and it all makes it less of a boardroom fragrance, unlike the way Knowing can appear austere and buttoned-up, especially nowadays. This quality brings it effortlessly into the salon and the boudoir. It's ladylike but still naughty; in the case of Diva, the lady is a tramp. And hey, even Lady Gaga reworked the classic song, so fragrance lovers should probably seek out Diva and give it a spin. It's worth exploring anew.

Trussardi Donna (vintage, for women, 1984): fragrance review

Everything there is to know about the feminine fragrance by Trussardi from the early 1980s (1984 to be exact) can be seen right from the start. The mock croc white bottle is revealing everything there is to know about this distinguished, yet extinguished scent. It's substituted by lesser mortals. But it keeps a soft spot in the hearts of some of us.

Trussardi Donna bianco classico via

Both Trussardi scents (men's and women's) from the early 1980s were encased in that most evocative and luxurious of materials—supple leather—which hugged their contours the way one envisions the molds used by a sculptor. The shape is recognizably that of a flask, and Nicola Trussardi himself was responsible for that gorgeous presentation. There was a textural element involved with the mock-croc motif, inviting the hand over the surface to touch, to feel...the anomaly in the grain so inviting, so exciting, so mature... The classic sharp chypre structure with a lush floral component in the heart was not alien to our house. My mom's beloved Cabochard with its leathery note—arid, nose-tingling, and almost masculine—would only derive from a house specializing in leather. The spicy top note of coriander and the touch of green herbs, plus waxy aldehydes, gave a clean opening. The alliance with the styrax and leathery tonalities which make up the basic core of its base is what makes it a juxtaposition in two different ideas: herbal crispness pitted against inky smokiness. They're both non-smooth, non-pliable ideas, but they match in headstrong confidence. It's the material which flamboyant women with a devil-may-care swagger thrive on.

Trussardi for Women (1984) in its vintage iteration, I recall, gave off that classic perfume-y vibe which many chypres of the 1970s and 1980s used to emit, such as Jean Louis Scherrer or Gucci No.3, yet softer and less bitter than something more galbanum-rich such as Or Noir (liquid black gold like I have described in my article) or Silences. They were scents of clean grooming, yet sophisticated preparations, not just shower fresh like nowadays. Today, men of taste might wear them with no problems, and the vintage concentration rivals many a modern eau de parfum for sheer longevity on skin and clothes. It's such a pity that a newer generation will only be confused amidst all the different Donnas in the evolving and evolved Trussardi canon.

Chanel Cristalle: fragrance review, history & comparison of concentrations

To consider Cristalle by Chanel a predominantly "fresh" scent begs the question: which version of it? Contrary to some of the previous fresh scents that dominated the 1970s like Eau de Patou, Eau Libre (YSL) or Eau de Rochas, Cristalle has circulated in two distinct variations that differ considerably.

Although only one of them is set in the 1970s, namely the eau de toilette original version, the 1990s eau de parfum edition is also popular and perhaps blurs the lines most between simple freshness and ripe enigma; if the citrus burst of the eau de toilette is a sunny but still crisp morning, then the more floral chypre leaning of the eau de parfum is late afternoon when the warmth of the sun has made everything ripen and smell moist and earthy.

The structure of Chanel Cristalle Eau de Toilette is citrusy green, almost cologne-y, with only a hint of chypre perfume  structure; more jovial, more unisex and altogether happier. The structure of the Cristalle Eau de Parfum version is more feminine, with the floral offset of jasmine and ylang ylang bringing to the fore the more romantic elements. If the former is a brainy librarian, the latter is a brainy librarian with one button undone on her blouse. As you would surmise from my description, I like and respect both, but would personally find more cause for celebration in the latter.

Cristalle is a case in point where the genius of Henri Robert is fittingly corralled to that of Jacques Polge, the two perfumers responsible for the creation of the former and the latter editions respectively.

The 1970s were all about freshness, vivacity, a new energy with the youth movement and the female emancipation. A lively citrusy green scent like Cristalle Eau de Toilette sounds totally logical and expected of the historical context. Cristalle Eau de Toilette has endured and has gained new fans over the decades exactly because it is a triumph of mind over matter. It feels tinglingly fresh, yes; it feels brainy and perfect for sharing whether you are a man or a woman. It also fits its architectural packaging to a T, perhaps more than any other perfume in the Chanel stable. It feels sleek and sparse and 100% proud of it. It also means that when you opt for it you know you're picking the freshest thing in the shop; there is nary a fresher scent on the Chanel counter now or ever. Only the galbanum throat-slicing-blade of the original Chanel No.19 could be compared for sheer chill!

But what about the Eau de Parfum version of Chanel's Cristalle?

The 1990s have gained an odd reputation in perfume lovers' minds because they mostly contributed the mega trend of the "ozonic" and "marine" fragrances, scents cutting loose with the denser and richer French and American tradition and ushering a sense of Japanese zen into personal fragrance. At the time they produced a huge chasm with everything that preceded them; and fittingly one of the first to do so was Kenzo pour Homme in 1991. Suddenly one wearing such a quiet scent seemed like someone walking in velvet slippers contrasted with a Louboutin stiletto wearer, emitting Dior Poison, marking some poor 18th century parquet floor; you instantly knew who was going to get more sympathetic smiles and friendly nods of the head and who was to be greeted with wrinkled noses. Such were the mores then; we have become loud with our scent choices again of course. But the overindulgence in quiet can become deafening in the end and this is what happened by the end of that grunge-dominated decade. Still Chanel Cristalle Eau de Parfum managed to straddle the ground between quiet and loud, producing a composition between soft flannel wool and luxurious yet rough soie sauvage which was advertised with the immortal line: "Exuberance comes of age!"

Cartier Panthere and Cartier La Panthere: fragrance review & comparison of vintage vs. modern edition

Reading there are two editions, one old, one new, by Cartier with the emblematic panther in the name, one is faced with an embarrassment of riches. The good news is that perfumer Mathilde Laurent' style is vibrant, luminous, recognizable in the newer incarnation, La Panthère. The bad news (if that is considered bad in itself) is that it bears no copy-paste relation to the previous fragrance,  Cartier  Panthère, launched in 1986 and circulating well into the 1990s to be discontinued later on.

While the older Panthère is a ripe and fruity-saturated perfume which is recalling a trend of the 1980s and mid-90s (and bears a knowing kinship to the later Champagne/Yvresse by Sophia Grojsman with its fruit-liquor density, I always thought, as well as winking to Dior Poison), the newer La Panthère is a musky floral with a healthy dose of oakmoss felt in the base, which gains life on the skin, rather than on the paper blotter on which it is presented in perfumeries. Indeed to judge it by merely its effect on paper would be to misunderstand it.

I like what I smell on a batch of the older, Alberto Morillas composed Panthère which I received through a split from a bona fide collector. My own small bottle from 1991 was in a ramschackle state, due to it being kept on a dresser for the better part of that decade. The little remaining inside had become a thickish goo which muddled all notes together. So jogging my memory was necessary. The rather significant amount I ordered proves that my former instincts are correct.

The floral notes (tuberose amongst them) are so honeyed and dense (and warmed up by civet notes) that they gain an overripe fruitiness, reminiscent of grappa spirits. The resinous qualities have an aldehydic brilliance to them and a tenacity which has both influential wake (you sniff this from time to time on yourself) and good lasting power, either on skin or on clothes. It's a perfume that seems out of joint with the modern sensibilities in a way, yet like 24 Faubourg it doesn't smell really retro, just mature and "full." Contrary to 24 Faubourg, nevertheless, the older Panthère's aura is less formal and a little more playful, at least to me.

In contrast the newer 2014 La Panthère (differentiated both by bottle and by the article "La" [sic], i.e. "the" before the animal-emblem) spells modern sensibilities galore, yet done in a very tasteful way. Much like Baiser Vole (which let it be noted I liked a lot) was Laurent's take on one of the mega-trends of recent perfumery, that is, the gently powdery floral, here in La Panthère takes some of the tricks of the illusionist, making you see fruit (fresh, tart, like pear liqueur, greenish too, a touch of budding gardenias) while the floral bouquet develops beyond any doubt and gains radiance by the hour. The underscoring by musks fortunately doesn't tilt the perfume into laundry detergent territory, as many fear due to the abundance of musk molecules in functional products used for cleaning and drying our clothes due to their hydrophobic properties (which ensure a lasting impression).

Specifically Musk ketone in the base, which smells warm, inviting, pulsating from the skin, forms an aura that warms up with the heat of the body. Although previously restricted and disappearing from perfumes, it is re-introduced and utilized by some (but not all!) perfume companies and perfume labs. It is exactly its thermoregulating properties which are lost on the blotter, so I advice giving it some time to evolve on the warmth of someone living. The mossy notes brings the composition closer to something which indeed has a 1980s kin than anything. Yet it still remains contemporary, youthful, sparkling with life, a modern chypre. One of the better releases so far.

I really like the concave bottle which is carved from the inside to hold the juice into the cavity formed by the panther's head. In all sincerity I found the commercial (and the overly "meaningful" gaze of the model) yawn-inducing. But your mileage may vary.

Available at major department stores internationally.

Le Labo Ylang 49: fragrance review

Ylang 49, newly launched by Le Labo this summer, is more treacherous to its assumed floral disposition and deceptively crepuscular: like murder-experienced, gold-digging, vacationing in Hawaii for one last trick Theresa Russell in 1987's "Black Widow", there's a bit of that Seattle rainy weather she just escaped from accompanying her sunny blonde exterior. The fruity sweetness of the ylang and the tropical tiare gardenia (the Tahitian Pua Noa Noa) are underscored by a green and resinous backdrop rich in mossy, earthy tones, that casts a long, long shadow.

Perfumer Frank Voelkl, who was also involved in the creation of Le Labo Santal 33 Iris 39, Musc 25 and Baie Rose 26, created with Ylang 49 a deceptive composition that zigs when you expect it to zag. Not exactly the "New Chypre it's touted to be (we're a long way from the perfume-y, lady-like, strict ambience of the classic chypres), it's all the same further removed from the scrubbed 18-year-old faces of the "floral woody musks" with their cleaned-up patchouli & vetiver under fluorescent florals that we affectionally call "nouveau or pink chypres" on these pages (you know, Narciso for Her, SJP Lovely, Idylle, L'Eau de Chloe, Chypre Fatal etc).

Not the typical ylang floral with jasmine-like sweetness (an inherent part of the ylang ylang absolute itself), much like Theresa Russell isn't your typical blonde American actress, I'm instead discovering a richly nuanced tapestry in Ylang 49 where every thread is shimmering with full conviction that they're contributing to the mysterious whole, just like the tiny clues federal agent Alex Barnes, obsessed and under the seductive spell of the murderess, collects to get to the heart of the Black Widow's fatal game.

Just great!

Notes for Le Labo Ylang 49:
Ylang ylang, Tahitian gardenia, patchouli, oakmoss, vetiver, sandalwood, benzoin

Stills from the 1987 Bob Raffelson film noir "Black Widow" (recommended) via thefancarpet.com

Disclosure: I was a sample directly by the company. 

Acqua di Parma Colonia: Fragrance Review & Giveaway of Luxurious Body Products Set

It had been ages since I had last smelled the refined herbal, acrid top notes of Acqua di Parma's cologne, atavistically named Colonia and encased in the sunniest crocus yellow this side of the earth's "omphalos". (Seriously, if there's one shade in the beauty business packaging to rival Hermes's coveted orange and Tiffany's delicate robin-egg blue, it's Aqua di Parma's yellow; a true trademark). It was the mid-1990s, I recall, when I was first taken with the "niche" circuit and when coincidentally Diego della Valle decided to rescue not only driving shoes (establishing the famous Tod's loafer) but also credible Italian cologne resold as a refined commodity since at least the times of Jean Marie Farina. Acqua di Parma was immediately eye-catching but it was the simple, to the point elegance of subtlety (fragrance wearing for the pleasure of fragrance wearing -not announcing any deep and meaningful messages about one's self importance) which cinched the deal. My first bottle found its rightful place on my vanity. The rest is history.

via

In Alfie, the modern version of the film from 2004, this is all Jude Law, devastatingly charming*, with a full head of hair thank you very much and ruining his marriage with the help of Sienna Miller, used to have on his bathroom shelf: Acqua di Parma Colonia. And who can blame him**? Apparently the scent scored, as scads of females were hankering for his guiles, Susan Sarandon in all her mature knowingness no less. The cineaste reference isn't without peer: reportedly both Ava Gardner and Cary Grant liked and wore Acqua di Parma's classic cologne in the 1930s. Today you can feel like a movie star when stepping out of the bath of any 5 star hotel in the world where Acqua di Parma bath and body products are a sine qua non.

The story of Acqua di Parma goes like this: In 1916 Master perfumers created a new fragrance in a small laboratory in Parma using natural ingredients. It was an unusually fresh and modern fragrance – the first true Italian Cologne. Today Acqua di Parma is still true to its heritage. The fragrances and the packaging are still both hand-designed and Acqua di Parma is an iconic symbol of the refined, exclusive, and purest Italian lifestyle.

via 

The brilliance of Colonia by Acqua di Parma lies in the intensely sunny, succulent marriage of both sweet orange rind essence and bitter orange notes (citrus aurantia from which neroli, petit-grain and orange blossom absolute derive) to the soapy mossiness of the base; it gives a genuinely chyprish scent nuance, evocative of tall cypresses, proudly standing against Tuscany winds, with a backdrop of lemony verbena, delicate rose and a hint of patchouli, like spots of sienna tiles and stuccoed walls silhouetted serenely in the distance. It's enough to shed away your winter stressed shell and bask in the Italian sunshine Ava-style. Who in their right mind could ask for more?

Notes for Acqua di Parma Colonia:
Bergamot, Citrus, Lemon, Bitter Orange, Sweet Orange, English Lavender, Bulgarian or Damascene Rose, Verbena, Clary Sage, Rosemary, Cedarwood, Patchouli, Sandalwood, Vetiver, Oakmoss.

For our readers, we have a luxe gift set of Colonia bath & shower gel, hair conditioner and body lotion in the glorious yellow boxes and bags. Please enter a comment to be eligible. Draw is open internationally till Wednesday midnight. Winner to be announced sometime in Thursday.

*it is my personal quirk that I prefer his portrayal of the murderer photographer in the grim & great  Road to Perdition...don't mind me.
** this film still tells you all about the intended audience of the product placement

In the interests of disclosure, I was given the set via a PR opportunity. 

Scent on Canvas Noir de Mars: fragrance review

Noir de Mars, named after the iron oxide (PBk11) used in painting, is aptly referenced given the collection of new niche brand Scent on Canvas, hailing from Barcelona, Spain, is inspired by the chromatic nuances of pigments. Much like the pigment, which is a neutral, refined and dense black, blacker than carbon black, the fragrance of Noir de Mars is a thick and complex composition conceived by perfumer Jordi Fernadez, who utilizes note de jour i.e. oud/aoudh in a context that can please lovers of more traditional approaches: namely, it fuses the bitterish and musty nuance of the oud note into the ruggedly handsome bookends of oakmoss and leather. The result? A wonderfully nuanced, deep, individual fragrance that thankfully doesn't recall that cardinal sin of oud scents, "the Band-Aid note".

Pierre Soulages 1963 Huile sur toile, centre Pompidou via

The scent of Noir de Mars leans more masculine than the rest of the Scent on Canvas collection as its name, mythologically laced, would suggest (and is indeed pegged as that by the company), yet offering a transitory unisex for women who do not like traditionally feminine compositions but like to challenge perceived perceptions. Needless to add Noir de Mars is something that most men would feel manly to wear. Its Laotian oud exotic impressions, leather notes and oakmoss bitterness reads as somber, quiet, a person of few words but plenty of charisma. The spicy woody halo speaks on its own. Noir de Mars is modern in the sense that oud scents are very “now”, but at the same time it avoids some of the pitfalls of following a trend too closely, thanks to a cluster of oriental references (cypriol, myrrh, Haitian amyris etc). This one needs more time to open up so the experience of the parfum should be given a leisurely amount of time to unfold its magic.

Notes for Noir de Mars by Scent on Canvas:
Top: Laotian oud, gaiacwood, sandalwood, cyperus sclariosus
Heart: gurjum balsam (dipterocarpus), leather, myrrh
Base: Haitian amyris, amber


Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Scent on Canvas Brun Sicilien

Estee Lauder Azuree (original): fragrance review

There is a family of perfumes composed by the same brilliant perfumer: Aramis being the butch Godfather patriach, well behaved on the outside, dangerously brooding on the inside. Cabochard is the maternal force turning the neck (and therefore the head as well) in any which way she likes, while Azurée is the younger long-haired son or daughter driving fast without a licence. They could have been The Sopranos, had the show been more stylish-oriented and retro glamorous. Or not. It doesn't matter, we can imagine. For those who didn't know it, Azurée (1969) is by the great Bernard Chant, the guy behind both Cabochard and Aramis; a fresher interpretation of the Aramis idea given a luminous fruity topnote of refreshing bergamot, while still remaining resolutely herbal.

Chant was mad for chypres, skanky animalic or non; his Aromatics Elixir for Clinique is a seminal study on mossy herbal patchouli with a big rose lurking inside the bush. Azurée, albeit herbally green and chyprish, is softer than leathery Bandit and lacks the acid green bite of the quinolines that compose the latter's leather note, thus making it more approachable, if largely unsung.

The zeitgeist and the image 

Azurée is unsung because it's an atypical Lauder fragrance. Usually big, expansive and highly floral femme in a very American way, Lauder fragrances are of a routinely high standard, yet of a somewhat "mainstream" image that belies their quality. It's all down to advertising and positioning; the repeat customer of Lauder (in makeup and cosmetics as well as fragrances) is the middle-aged, middle-class woman of predictably good taste, which tends to (unfortunately) brand the house as "unexciting". Azurée however could pass as a niche offering for the customers of -say- Beautiful or Pleasures. If it were embottled in a dark squarish flacon in the Tom Ford Privée line I bet it would be hailed as the new best thing. And it would cost the stars too, while I hear Azurée will only set you back about 40$.


We tend to forget that what passes as niche today was actually mainstream all right in 1969, when Azurée launched. We also tend to forget that the Mediterranean ideal that niche perfumes today advertise with the accompanying imagery/concept (from Aqua di Parma Blu Mediterraneo fragrances to Ninfeo Mio and Philosykos) was incorporated into perfume releases then without any visual or conceptual stimulus. It's odd to think Azurée as a perfume for Chicago wearing; it's just so darn South of France (or Capri-like) in its ambience! After all that's where its name derives from. I can almost see Romy Schneider in La Piscine putting some on casually before embarking in that fateful romance. Or think the swagger of Lauren Hutton when she was in her prime.
But then again, 1969 was the time of the sexual revolution and the fragrances matched the spirit of the times. To quote Queen, these "fat bottomed girls [were] gonna let it all hang out [and] make the rocking world go round"; out for good fun and expected to be worn indiscriminately, without pretence. Azurée is one such gal.

Scent description

The citrusy introduction of Azurée is wonderfully clean, bitterish and STRONG, providing the ouverture to an aria of leather, tar-like notes fanned on flowers and herbs. But the flowers don't register as especially feminine or romantic, rendering Azurée perfect for sharing between the sexes. A peppery twist is running throughout the fragrance, stemming from the herbal and basil notes and the more the scent dries down on skin the more the herbal and mossy character is surfacing. The perfume straddles several families in fact, from aldehydic, green/herbal, woody & leather without trying to please everyone and ending up pleasing nobody; and that's a great thing!
 The herbal and pungent character makes it very detached from today's sweet sensibilities, unless we're talking about niche perfume wearers joining you, so it's advisable to limit its use to smart company and minute application (it's POTENT stuff!). Amazingly, it's also not ruined through various reformulations, so great value for money all around.

Please note: The classic Azurée is NOT to be confused with Azurée Soleil (also very good but in a completely different game) or any of similarly named "beachy scent" summer variant to be launched in the future perhaps. You will know you got the classic, if you had to ask the sales assistant at the Lauder counter to get this out of the back of her drawer, like it were illegal contraband.

Notes for E.Lauder Azurée:
Top notes: Aldehydes, bergamot, artemesia, gardenia
Heart notes: Jasmine, geranium, cyclamen, orris, ylang-ylang
Base notes: Leather, patchouli, oakmoss, musk, amber

And another set of notes, via Basenotes:
top: basil, jasmine, and citrus
heart: armoise, sage, spearmint, vetiver, and rose
base: patchouli, moss, and amber

pics of Romy Schneider & Alain Delon in La Piscine via europeanbreakfast.tumblr and habituallychic.blogspot.com

Roxana Illuminated Perfume Hedera Helix: fragrance review & draw

"I have to say that green is the only color I understand. I can really frame it; I know how to work with it. I see other colors, and they feel alien. I cannot give you a rational explanation why."

This is what Alfonso Cuarón, film director and creator of the 1998 intelligently modernised remake of Dickens's Great Expectations has to say on his use of colour. The film is strategically orchestrated in green hues, from Finn's shirt to Estella's DKNY wardrobe to the artwork hanging on the Florida house walls and tiny details on Chris Cooper's rented tuxedo... He could have been channeling Roxana Villa, artisanal all naturals perfumer who excels in her green blends. Imagine how I felt when a green sample was awaiting for me in the mail!

One of the things that always makes a difference with artisanal perfumers is presentation: Beyond the superficial, there's just something adorable about being presented with a nicely put together sample with a handwritten note. With Roxana Villa this gets elevated into an art form. Not only is her whole site and shop gorgeously art directed thanks to her unerring eye and her illustrator husband Greg Spalenka, she takes the time to prepare lovely ribbon-tied little packages with alchemical symbols and wax-stamps embossed with bees...a symbol which has inspired her to even tend her own hives! With an introduction like that, one is braced for the best.

Indeed Hedera Helix, Latin for English ivy, does not disappoint. A green chypre the way that genre should be, deep, emerald green, graceful, with delicious top accents of citrusy notes (it smells like a mix of pink grapefruit and orange blossoms to me) and crushed leaves (such as rhododendron, violet leaf absolute with its metallic accent and peach leaf absolute, softer and rounder), as well as that classic floral heart (rose-jasmine-pelargonium) which we tend to associate with elegant, classy, old-school perfumes that smell like perfume and not aromatherapy alloys. A warm combination of what smells like oakmoss and honeycomb is underpinning the perfume.

The viscous, inky liquid looks brownish-green in its tiny vial and upon unscrewing sheds a tentacle of climbing greeness in the room, expanding and radiating beautifully. The fragrance of Hedera Helix is nuanced, multi-layered, creating tension and a questioning adventure as each layer peels off and it's fit for "greens" lovers as well as those hankering after proper floral chypres with a grassy-leafy direction. Ivy is one of the sacred trees of the Celtic forest and part of the Tree Ogham which makes it a symbolic choice for the perfumer who dabbles in the apocrypha of the Celtic tradition. Perfect to usher in spring, as it conjures ivy twigs shining bright under the sun's rays while the insides are cool & crisp and home to more mysterious creatures.

It's indeed like a kiss on the water....

Hedera Helix began its life as a special commision in 2007, but it soon took wings and became more widely available. It's too lovely not to be shared among those of us who love greens.

One solid perfume for a lucky reader! Please leave a comment to enter the draw.
Draw remains open till Friday 23rd. 

Samples are available on Roxana's Etsy store.
In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample directly from the perfumer.

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

Sonoma Scent Studio Nostalgie: fragrance review

Once upon a time women wore corselets & real silk chemises underneath their tailored dresses to work, painted their lips deep pink or coral and coiffed their hair à la choucroutte on a regular basis, before straight "blow outs" became the standard of westernised grooming. There was something equally mischievous and disciplined about their demeanor, reflected in their perfumes; as if beneath all the gentility and pronounced good manners there harbored untold family skeletons in the closet, secret trysts in the afternoon and a gambling streak hiding as socializing. Something is deeply attractive about that contradiction, not least because Mad Men made us believe so, thanks to stylisation to the point of art. It paid; not only people are hooked on 1960s fashion, they're hooked on 1960s-smelling perfumes as well, it seems. And here is where Sonoma Scent Studio Nostalgie comes into play.


Style & Comparison with Other Fragrances
Do you recall the opening of Van Cleef & Arpel's First? Everything denoting luxury, power, femininity, class and wealth was added into producing that powerhouse last-of-the-McAldehic clan; a fragrance as shimmery as the brightest yellow sapphires, as frothy as the sparkliest bubbly in iced flutes, as melodious as Jenny Vanou singing Dawn's Minor Key. I was instantly transported in those times, back when First's precious metal wasn't somewhat tarnished due to reformulations, upon testing Nostalgie. Laurie Erickson, the indie perfume behing\d that small outfit, Sonoma Scent Studio, operating off the Haldsburg hills in California, US,  managed to produce an old-school floral aldehydic quite apart from the mass; as she says "fragrances today are rarely composed with so many fine naturals". Nostalgie smells more expensive than it is (it recalls  Patou's classic Joy in the mid-section, with more woody accents), is full of vibrancy and came to me like a messenger of good news when the day has been nothing but gloom and no hope can be visible in the horizon.

Scent Description
The aldehydes are adding citrusy, waxy sparkle in Nostalgie but they're a bit toned down compared to classics such as Chanel No.5, with fine soapy overtones; an impression further enhanced by the discernible jasmine sambac. The peach lactone in the heart provides a retro vibe; lactonic florals have been byword for refined and graceful perfumery for many decades in the middle of the 20th century. The floral notes, ringing as wonderfully bright as little taps on a glockenspiel, are tightly woven together to present a tapestry of hundreds of tiny dots which, like in pointillism, seen from a distance blur into a delightful image.
The jasmine-rose-mimosa accord is classic (Guerlain Après L'Ondée, Caron Fleurs de Rocaille, Lauder Beautiful) and here treated as seen through a sheer green-woody veil. Erickson treats aldehydes with sleight of hand, as proven previously in her Champagne de Bois, but her every new release at Sonoma Scent Studio is more sophisticated than the last; I find more technical merit in Nostalgie.
The base of Nostalgie is all billowy softness, like most of the latest SSS fragrances, falling on a fluffy duvet, with subtle leathery nuances (probably from the mimosa absolute itself) and a musky-creamy trail which is delicious. However the aldehydic floral element is at no moment completely lost (if you're seriously aldehydic-phobic that might present a problem; if you're an "AldeHo" as Muse in Wooden Shoes calls it, you're all set). It is both long-lasting and drooling trail-worthy; it's parfum strength after all. This is a scent to get you noticed and to be asked what perfume you're wearing.

"Nouveau Vintages": A Trend to Watch
Aldehydic florals and retro "floral bouquets" (as opposed to soliflores which focus on one main flower in their composition) are knowing quite a resurgence, both in indie perfumers' catalogues (witness the stunningly gorgeous Miriam by Tauer Tableau de Parfums line, Aftelier's Secret Garden and DSH Vert pour Madame) and in niche brands, such as the divine Divine's L'Ame Soeur. It was about time; one gets a kick of fun out of something as frothingly tongue-in-cheek and sweet as Prada Candy perfume, but there are times when fragrance stops being an inside joke and should get its pretty rear down and start smelling ladylike & grown-up. In that frame, this rush of vintage-inspired fragrances is heartening. Nostalgie is part & parcel of this "nouveau vintages" clan and at the same time winks with the familiar Mad Men innuendo. Applause!

Notes for SSS Nostagie:
Aldehydes, Indian jasmine sambac absolute, Bulgarian rose absolute, mimosa absolute, peach, violet flower, violet leaf absolute, tonka bean, French beeswax absolute, natural oakmoss absolute, aged Indian patchouli, East Indian Mysore sandalwood, leather, vanilla, orris, myrrh, vetiver, and musk.

Available at the Sonoma Scent Studio fragrance e-shop.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Sonoma Scent Studio fragrances

In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample directly by the perfumer.
Photo of Greek actress Melina Mercouri at the Kapnikarea on Hermes Street, Athens, Greece in the early 1960s.

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

May 1st, Lily of the Valley day: DSH Muguet de Mai & Muguet Cologne & draw!

A lucky symbol ~it means “return of happiness” in the language of flowers~ the delicate beauty of lily of the valley is however poisonous (especially its reddish fruit) due to convallatoxine, convallamarine, and convallarine; a brave irony on the part of Creation! Lily of the valley or muguet in French (Convallaria majalis) is a herbaceous perennial plant prevalent in Asia, Europe and the Eastern USA, with characteristic bell-shaped little flowers, hence its other name May Bells. In France it is customary to give a posy of lilies of the valley on May 1st as a porte-bonheur. This is probably why French residing author Edith Wharton chose lily of the valley as the embodiment of her heroine May Welland in The Age of Innocence, as referenced in more detail in our article about perfume in novels.

Indie perfumer Dawn Spencer Hurwitz has launched two lily of the valley fragrances to celebrate May 1st, Muguet de Mai for women and Muguet Cologne for men; or, as the mood strikes you, interchangeably. They're both light enough and delicious enough to be enjoyed by both sexes. The idea began by Trish who was curious about a botanical lily of the valley note and Dawn was set to task for this diffucult project: You see, lily of the valley does not yield its precious essence satisfactorily enough for perfumery! The problem has perplexed perfumers for long, ending up in LOTV recompositions, the most renowned being Diorissimo by Edmond Roudnitska for Christian Dior. Roudnitska even went so far as to grow his own lily of the valley in his garden and stooping to smell attentively the tiny blossoms at bloom and the soil underneath so as to capture the true essence of the elusive flower. I also love the real-life yet delicate feel of Del Rae Debut, incidentally composed by Michel Roudnitska, Edmond's son.

Dawn began by imagining how she would come up with a viable solution and tested several mods, out of which two pleased her most, enough to launch them as separate fragrances.

Muguet de Mai is a complex composition which goes beyond a simple soliflore, as I sense the perfumer was not trying to simply capture just lily of the valley, and which brings back a forgotten ingredient that constitutes the crowning grace of many classics: resinous galbanum with its bitter green note. Lovers of the classic vintage version of Vent Vert by Balmain know full well what I'm talking about: the bracing feel of galbanum, technically a bottom note of slow evaporation, but surfacing at the very top of a fragrance composition can be the thing that makes or breaks a formula thanks to its sheer power. At the same time, it aids structuring the scent, giving a skeleton on which to work: Preening the harsh edges, without totally annihilating them, mellowing the base, giving a citric jolt that compliments it and fanning it on precious flower essences. That is what Germain Cellier did for the Balmain.
Dawn injected her perfume with galbanum to give it the ambience of a truly botanical atmosphere, the grass and earth still clinging to the flower. She also looked into vintages, specifically Muguet Composé (c.1930′s) and Muguet des Bois (c.1940′s) by Francois Coty, Illusion oil, Lily of the Valley (c.1940′s) by Draille and of course Diorissimo by Edmond Roudnitska for Dior (c.1970′s), taking cues from the editions chronologically referenced. From those she's closer to the woodier Muguet de Bois, but she also went beyond that: You can instantly feel this is an all naturals scent, due to the very botanical profile of the flower essences, in which cassis buds gives off a slightly sour tinge, then mollified by the balsamic elements ~rather animalistic, like honeyed thighs~ that sweeten that effect alongside the (perceptible) linden blossom essence. A unique take on May's 1st traditional good-luck-charm!

Extrait de parfum version was chosen (I believe) to bypass the problem of the fleeting nature of several natural essences: The result is a tempered, tenacious but low-pitched scent.

Notes for DSH Muguet de Mai extrait de parfum:

Top: Bergamot, lemon, Tunisian neroli
Heart: linden, hay accord, violet leaf, cyclamen accord, hyacinth accord, orris rhizome, broom, jasmine sambac, rose, ylang ylang, jonquil, lilac accord

Base: galbanum, cassis buds, East Indian sandalwood, Virginian cedar, Tolu balsam, olibanum (frankincense), honey beeswax, styrax.

Muguet Cologne is a different animal, lighter in tonality but at the same time with a deeper, more spiritual feel thanks to the mossy-grassy elements. The two predominant elements for me were the bitter citrusy tang (which I imagined as a neroli-galbanum duet in my mind, a bit Eau de Cologne meets Vent Vert) and the vetiver grassiness undernearth. I almost imagined a faint frankincense in the base, influenced as I am by the effluvium that comes out of churches mingling as it does with the scents of spring. Green is its mantle and green are the dreams it inspires, a wonderful tribute to men's skin.
Muguet Cologne has great tenacity (it's technically an Eau de Toilette concentration) and projects at just the right pitch to be enjoyed by everyone around. I know I sure did on my very own skin!

Notes for DSH Muguet Cologne:
Top: white grapefruit, chamomile, coriander
Heart: galbanum
Base: Australian sandalwood, patchouli, oakmoss, vetiver

Below is pricing information for the two DSH fragrances, both very limited edition.

Muguet de Mai perfume extrait concentration
5 ml antique presentation: $125
1 ml vials: $22

Muguet Cologne
1 oz muguet cologne: $98
10 ml muguet cologne $45
1 ml vials: $5.25

For our readers, I have 2 samples of Muguet de Mai extrait and 3 samples of Muguet Cologne I'm giving away. Please let me know what lily of the valley does to you in the comments and I will pick the winners.

Please visit the other participating blogs for more impressions on DSH's Muguet editions:

IndiePerfumes (Lucy)

The Non Blonde (Gaia)

CaFleureBon (Ida)

Scent Hive (Trish)

DSH Notebook (Dawn)

Artwork by Dawn Spencer Hurwitz, used with permission.

Disclosure: Samples sent directly by the perfumer.

Guerlain Mitsouko: fragrance review & history

Few perfumes are entangled in such mythos and in such erroneous rumours as Mitsouko by Guerlain. Mysterious, balanced, sumptuous, it's nothing short of a Gordian Knot which demands a swift cutting through its mysteries to arrive at the truth. And truth is not easily provided for this 1919 fragrance which closed the era of WWI and opened up Les Années Folles.

Famous patrons & their fateful stories on Mitsouko
Jean Harlow, the platinum blonde sex-pot of the 1930s who was born on March 3rd 1911, all slinky peignoirs and ice put on the nipples behind those satiny gowns, used Mitsouko in Dinner at Eight; it was her favourite fragrance in real life. Her platinum head was not what the creators at Guerlain had originally thought of: Mitsouko was right from the start destined for brunettes, while L'Heure Bleue was recommended for blondes. She gladly embraced both, much like she let her hairdresser put peroxide, ammonia, Clorox, and Lux Flakes on her naturally darker hair.
Little did Jean know that her first husband Paul Bern would be found dead and drenched in Mitsouko in a astounding case of a suicide just one week after the wedding. Rumours say that it was impotence that drove him to his act of desperation. Jean was put to record saying all three marriages she got into were "marriages of inconvenience". Perhaps the sad story inspiring Mitsouko perfume was a bad omen for her love life as well.

It certainly didn't really bring good luck to other famous patrons, such as the impressario of Les Ballets Russes, Sergei Diaghilev (who drenched his curtains with it) or Charlie Chaplin. In the unexpurgated diary of erotic authoress Anais Nin, Henry and June, Mitsouko features prominently as the perfume that June Miller asks to be given her by Anais. Of course, to follow the truism by Gore Vidal [1], lying had become Nin's first nature, so all bets are off on whether that actually happened: What remains is that Mitsouko was indeed Nin's scent of choice, alongside Narcisse Noir by Caron. Such is the repercussion of the scent in cultural heritage that a pop sensation of the late 1980s, the French duo of Les Rita Mitsouko christened themselves after it!

photo via toutenparfum

The Legend of the Creation: Myth and Misunderstandings


Lore on the inspiration of Mitsouko wants Jacques Guerlain to have wanted to pay homage to a popular novel of the time, “La Bataille” by Claude Farrère. In it Mitsouko, a beautiful Japanese woman and the wife of Admiral Togo, is secretly in love with a British officer aboard the flagship of the Japanese fleet during the 1905 war between Russia and Japan; Mitsouko awaits with dignity the outcome of the battle, nobly overcoming her feelings. Hence derives the confusion about the spelling of the name: although Mitsuko [sic] is a Japanese word, neither is it spelled Mitsouko nor does it mean "mystery" as the official press of Guerlain would like us to believe. Like other perfume tales, it's just that: a romantic allusion to "zee love storee" that enslaves women's imagination and stirs men's loins.

It's a fascinating discovery to find that Mitsouko despite its technical mastery and sumptuous character, and my friend's wittism when sniffing off a vintage bottle that "it smells the way a porn film would", isn't one for seduction: Luca Turin in his 1993 French guide recommended against such a use. It's debatable whether he did so because he found it not immediately accesible for such a purpose or because he deemed it highly intellectualised to demean it via lowly feminine wiles. The fact remains that although highly revered, Mitsouko is one fragrance which the Western man rarely considers as traditionally "sexy" among a stable of fruity chypres that manage to convey the idea of sexiness and erotic proximity much more readily: Rochas Femme, Diorama, even YSL Yvresse... Fruity chypres due to their typically lusher, more "golden" character with an injection of decay (fruit can easily go from ripe to overripe, recalling how a woman can do so as well) are a noted exception within that group of cerebral fragrances known as "chypres". Mitsouko could be the equivalent of someone reading the Financial Times in terms of smarts and composure. Perhaps this is why its erotic tension is not immediately understandable.

Cinematic References
In Louis Bunuel's cult classic Belle de Jour respectable newly-wed doctor's wife, but frigid and masochistic, Catherine Deneuve accidentaly smashes a huge "flacon montre" of Mitsouko in a symbolic scene in her bathroom before setting to spend the afternoon as a prostitute. Would the scene work equally well semiotically with another perfume? Doubtful...

Perfume writer Susan Irvine recounts how one day in Paris she shared a taxi with a woman [wearing Mitsouko] who smelled "the way God intended women to smell: plush, troubling and golden" [2]. And goes on to reveal in a Vogue article that adopting Mitsouko for a year produced no comments whatsoever from anyone, contrary to her compliments galore success with YSL Paris!

Understanding the erotic dimension of Mitsouko

Perhaps what's most interesting about the strange position of Mitsouko in its erotic charge is how it encapsulates two quite different perspectives on how human bodies should or would smell of. The 19th-century Japanese referred to western traders as "batakusai", which roughly translates as "stinks of butter" due to their high dairy consumption which gave their skin a cheesy aspect (isovaleric and butyric compounds do that); while the Brits found the Japanese in turn "fishy", again a reflection on an insular diet. How would the British officer and the beautiful Japanese wife named Mitsouko would have found a middle-ground between their human scents of passion?

Nowadays, Mitsouko is Guerlain's top seller in Japan, in a reverse homage to the brand that ushered Japonism in the mainstream many decades ago. This goes against all received wisdom that the Japanese go for "light" perfume and only rarely ever put it on themselves. One wonders if the cultural milieu of accepting smells that are different than those perceived as pleasurable in the West allows them a higher appreciation of this masterpiece of a scent.

Deconstructing the scent & formula of Mitsouko

The composition of Mitsouko was revolutionary at the time, even though it updated and -arguably- improved on the seminal formula of F.Coty's Chypre: The innovative peach-skin note perceived at the heart of the Guerlain fragrance derives from a modern synthetic ingredient, aldehyde C14 or gamma undecalactone (Peach essence cannot be naturally extracted). The inclusion of the famous base Persicol ("bases" are ready made smell-chords for perfumers) which included it contributes to the peachy, warm effect. Flanked by murky oakmoss and refreshing bergamot at each end ~thus composing a classic chypre chord~, it adds spicy accents reminiscent of cinnamon and cloves ~especially felt in the Eau de Toilette version which circulated till recently.  

Mitsouko also utilizes rose, neroli (a light-smelling orange blossom distillation product), woods, vetiver and patchouli for a short but succinct formula which balances itself between apothecary and pattiserie. The candied orange peel effect mollifies every herbal aspect, while the flowers are so subdued and well-blended as not to be discernible as such; if abstraction is elegance, then Mitsouko is very elegant indeed, without nevertheless losing its sensuality; there's a furry little animal hiding underneath it all, although you can't really place it!

The mysterious, haughty fragrance is in chasm with every recent pop trend, making a difficult love-affair much like its storyline; nevertheless indulging in a bottle of Mitsouko is the hallmark of the true connoisseur, like a fine Pinot Noir wine can be an acquired taste. If you try and do not like it in the end, there is no reason to beat yourself up for it, just because we proclaim it such a beautiful and smart fragrance; but be sure to give it a chance in different times, different weather (it expresses itself wonderfully on rainy days, which bring to the fore its earthy core) and different moods. After all, as The Bombshell Manual of Style declares: “Mitsouko has more sensuous layers to unpeel than Rita Hayworth dancing the Dance of the Seven Veils as Salome."

Comparing Mitsouko concentrations & vintages

Different concentrations and different vintages produce different effects. Vintage parfum extrait is so rich and luscious as to render experiencing Mitsouko a rare occasion of olfactory satiation. The oakmoss galore of as recent crops as Eau de Toilette and Parfum de Toilette from the 1980s and early 1990s is exquisite in its unsettling, deeply mossy ambience. The modern Eau de Parfum version reworked by Edward Flechier (this happened in early 2007 due to oakmoss restrictions imposed by European Union legislature, with Eau de Toilette being the first to reformulate) is the best rendition closer to the original idea, while the current Eau de Toilette seems thinned and yielding a bread, yeasty note which I personally feel is incongruent with the image which I have in my head of it.

Bottle Designs

The classic bottle design, called “inverted heart” because of its cap, reprises the design of another Guerlain classic L’Heure Bleue which was issued in 1912, due to the shortages of World War I [3]. It's the golden standard on which both Eau de Toilette and Eau de Parfum still circulate to this day. After the success of Mitsouko, the design stayed, as a gentle stylistic reminder of the two bottles opening and closing the period between the beginning and the end of the war. And indeed if L’Heure Bleue is contemplative daydreaming and above all romantic like La Belle Epoque, Mitsouko is mysterious and emancipated heralding the era of flappers like no other perfume.

Other presentations include the flacons quatrilobe, amphora/rosebud and umbrella bottle (for the extrait de parfum) and the montres (cyclical bottles with a gold pyramidal cap) for the very lasting and robust vintage eau de cologne concentration circulating throughout the 50s, 60s and 70s with the mint green, round label.
A limited edition flanker called Mitsouko Fleur de Lotus circulated a couple of seasons ago (you can read our review on it on the link).

Notes for Guerlain Mitsouko:
Top: Bergamot, Lemon, Mandarin, Neroli
Middle: Peach, Rose, Clove, Ylang-Ylang, Cinnamon
Base: Oakmoss, Labdanum, Patchouli, Benzoin, Vetiver.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain reviews, The Chypre Series

[1] In Palimpsest, a Memoir
[2] Irvine, S. The Perfume Guide, 2000 Haldane Mason
[3] Guerlain archives
pics via felixhollywood blog and parfum de pub