L'Artisan Parfumeur Traversee du Bosphore: fragrance review & draw

Wheelbarrow, lay off the whip and don't rush the horses,
you don't need to hurry when you've got your love so close by.
When he smiles, the world smiles at me,
so let the wheel run where it might,
and wherever it goes, it's fine by me.

~from the song "Wheelbarrow" by Manos Hadjidakis from the 1963 Greek film Χτυποκάρδια στα θρανία/
(hence the top clip)

Any mention of Bosphorus, the strait between East and West, uniting and at the same time dividing Constantinople (Istanbul), which lays on both its banks, never fails to ignite a very palpable nostalgia laced with a smattering of pain for any Greek. We're automatically thinking of the failing grandeur of the Paleologi dynasty and lamenting for the times when Greeks and Turks co-existed in peace for centuries in this most cosmopolitan of Eastern cities. Traversée du Bosphore (Crossing the Bosphorus) by L'Artisan Parfumeur, like its namesake strait, was the straw that broke the ~proverbial~ camel's back, as anything referencing the city of Constantine will make me reminiscence yet again of my forebearers and the sweet camaraderie they had to abandond due to political turmoil. But The City, Istanbul, is in reality neither Greek, nor Turkish. It's neither christian nor muslim. It's a cultural border, a place where everything meets and unites, a cauldron of cultures and men; the place which millions of different people, of different nationalities and religions, loved madly through the centuries. A city so beautiful that there was no other way to call it than The City, η Πόλη!

Traversée du Bosphore comes now from Bertrand Duchaufour and L'Artisan Parfumeur as the symbolic strait between modern French perfumery and its oriental heritage. The unisex fragrance was fittingly inspired by a journey to Istanbul, when at the crack of dawn the cobblestone streets still retain their sleepy languor, like heavy-boned odalisques stealing gazes through the lacework wooden panel of the musharabieh, and when the many fishermen set out to catch their day's worth, packing nets, salty sardines and pita bread. You can easily lose yourself promenading unhurriedly through the small alleys towards the seraglio and Kahrié djami with its blue-peacock mosaics, gazing at the narthex's domes for hours or the many fountains where pilgrims ritualistically wash their head and hands before proceeding. It's a slow world, filled with beautiful wistfulness.



The strange thing about Traversée du Bosphore, part of the Travel series in the niche brand's subplot, is how a -by now- cliché concept (i.e.eastern exoticism) that should be a foregone conclusion (loukhoum, tanneries, saffron, milky salep drink, tobacco in hookahs, opulent roses, strange white flowers......hasn't Lutens exhausted that genre?) smells interesting and contemporary; nothing like a heavy odalisque looking through the parapets or Alladin rolled into plies and plies of plush carpets. Instead it's a gouache of a scent: a transparent suede floriental with soft musky notes, a marriage of rosewater and suede.

Indeed, the list of official notes for Traversée du Bosphore reads like a shopping list of things to find in a Turkish souk or at the very least smells encountered around a Turkish souk. The apple-laced çay (tea) is very popular and no one makes it more delicious than Piyer Loti Kahvesi at Eyup (the European side of the city), a stone's throw away from Sultan Ahmet Mosque and the Byzantine apotheosis that is the temple of Aghia Sophia. Loti is the writer of Aziyadé (see the perfume inspired by it) and knew a thing or two about sensual abandon...Tobacco is still smoked in hookahs; not only by old men in derelict coffee-shops, heavy in political talk, but from younger ones as well, when they finally sit down to have an aimless break. Men and women alike buy fresh phyllo pastry, almonds and pistachios to make baklava, and Turkish delight by the pound to bring back at home. The market is filled with golden and red heaps of spices, precious saffron and dried Turkish roses for using as pot-pourri. Tanneries do work merrily (Turkish leathers have competitive prices), although the effluvium isn't anything one would associate with perfume.

But the summation of the notes or the panoramic vol plané shot does not really tell the whole tale: Duchaufour was no stranger to Byzantine formulae, including everything but the kitchen sink before, and the results are diverse: from the baroque patina gold of Jubilation XXV for Amouage to the carnal tryst of Amaranthine for Penhaligon's, all the way to the deceptively diaphanous muddy-incense of Timbuktu for L'Artisan. His compositions include many pathways that lead to a gauze of orientalia.
For Traversée du Bosphore Duchaufour eschewed clichés to come up with a composition that marries on the one hand Anatolian leather (you will only smell grey suede, really, not harsh quinolines; it's comparable to the note in Sonia Rykiel Woman-Not for Men! and Barbara Bui Le Parfum) and on the other hand Turkish Delight (loukhoum), into a unique interpretation of the leather genre; velvety and whispery soft, opening upside down: After the brief apple çay top (blink and you'll miss it!), you sense the suede and only later the powdery loukhoum accord.
The strangely greyish powderiness of iris dusts the notes like white copra dust enrobes the small rose-laced loukhoum cubes, while saffron with its leathery bitterish facets reinforces the impression and balances the sweeter notes, much like it kept vanilla in check in Saffran Troublant. The iris-leather accord in Traversée du Bosphore weaves a whispery path together with a hint of almond giving a light gourmand nod. The whole smells like rosewater sweets wrapped in a suede pouch, never surupy and very skin-scent like (incorporating that Havana Vanille base), although a tad more flowery feminine than most men would feel comfortable with. It's a fragrance which smells nice and simple like a nostalgic song from an old movie which dies down to a murmur, and might demand your attention to catch the smaller nuances.

As for me I know well that the past is inextricably tied to the future, and revel in thinking of Istanbul as the pathway where cultures and people will eternally meet...and part.

For our readers a draw: one sample to a lucky commenter. Draw is now closed, thank you!
Tell us where you would envision the next travel series by L'Artisan should take us.

L’Artisan Parfumeur Traversée du Bosphore is available in 50 ($115) and 100 ml ($155) of Eau de Parfum wherever L'Artisan is sold (voutiques, Perfume Shoppe, Luckyscent, Aedes, First in Fragrance etc).

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Travel memoirs Instanbul part 1, part 2, part 3,Leather scents



The bottom music clip and the film stills come from the Greek 2003 film Πολίτικη Κουζίνα/A Touch of Spice by Tasos Boulmetis, starring George Corraface and exploring the culinary philosophy that maps the course of modern Istanbul and the fateful, doomed romance between a Greek boy and a Turkish girl before the deportation of Greeks in 1964. It's uploaded in its entirety with English subtitles on Youtube: the first part is on this link and you can take it from there. Happy watching!

Christian Dior Dune: fragrance review

Originally thought out by perfumer Jean-Louis Sieuzac* (of Opium fame), is it any wonder Dior's Dune smells more like the warmed up sand where lush Venus-like bodies have lain in sweet surrender rather than the athletic Artemis/Diana figures which aquatic/oceanic ("sports") fragrances ~the classification in which the house puts it~ would suggest? The French have been known to prefer Venus over Diana in their artistic depictions over the centuries anyway. It's perhaps unjust and a sign of the celebrity-obsessed times that this Aphrodite of a scent is recurring into the scene because word has leaked out recently that Kate Middleton wore it as a signature scent when she was a student.

But at least it might give newcomers into the cult of perfume a chance to experience one of the lesser known Dior fragrances: Curiously enough, for something that has stayed in the market for 19 years and belongs to the LVMH portfolio, Dune, apart from a men's version Dune for Men of course with its tonka beat backdrop, has no flankers...

*[Although Jean-Louis Sieuzac proposed the formula, his submission was rejected by the Christian Dior perfumes head of development at the time. It took a modification by perfumer Nejla Bsiri Barbir (working at Parfumania) which sealed the deal and got Dune on the shelves in the end...]

Dior's Dune is a case study not only in the house's illustrious stable (scroll our Dior Series), but in the perfume pantheon in general: The zeitgeist by 1991, when the fragrance was issued, demanded a break with the shoulder-pads and moussed-up hair of the 1980s which invaded personal space alongside bombastic scents announcing its wearer from the elevator across the hall...or -in some memorable cases- across the adjoining building three weeks after the wearer had passed through its halls! The advent of ozonic-marines was on as a form of air freshening (and a subliminal chastity belt to attack towards the AIDS advent) and L'Eau d'Issey, interestingly issued exactly one year after Dune, was paving the path that New West by Aramis had started a few years ago. Where the Japanese aesthetic for restraint put forth mental images of limpid water lillies by the drop of water on a sparse zen bottle of brushed aluminum & frosted glass, the French were continuing their seductive scenery: the model was all prostrate on a sandy beach, the colour of antique pink silk underwear hinting at fleshy contours, eyes closed, giagantic eyelashes batting slowly, reminiscent of broom stems, a world capsized into a sphere of tranquility... Interestingly it's also routinely fronted by blonde beauties, suggesting there is an oriental for them apart from the flamenco-strewn dark-haired territory other classic fragrances have mapped out so well. Lately advertising images for Dune sadly capitulated into the slicked, oiled-up bodies that infest other Dior fragrance advertisments, but I prefer to keep the original ones in my mind.

Perfume taxonomist Michael Edwards recounts how the heads at Christian Dior wanted to create a "marine type" of fragrance but without the harsh ozonic notes that were catapulting the market at the time. The original idea was a monastery's garden by the coast, herbal and aromatic.
To do the trick they relied on both a clever construction (which was more "smoky oriental" than "marine") and some ingenious, suggestive marketing to compliment it later.

The imagery was easier to devise, although not easy to pull off exactly as planned: The packaging was an inviting hue of peachy, as was the colour of the juice, to suggest femininity and soft flesh, while the star ingredient that suggested beachy slopes and wild growth, broom (what the French call genet) was featured on the advertising images in an effort to reinforce the suggestion of wild beaches of escapist delights. The seaside town of Biarritz, where the official launch was scheduled, gathering a huge amount of press professionals, was practically painted peach to echo the livery. A chic picnic on the beach was set to kickstart the festivities. But someone had forgotten a small detail in the mix (or was he/she nonchalant enough the European way not to check it out?). It was a nudist beach...

The composition is never too clever by half, it's intelligent: The dissonant opening impression of Dior's Dune relies on a bitterish interplay between the tarriness of lichen ~alongside the distinct bracken feel of broom (in reality deertongue goes into the formula)~ with the sweeter oriental elements of the base. It's almost harsh! The phenolic, after all, is never more aptly played than when juxtaposed with a sweetish note (such as in natural honey in the form of phenolic acids), as exhibited to great effect by Bvlgari's Black which was to follow at the end of the 1990s. The intelligence of Sieuzac nevertheless lied into injecting a "marine" fragrance with exactly the element that no one would expect from an oceanic-evoking landascape: warm oriental powder! If you lean closely, the top stage of Dune with its bitterish tendencies almost immediately gives way to a dry impression that almost recalls gusts of powder, but missing completely the candied violet-rose & makeup feel of the mainstays of feminine guiles, powder puffs. The official notes proclaim orris, but the effect is due to carrot seed (often used as a replication of the earthy, powdery undergrowth). This is a fragrance that is conceived as an extension of the boudoir into the outdoors, not an accoutrement out of it.
The warm amber (but not too sweet) and the musk base is there too under the other elements, almost like fig-filled biscuits rolled into floral tanning lotion. In fact I believe the Dior Bronze "summer fragrance" called Sweet Sun, was directly inspired by Dune. But the diaphanous interpretation of Dune allows it to pose as borderline "fresh". Almost "natural". Someone described it as "flesh-toned in the creepy way of artificial limps, not real ones", continuing into pronouncing it "marvellous" and "the bleakest beauty in all perfumery", and this Plastic Venus off the Waves stands indeed on a unique podium amidst the whole of modern perfumery: There's simply nothing quite like it.



Notes for Dior Dune:
Top:bergamot, mandarin, palisander, aldehyde, peony, rosewood and broom
Heart: jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang, lily, wallflower, lichen, orris.
Base: vanilla, patchouli, benzoin, sandalwood, amber, oakmoss, and musk.

The Eau de Toilette is my preferred concentration in this scent, possessing in greater degree the jarring elements which make Dune so very interesting to begin with. There is also an alcohol-free version for use in the sun, called Dune Sun, but as usual with alcohol-less versions, it lacks much staying power.

pic of plastic venus by lo boots via deviant-art

Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur: fragrance review

Torrid opulence...When perfumer Maurice Roucel was developing Musc Ravageur (2000) for Les Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle, a young woman belonging to the creative team wore the powerful, dramatic "demo" of the fragrance to brave the afternoon commute home as part of testing. As she was sitting beside an elderly gentleman, she recounts she noticed him twitch his nose in puzzlement and vague alarm. Given that the team was trying to develop a feral animalic oriental (the name means " ravaging/devastating musk", clearly a politically-incorrect type of erotic discourse) which would trump current fads, it was clear they had succeeded!

The raunchy reputation

 Roucel had envisioned Musc Ravageur to communicate both "seduction and generosity". It was based on a fragrance formula he had developed in 1998, but which was deemed too racy to launch by most companies. Yet Roucel considered it one of his best works.
One more attuned to the American culture could claim this oriental would perfectly encapsulate those women which on US soil are called "skanks". Gallic civility probably restrained Roucel from voicing that thought. Yet, "skanky" doesn't necessarily denote negativity: A hint of vulgarity is often the element that puts the final brushstroke on a picture of beauty. Don't most vintage classics include such a note amidst all the refinement? Isn't a falling, slightly greasy tendril of hair or a little smudge of the eyeliner a promise of things unravelling later on? Isn't a small hole on the stockings an invitation to tear them apart? And isn't a slap begging to be chased with a kiss?
People react to it with either swooning indulgence or utter disgust and it's fun to see it never plays out the way one expects.

Demi Moore was shopping at Barney's some time ago observed by sales associates with loose mouths, whereupon she asked to try the Malle line. Upon being presented with Musc Ravageur she stopped the guy saying "Oh no, I don't like musk". After being shown the entire line, she was again presented with the infamous Musc without being told the name: "You saved the best for last" she murmured, her wrists stuck to her nose. [source] George Clooney and Pierce Brosnan have also fallen under the scent's charm (not on Demi, necessarily, we presume), so...India Knight, the British writer at any rate calls it "the olfactory equivalent of lucky pants". I defer to her experience of prose.

The incongruity: Scent vs. Name

In Musc Ravageur the explosive departure of bergamot, tangerine and cinnamon is set against a backdrop of vanilla, musk and amber. No flowers, just a refined skin scent. Yet contrary to name, Musc Ravageur isn't really about musk! On the contrary, there's a little synthetic musk and quite a bit of castoreum and civet in it (both of synthetic origin). And the reason I am including it in a section devoted to musks is mainly due to nomenclature and readers' expectation. If you have been fearing (or loving, like myself) the reputation of Muscs Kublai Khan and Christopher Brosius I Hate Perfume Musk Reinvented, you will be puzzled indeed by this one, recalling as it does the base of such classic orientals as Shalimar or even less classical, like Teatro alla Scala by Krizia.

Preceded as it is by its reputation as a best-selling fragrance in the Malle line, we're left with an incongruity: Is the audience buying fragrance from one of the quintessential niche lines really into feral mojo or are they searching for something else? Smelling Musc Ravageur on skin one cannot but form an opinion towards the latter. Musc Ravageur, just like the big paws of its creator, is more of a naughty & voracious home cat with a furry tongue giving you a bath, rather than a wild tiger in the jungle shredding its prey in pieces. A very sensual amber -rather than musk, compare with Kiehl's Original Musk oil for instance- is hiding in the core of the fragrance.
A characteristic and fairly dramatic citrus-spice top note is immediately perceptible (I detect mandarin, clove, cinnamon and possibly some lavender as well), which recalls the Gallified "oriental" mould in the most classical manner, and a silky vanilla dry down which isn't really sweet, but interplaying between warm & cool. In fact this drydown is structured by woods which offer the spine of the perfume: cedar, sandalwood and the warm gaiac wood. The artistry lies in having the amber-castoreum basenotes perform like a Chinese gymnast: all over the place, but with an elasticity that creates the illusion of weightlessness!

The shopping part: What and Where

The scent is presented in Eau de Parfum classic alcoholic version (which is a characteristic spicy ambery oriental) and in the Huile A Tout Faire oil version (a smooth clear oil for use on pulse points, hair or all over after the bath). The latter in my opinion is a lot smoother, rounder, with less of a spicy-lavender note on top, and extremely erotic, much more so than the somewhat "loud" spray. Both are fit for both sexes, amplifying what you naturally got. There is also a body products line available, including shower wash and body lotion, over which I still prefer the oil.

Musc Ravageur by F.Malle is available from the online boutique Editions de Parfums, at the eponymous Boutiques (see our article for the Parisian ones and the new one on Madison Ave.) and at Barney's.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Scented Musketeers (musks reviews), The Musk Series: ingredients, classification, cultural associations

Painting Seated Nude by Jacob Collins, via acores.canalblog.com.
Clip from the Andrei Zulawski film L'important c'est d'aimer with Romy Schneider.

Lancome Magie Noire: fragrance review of the perfect Halloween scent

If there is one perfume which conjures up a devilish sorceress in full-wiccan attire it is none other than Lancôme's splendlidly devilish Magie Noire (pronounced ma-zhee nou-ahr and meaning Black Magic) by perfumer-alchemist Gérard Goupy.

Introduced in 1978, Magie Noire is an ardent scent full of insupportable sensuality which projects with the mysterious force of an evil heroine; having you grip your seat with a mix of justified horror and perverse admiration at the same time! Its heady, unsettling base accord acts like velvet or a caressing fur coat that is hiding a knife, its interlay of all the powerhouses base notes (musk, civet, castoreum) a sign of brandishing its bravado like a protective amulet against all odds.
Not to be confused with the 1949 classic Magie (its bottle reprised in the design of Lancôme recents Hypnôse and Hypnôse Senses), Magie Noire was conceived at the wake of Opium's oriental success which took the market by (olfactory) storm and along with exact contemporary Rochas Mystère presented the gutsy, murky mossy alternatives before ultrasweet orientals elbowed them off the central shelves in the 1980s.
The bottle was designed by Pierre Dinand in the same forbidden territories as Opium too: The inspiration being medieval alchemical alembics this time ~instead of Japanese inros~ and covered with cabbalistic signs standing for bismuth, verdigris, sulphur and gold.

Despite its murky depths of oakmoss and patchouli, nevertheless ~which have several perfumephiliacs designate it to the chypre fragrance family~ Magie Noire technically belongs to the woody oriental one.
Starting with an ammoniac opening, which oscillates between the feline and the human, and progressing into a purple fruity overlay over the darkest gothic roses imaginable, Magie Noire is a journey into a noir story that unfolds with each passing minute with a new twist and a new thorn to grab you. The white florals in its heart are not read as such, rather the verdant and sharp greens present themselves at an angle (galbanum and hyacinth amongst them allied to the leathery pungency of castoreum). The drydown of the fragrance is much softer, deliciously mellower and musky-incensy sensual with a microscopic caramel note that is kept on the skin for days.

The fact that several wearers of the original Magie Noire nowadays find it (catastrophically) changed is no illusion: Lancôme actually reworked the formula of Magie Noire when re-releasing it after its brief discontinuation. The 1980s Eau de Parfum and parfum versions were much edgier and headier with a pronounced spiciness and murkiness that could cut through fog like a beacon. The sillage was unforgettable and typhoon-like in its potency with a sex-appeal-oozing-through-pores vibe that could make you or break you: It was a scent that needed to suit your personality in order to work right and on many it didn't. I recall it worn by women with exquisitely coifed hair which seemed like they braved the elements.
Even in its attenuated form today Magie Noire is definitely not a perfume for young girls, not because perfume has an age, but because like a complex grand cru it requires some getting used to and is an acquired taste. Its distinctiveness lends it a special occasion ambience which it exploits to good effect; it would be both a great waste and a sensory overload to use it all the time. On the contrary, savoured drop by drop, it imbues its wearer with the magical charm of an undestructible protective mantle.

Not only Lancôme changed the formula, they also changed the flacons design from time to time, making it a confusing task for chronologising your bottle. I remember the bottle in the 80s was black, following the one depicted in the ads above, while a maroon version also circulated in the 90s. Recently upon its re-introduction Lancôme simplified the bottle into the columnal solid glass with a metallic-looking top depicted below.

Notes for Lancôme Magie Noire: Bergamot, blackcurrant, hyacinth, raspberry, honey, tuberose, narcissus, jasmine, incense, Bulgarian rose, patchouli, vetiver, castoreum, labdanum, musk and civet.

Magie Noire is available on counters and online priced at $55 USD for a 2.5oz/75ml Eau de Toilette and that's the only version Lancôme currently offers. I wish they'd bring back the parfum! There also was the enigmatic huile parfum (perfume oil) version, reputed to emphasize the greener notes, but I have not tried it (yet) to compare with extrait.

Ads via perfume4u.co.uk and pays.dignois.com. Glass flacon via Lancome.ca. Maroon bottle pic via qb.org.nz. Sorceress illustration via mythicmktg.fileburst

La Prairie Life Threads: fragrance reviews

It's not too often that I do "custom" reviews, and before you get any nasty thoughts (we're an independent blog here!), I mean requests from my readers. I had presented the new trifecta Life Threads by La Prairie (with a little historical comparison as to precious metals and fragrance associations) and emails started flooding my inbox asking me for my opinion on them. After replying to one or two directly, I thought you might all get a kick if I embarked on a more detailed coverage, so here I am.

If you have any modernist streak running through you, the hard-wired and Lucite La Prairie bottles display will recalimbrate your vision on where modern art can appear: Apparently apart from MOMA or The Tate, it can be hosted at your local La Prairie counter too! There was some version of plastic paneling in packaging before, notably in Roberto Cavalli scents (Just Her, Just Him) but it was done in a completely plastic-fantastic "I'm a Barbie Girl" sort of manner that defied good taste really. The La Prairie bottles take those wires and coil them round your neck tightly if you even begin to think that they're cheap: They most assuredly are not and they look ever so much better up close.

The trilogy is set to be a "provocative portfolio of fragrances [that] speaks to the different dimensions of a woman, rich with entanglements, connections and mysteries waiting to be unraveled". Reassuringly, they're not especially provocative, in the degree that you won't be rubbing your eyes "whoa! where did this come from?", however they are all polished, competent compositions that exhibit good intentions.

I was overall most impressed with Silver which is the woody floral in the triumvirate. Expansive and with an engulfing white floral heart (indolic jasmine and lots of creamy tuberose) it radiates with the same razor-sharp pitch over off-the-cholesterol-chart butteriness which Fracas does so well, thanks to the inclusion of peppery and green elements (think spicy vetiver and unidentified mossy notes, probably in synch with the upcoming IFRA44th regularions). Lovers of Tom Ford's Velvet Gardenia might also want to give it a whirl, because it shares the proper mushroom-like ambience of the real blossoms and a butyric character right out of the clotted cream recipes cookbook of Julia Child ("The best time for diet food is while waiting for the steak to get done" ~I can identify with that!). March over at Perfume Posse put it succintcly when testing it: "It was like running errands in a silk peignoir and ostrich mules. It is deeply fabulous, if very much not me, although I kind of want it to be me".

Gold is certainly shaping up to be the crowd-pleaser in the range, as it hits all the right spots for most of the consumers: it starts citrusy (mandarine, but not orchard-rich), is a little sweet (but not tooth-achingly so, an accomplishment), it's a little orientalised (but will not end you being sold in a harem), it's a little spicy (but no uncle Serge peeking through with handfuls of cumin at the ready to be thrown up your nose). The solar notes and the ylang-ylang heart compliment each other well and the solemn, yet warm note of myrrh is infusing the whole. Is a perfume that is programatically set to deny excess in any aspect worth it, you might ask. Well, in some small way it is. I wouldn't pick it as my first choice over other beloved orientals, but to make an analogy, like Yves Saint Laurent's misunderstood Cinéma it's a pleasant example of the genre that shouldn't be ashamed of itself.
Although advertised as an "elegant and edgy chypre" (a category I am especially simpatico to), Platinum didn't grab me, nor did I find it edgy. I hear it is marketed as unisex, which is a novel idea, the other two being so femme focused. There is radiance, but also a little shrill quality about it, which manifests itself in the clash of the cucumber-smelling violet leaves in the opening (this is not sweet powdery violets) with the abstract floral elements and the standard patchouli-vetiver base which we have been smelling to distraction in, oh, just about the majority of the market's share of "modern chypres" in the last 5 years or so. The latter might be the reason why I am not more enthused with the idea, although I can't deny it's a competent example and it does present a miniscule leather facet which is intriguing. I just wish it had been furthered to its full potential!

Somehow the advertising fanned out in three commercial clips seems rather cheesy to me and you can colour me unimpressed on that score ~there's even a song "inspired" by them; sometimes they seem attenuated to the point of ridicule (The heavy nuanced accent on the Platinum one doesn't really help me take this any more seriously, dear advertisers. It's not like you hired Tim Piggot Smith, you know). The stories are "real stories", aiming to provide a romantic subplot to what is a snippet of "life" for the viewers. If the La Prairie audience accustomed to their expensive skincare is fantasizing about such a life (and not already having it) is unbeknowst to me, although I wouldn't hold my breath; it certainly looks a little aspirational to those who probably save scraps for a month in order to be able to afford a pot of their creams. ("I always wanted to leave on top of the world" etc. just before the story turns into the classic "rich lady in search of macho low-class so she can feel like a woman again".) You can watch them all here or on Lifethreads.com. It's interesting to note that although it's French actress-singer Arielle Dombasle who is fronting the fragrances, the commercials so far utilize neither her voice, nor her presence. I wonder why!
The clips come with lots of voice-over. Someone needs to have a cinematic lesson: Voice-over is the surest way to have a par excellence visual medium turn into televised theatre, aka snore-fest ~if you have ever compared a live theater performance with its televised version you know what I'm talking about! It's a pity the designing team didn't work on the advertising as well. But in true cinematic mode "nobody's perfect!"

La Prairie Life Threads: Silver, Gold and Platinum come in Eau de Parfum bottles of 1.7oz/50ml for $125/100 euros at La Prairie counters, Neiman Marcus, Begdorfs and Saks.
Notes etc. on this link.

Photo by Guy Bourdin via queeninheels.com and saopauloegratis.com

Parfum d'Empire Wazamba: fragrance review

In the words of Canadian psychologist Albert Bandura "most human behaviour is learned observationally through modeling". And nowhere is this more cognitively apparent than in the beauty and sensual business in which perfumery holds an esteemed place. Wazamba by Parfum d'Empire is a prime example of the developmental incline which the niche house established by Corsican Marc-Antoine Corticchiato~assisted to by Elisabeth de Feydeau~ has been for a while now, influenced and influencing through modeling.

The resounding success of Ambre Russe, Cuir Ottoman and Osmanthus Interdite are a small testament to the power of quality materials, conceptual storylines (the recreation of the atmosphere of great empires of the past, influencing the Romea d'Ameor line as well) and an aesthetic focus which diverts from the torpid patcho-syrupy jingles of so many new releases to produce baroque, complex and refined sonatas.

In Wazamba, the name doesn't evoke a peruqued era with fake beauty marks travelling the rosy cheeks of decadent and unwahsed aristocrats, nor Tsardoms of fierce despotism drenched in samovars' inky liquid and potato grain liquor. Instead it is inspired by “a sistrum used in the rituals of West Africa” possessing a “heavy sound, full and deep” which one could imagine played by the regal silhouettes of Modigliani-like figures in the savanna evening bonfires. Perhaps a little imaginatively conceived, as the mysterious instrument is nowhere to be found (there is wazimbo though!), yet the merit of the composition more than surpasses the want of accuracy in the press release. A Lutensian web is weaved around almost every niche release, his pioneer work being the instigator in large part (excluding L'Artisan, Goutal and Diptyque who always travelled their own path). Parfum d'Empire is no exception, yet the familiarity is not contrite nor bellicose, but proud in itself.

Parfum d'Empire Wazamba travels the new route of conifers, surely pre-empting along with Fille en Aiguilles, a revisited appreciation for balsamic notes which I predict we will be seeing more of in the future: fir balsam, pine needles, cypress sap...Lubin's Idole and Black Cashmere by Donna Karan were incorporating some warmth and fir notes with their incense a few years ago and Zagorsk from the Incense series by Comme des Garcons was the first to marry pine with incense. But in Wazamba the synergy is more complicated, very interesting and sweeter. The burning, pyrocaustic frankincense of Serge Noire and Essence de John Galliano appears softly pettering out to ashy-powdery, slightly sweet notes (opoponax and the sensuality of labdanum). Yet the initial impression and one of the predominent notes on my skin is ~surprisingly enough but pleasurably so~ apple; a red, juicy and ripe variety that is miles away from the sanitary, upbeat, acid green and detergent-like apple in shampoos and fine fragrance alike in later years! The combination of this apple note along with long-lasting, delectable myrrh is joined at the hip via the cinnamon nuance that both materials evoke; one through allusion, the other through illusion. Yet Wazamba isn't spicy, nor is it gourmand despite its sweetness. Neither is it fancy, sophisticated, elegant or conventionally sexy and that's perfectly all right. The feeling it evokes is one of unadulterated, raw beauty: It relies on a forest of aromatic pine needles, laid out in an African sunset, when climbing the nearby knoll your hands are almost touching the copper clouds.



Notes for Parfum d'Empire Wazamba: Somalian incense, Kenyan myrrh, Ethiopian opoponax, Indian sandalwood, Moroccan cypress, labdanum, apple, fir balsam

Parfum d'Empire Wazamba is available in Eau de Parfum in 50ml/1.7 and 100ml/3.4oz spray bottles at Luckyscent and Aus Liebe zum Duft, as well as in the men's department of Le Printemps and the Old England store (corner of the rue Scribe and boulevard des Capucines) in Paris.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Incense Series, Pine scents

Pics from the postcard book African Ceremonies by Beckwith and Fisher via cas1.elis.ugent.be and salon.com.
Photo of Parfum d'Empire Wazamba bottle © by Elena Vosnaki.

L'Artisan Parfumeur Al Oudh: new fragrance

Hot on the heels of moroccan impressions and no sooner had a review of the newest Havana Vanilla been posted on our pages (a scent in the Travel series from L'Artisan and inspired by the tobacco and vanilla of old Cuba) that we find out positive info on another new L'Artisan Parfumeur coming out: Al Oudh, simply meaning "the oud". Composed by in-house perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour and centered on the noble scent of the patholigical secretion of Aquillaria trees, oud or aloeswood, the new oriental fragrance is hypnotically beckoning us into a Middle-Eastern dervish dance, an hypnotic sight from which we can't draw our eyes off. The smoky, nutty complex smell of oud wood with its resemblanc to Band-Aids is definitely the dominating trend in niche releases in the last few seasons, having gained a momentum like there was no tomorrow (Montale was on to something when he burst into the scene with his ouds!). The oud bandwagon has everyone on it from Micalef's Aoud Homme to Tom Ford Oud Wood and more mainstream releases such as YSL M7, which begs the question what will happen if the guy and the gal next to you on the subway will start wearing tons of oud scents on the daily commute. But I digress.
Bertrand is taking the inspiration from the Arabian peninsula and the Spice Route (much like we had reported on Amouage and their new Epic, it's an always popular theme anyway) along with his familiar, honed skills on incense (myrrh, frankincense) to compose a spicy, woody and animalic composition with leathery notes which is reported to be "incredibly strong" as per the perfumer's own words.
The oudh/oud/aoud note is much harped on for being ultra-expensive (and indeed its production is so labour-intensive as to require exorbitant prices), yet new synthetics which mimic its medicinal and smoky scent have lately become available, starting with M7 by Yves Saint Laurent a few years ago (thus bringing the fad all the way downscale to Bath & Body Works recently). This justifies the claim of oud "notes" across the market at every price point. I trust that L'Artisan and Bertrand, with their usual finesse and care for marrying the best of both worlds, will instill a little of the real deal, extended with suave aromachemicals which will support it.

Notes* for L'Artisan Al Oudh:
Top: Cumin, cardamom, pink pepper
Heart: Neroli, rose, castoreum, civet, leather, musk
Base: Oud, sandalwood, Atlas cedar, patchouli, myrrh, incense, vanilla, tonka bean

*please note this is the sequence quotted, although it appears mid notes are comprised of heavier molecules

L'Artisan Al Oudh will be available as Eau de Parfum in 100ml/3.4oz bottles with Arabesque edges and a box that is scalloped with mosque-like decorations. It does look beautiful! (and Lutensian I might add in mischief) It will launch in winter 2009-2010.

info & pic via extrait.it

Une Rose Chypree by Tauer Perfumes: fragrance review & draw

When I was testing Une rose chyprée for the first time, I was eating creamy Greek yoghurt sprinkled with shredded Valhrona 72% dark chocolate on top (an indulgence of my own imagining, highly recommended btw) and releafing through A History of Architecture: Settings and Rituals by Spiro Kostof.

The first impression as the drops of scent hit my skin was that I was actually tasting a bright mandarin-jam-filled chocolate nugget~a fun and intriguing experience which I would suggest you try at some point! Subsequent testing confirmed that the bright halo of clementine (and some linalyl acetate?) which was so unexpected and so deliriously juicy in Incense Rosé as well as in Mandarins Ambrées (the homemade soap Andy makes for the holidays) is making its appearence again. In the memorable words of Luca Turin on the former "The combination of rose, cardamom, and mandarin is so warm, so welcoming, you feel as if you’ve just heard a piece of good news you cannot quite remember."
Same goes for the affectionately called "Tauerade", a chord comprised of orris root/irone alpha and woody ambergris, which seems to weave through his work, the signature trait of an artist who has his own distinct style. That style has been loved by many fragrance aficionados starting with his masterful L'air du desert marocain and has progressed into a genuine cult, catapulting Tauer into the pantheon of independent perfumers worth of intently watching today.

But where is the rose?, you might be asking. The rose is there, but forget everything you have ever heard about your grandma's sour flower water, the toilet refresher that has you pinch your nose with its citral and geraniol intensity and the dusty pot-pourri that has been sitting on the mantelpiece begging for mercy into being thrown in the dust-bin already! None of those impressions is here and may I say it loud: "Thank God!". The diffuculty of working with rose is exactly the cultural associations with hygiene products that smell like sour wine and mouldy, crumbled pot-pouri bought by people who randomly heard about home fragrancing circa the early 1980s. Very few compositions get away with smelling like rose yet avoiding the miasma of the above, either by accenting the powdery violet ionones aspects ~such as Paris by Yves Saint Laurent and Creed's Fleurs de Thé Rose Bulgare~ or highlighting the jamminess of the fruitier facets of rose ~like in Liaisons Dangereuses by Kilian. Alternatively they can go the more covert chypre way, resulting in Cabaret (Grès), Aromatics Elixir (Clinique), Rose de Nuit (Serge Lutens), Diabolo Rose and Un Zéphir de Rose (parfums de Rosine). Andy has successfully solved the problem of working with rose and none of his fragrances evoke unpleasant images; only opulence.

The chypre accord of Une rose chyprée is built around oakmoss, patchouli, labdanum, and bergamot, while Tauer also uses treemoss in a balanced ratio resulting in a composition that is obviously chypre. The clearly perceptible vanillic undercurrent with a drop of Tolu balsam on the other hand gives an oriental nod, providing a soft, thick, envelopping mantle fitting both genders in its velvety embrace. A lightly "clean" effect is surfacing along with gentle spiciness like clothes clean, starched and pressed with a hot iron, a nod to his Vetiver Dance and the unreleased Eau d’épices. I asked Andy about the interesting effect, thinking that it could be the Lilial (which is very obvious in Vetiver Dance), but he told me that it might be the Givaudan aroma-chemical Okoumal, also present in some detergents: "It adds a vibrant undertone and is extremely lifting, especially to otherwise dark and stuffy woody resins".
The overall feeling of the fragrance is of a "thick" scent although it doesn't become stuffy. The lasting power is way beyond average, the fragrance stayed vibrant on my skin for a good 8 hours.


According to Andy Tauer

"Une rose chyprée is an oriental rose on a chypre base. It is built around two natural extracts from rosa damascena, the absolute and the steam distilled essential oil. Its heart is lifted by spices (Bay and cinnamon) and a fresh accord built around bergamot, lemon and clementine. Green Bourbon geranium oil lets the rose petals shine and contrasts with the dark resinous accord in the base, built around labdanum, oakmoss, patchouli, vetiver and vanilla".

Une rose chyprée is the first scent of a series of things to come, namely the special line Tauer Perfumes "mémorables" (please note it's Tauer Perfumes and mémorables; not "perfumes mémorables" which would mix the two languages!). The aim is to present small size fragrances (0.5oz/15ml) like a sweet praline to be savoured. All of them will either be eau de parfum or parfum concentration (Une Rose Chyprée comes as an eau de parfum), none of them limited editions. The funny little bottles, resembling nail treatments, are practical and come packaged and tied with deep yellow ribbon, finished entirely by hand. I like Tauer's philosophy by which he doesn't put the emphasis on the outside or the details of fancy names and such but on the inside; namely the juice!

Andy had been working on this scent for a year and you can read his thoughts and problematics following his blog. Une rose chyprée will launch officially on July 1st, available through Tauer Perfumes (price 65 CHF and 20CHF shipping worldwide), Aedes, First in Fragrance and Luckyscent.

I have two samples to send to two lucky readers. State your interest in the comments!

In the interests of disclosure I was sent the small 15ml bottle by Tauer himself this time. If my previous dedication is any indication, you know my tastes have not been swayed.

Photo of Yoghurt and Valhrona Shreds © by Perfumeshrine. Kirsten Dunst from Miu Miu 08 via IamFashion.blogspot.com Bottle via Tauer.

Guerlain Loin de Tout: fragrance review & history of an unknown vintage

Impropable finds come like heavy snow in August at a coastal town in Sicily or an apparition of the Virgin to St. Bernadette Soubirous performed by the Madonna of Lourdes, France ~once in a blue-veering-to-cerulean moon; and that only if you have been extremely pleasing to the Gods! Nevertheless I must have accomplished some minor divine appeasement because what I thought was in the realm of the above came in the guise of an infinitely rare collectible procured via a generous and knowledgable collector: One of the most unknown Guerlains no less, to tally up my archives of the venerable brand.

Loin de Tout ("away from it all") was issued by Guerlain in 1933 at a time when the lure of exotic travelling and the feats of aviation had cemented the belief that anything was possible. Vol de Nuit and Sous le Vent are probably the best known examples of fragrances in the Guerlain stable that were inspired by such a concept and so is the after-the-war escapism of Gaugin-esque Atuana. Like the above mentioned fragrances, Loin de Tout evokes by name the pleasures that await one from removing their psyche from the mundane of everyday life and its vagaries and abandoning one's self to the nobility of the natural world.

The composition of Loin de Tout is reminiscent of many elements in the familiar vernacular of Guerlain, especially other classics by Jacques Guerlain, scattered like coloured beads in haphazard directions creating a kaleidoscope of shape-sifting images: the animalistic base of such classics as Jicky and Voilette de Madame; the bouquet des herbes de Province that hides in some of the aromatic compositions of the earliest creations; the floral touches that exalt the romanticism of the Guerlain love-stories. In Loin de Tout everything is suave but with a rapid progression from the bright to the pungent and on to the lathery, which accounts for a trippy experience like a voyaristic glimpse through a keyhole to an affluent lady's or gentleman's inner sanctum. There is the happy beginning of orange blossom, clearly discernible singing like a nightingale for several minutes, all the while the lower density base notes peeking from under the surface; troubling, animalic and ambery. The progression veers into pungent notes resembling thyme and bay leaves ~a hint of L'Heure Bleue's herbal facet~ sustained into a warm summer’s day driving along the almost scorched shrubs of a Mediterranean country with all windows down and inhaling the warm, arid air with nostrils aflare. But not everything has been told as yet. After several minutes, the most unexpected note of a soapy floralcy emerges. Hypothesizing that it is due either to a hydroxycitronellal note (mimicking astrigent lily of the valley and very popular so as to “open up” the bouquet of old classics) or some aldehydic lathery tone of "clean" C11 (undecanal), also quite popular by the 1930s, it is an intriguing juxtaposition to the otherwise ambery proceedings with floral touches. It is an utter pity that the unpopularity of the finished jus put a stop to production quite soon, bringing an intriguing composition to an abrupt end, leaving behind only relics of a grandiose past, grist for collectors' mills.

The bottle encasing Loin de Tout was the historic "flacon brun fumé" better known as the one holding the previous fragrances Candide Effluve and À travers Champs Elysées, which were circulating during the 1930s. The beautiful and mysterious design of the flacon however proved unsuccessful commercially as well: being not easy to grab firmly, it was prone to accidental falls and was soon abandonded in favour of more fluted designs. Loin de Tout is almost impossible to find, indeed "away from it all", and if you happen upon it on Ebay or another collector's vaults you should thank your lucky stars, like I did.

Pic of Rudolf Koppitz nude "Desperation" via SexualityintheArts.

Angelique Noire by Guerlain: fragrance review

The inconcistency between name and scent is probably an intended characteristic of the boutique exclusive L'Art et la Matière line by Guerlain, as discussed before in the Cruel Gardénia (a scent that smells nothing like gardenias really) and Rose Barbare reviews, because Angélique Noire (Black Angelica) is certainly not noire, at least not in the manner of which we have been thinking of, courtesy of the Golden era of Hollywood. The grotesque look of Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard that simply screamed for its daily dose of Caron’s sumptuous Narcisse Noir as a talisman against mediocrity and decline is nowhere to be found.

There is a historic factoid that might be a piquant reference: A black slave by the apt name Marie Joseph Angélique was a personage in the history of Montreal, accused of being the incendiary of the 1734 episodes; someone suited to the scent of Angelique Noire? Far from such upheaval and restlessness or the promise of fallen angels, here we are dealing with a pre-Raphaelite Madonna with curly hair and silky robes that is lost in mystical reverie over the impending Nativity or a post-romantic painting by Waterhouse; carte-postale style in both cases: somehow too pretty for a truly striking effect!

Created by nose Daniela Roche-Andrier in 2005 for the renovation of the flagship store at 68, Avenue Champs Elysées, the Guerlain brief for Angélique Noire went something like this: "A composition based on angelica, weed known to be an elixir promoting longetivity. The bergamot and angelica notes are fresh, vibrant and slightly bitter. They contrast with the sophisticated fullness of the vanilla”.
The core of the perfume is undoubtedly the pairing of bergamot and vanilla which in Guerlain terms would translate as musky, troubling Shalimar, surely. Or Shalimar Eau Légère/Shalimar Light, modern-style, even! But this is a Guerlain through non-Guerlain eyes, ergo the treatment is completely different. Angélique Noire is a sweet oeuvre of pleasant and cherubic notes, full of the tart juice of bergamot and toiling harvesters eager to gather crops as it opens with the tangy and difficult to obtain angelica, garlanded with a spicy touch enough to intrigue; this phase is quite suited to both sexes in fact. Later it cedes to a soft heart of milky-almondy haziness and drying down to ever persistent, creamy vanilla.
Angélique Noire is not especially reminiscent of any of the Loukhoum scents (Serge Lutens, Keiko Mecheri) that feature some of the same notes nevertheless, nor is it laced with aromatic nuances as one would except from a fragrance named and inspired by angelica. Guerlain has based its reputation on the quality of its vanilla and it always features in one way or another in their perfumes, usually along with tonka bean. This is no exception. I don’t know if angelica is supposed to prolong life in humans really, and how that could be a good thing in a world that despises old age, but the fragrance lasts very well (which is a blessing or a curse depending on what you think of it).

Notes for Angélique Noire by Guerlain:
Angelica, bergamot, vanilla


Angélique Noire forms part of the L'Art et la Matière line sold exclusively at boutiques Guerlain and the Guerlain espace at Begdrof Goodman, in tall architectural bottles with the name on the side in a wide golden "band" and an optional bulb atomiser included (My advice on those is not to leave them attached on the bottle as they allow evaporation of the juice).

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: the Guerlain series, Fragrances with angelica.

Pic of fallen angel sent to me by mail unaccredited. Pic of bottles via Guerlain.

Guerlain Parure: fragrance review and history

"She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. She only loved that, she felt made for that. She had such a desire to please, to be envied, to be seductive and sophisticated..."
~Guy de Maupassant La Parure

Much like Madame Loisel, the wife of a civil servant in Guy de Maupassant's novelette, who wants to live the good life, Parure by Guerlain (1975) stands as a precious commodity to be cherished; an ornament that lifts its wearer beyond the mundane and "l'air pauvre au millieu de femmes riches" (looking poor among rich women).
Parure radiates an outgoing feeling of luxury and refinement. One doesn't wear Parure to communicate their feelings, as they would with Chant d'Arômes or Vol de Nuit; or to entangle someone in a seductive web in the manner of Shalimar; but instead one wears Parure to show one's self and to be adored for everything she represents. It's therefore not an accident that it is the signature scent of Kim Catrall, the glamazonian and sexually uninhibited Samantha in Sex & the City, who upon hearing news of its discontinuation declared she has bought "every available bottle on earth" (clearly not, but it shows how loyal a following Parure produces).
In the tale by Maupassant, Madame Loisel borrows the coveted parure jewels from her rich acquaintance Madame Forestier to wear at a grand ball in which she has a truly memorable time but loses the necklace in the process. Ashamed to admit the truth to her friend, she is forced to buy a replacement and thus enter in heavy debt that will entail years of sacrifice and toil. Years later, as the two women meet on the street by chance, the moment of truth comes as Madame Loisel finally admits the circumstances, yet she hears crestfallen that the necklace was made of paste and not diamonds and therefore all her sacrifices to get herself out of the colossal debt had been unnecessary... Contrary to the above story, Parure glistens with the real shine of precious essences and imaginative artistry.

Parure etymologically comes from the Old French, meaning adornment, from the verb parer: to adorn, to prepare. According to Encyclopedia Britannica, parure thus denotes "a matched set of jewelry consisting of such pieces as earrings, bracelet, brooch, necklace, and ring". In fact the complicated suite might include such diverse items such as a necklace, a comb, a tiara, a diadem, a bandeau, a pair of bracelets, pins, rings, drop earrings or cluster-stud earrings, a brooch and even a belt clasp to be worn over an evening gown. Parures rose in popularity from the 17th century onwards in Europe and were mainly reserved for royalty and the really rich, denoting status, strength and the political power of its wearers. Napoléon loved lavishing these gem suites on Joséphine, for her to wear at state functions, while he gave similar sets to his second wife, Marie-Louise, later on. Court members and the higher social ranks vied for the best jewelers with orders for them to create elaborate and original suites that had the clever and intricate characteristic of modularity so that they could be remade into more fashionable, au courant jewels. Therefore necklaces could be worn intact or disassembled into bracelets, pendants, hair ornaments or brooches by incorporating smart interchangeable components and locking systems.

Ever since Guerlain had created the ultimate fruity chypre in the guise of the mysterious Mitsouko in 1919, they sought to create another memorable chypre for their customers. Jean Paul Guerlain, heartned by the success of Chant d'Arômes (1962) and Chamade (1969), tried to accomplish just that in 1975 with Parure. Although Guerlain themselves classify the scent under "floral chypre", Parure is a porthole into fruity chypres with a polished woodfloor background that according to Luca Turin evoke an oriental mood more than anything.

Guerlain's Parure opens on an effusive and noble interlay of bright and dark elements of golden bergamot and sharp greens that soon cede to the spicy notes in its heart that recall the cinnamon touch (due to styrax) that appears in Mitsouko as well. The ripeness of plummy goodness almost as if steeped in rum (comparable to the damascones in Lutens' Bois et Fruits or Feminité du Bois by Shiseido) evokes spring gatherings in stately houses: The floors polished to a shiny, waxy sheen, the curtains of damask draw;, vases full of narcotic lilacs; bright lights illuminating French windows that give way to a majestic view of the woods across the green lawn. Balsamic notes finish off the dinner as if a baba au rhum laced with delicate vanilla pods extract is being savoured while the gentlemen of the company are smoking cigars in the antecedent chamber.
Although Parure is a very radiant, self-confident composition that is not difficult to wear due to its smooth and lush generosity of nature, I find myself drawn more to the mysterious contemplation and sadness of Mitsouko. Those who find the latter hard to tame, full of sharp impediments however, might have better luck with the former. The eau de toilette of Parure is exceptionally lasting as well, especially in the vintage formula.

Notes for Guerlain Parure
Top: bergamot, clary sage, galbanum
Middle: plum, lilac, rose, jasmine
Base: oakmoss, earthy forest notes, spices, vetiver, styrax, Peru balsam, wood

The original Parure extrait de parfum flacon, made by sculptor Robert Granai, took pride of place among the most luxurious of the Guerlain presentations: A round bottle topped by a 'slightly outrageous stopper' (per Jean Paul Guerlain), a delicate dentelle of crystal the inspiration behind which was a glowing sea-view sunset. The Eau de Cologne concentration circulated in the classic "disk" bottles with the pyramidal stopper. Later on, the Eau de Toilette concentration was bottled in simpler architectural flacons with horizontal ribbing, a classical boule diaphanous stopper and a round red and orange label with the name Parure on the body, encased in a box with geometric designs in matching colours. A reformulation that skewed the scent was implemented when the scent was rebottled in the classic "bee" flacons some years ago, but in comparison to the older eau de toilette it is of inferior quality.
In the end Parure was discontinued by Guerlain altogether some years ago due to low demand and is sometimes found online in auctions or at shops with old stock. Instead Guerlain decided to re-use the glorious, copyrighted name for a range of their makeup items. Let's hope that as long as the keep property of that name, there is some chance that the fragrance might be resurrected.

A sample of vintage Parure will be given to a lucky reader to experience this discontinued fragrance! State your interest.

Ad pic through parfum de pub. Bottle pics through Fragrantica and Ebay. Angelina Jolie photo from the Oliver Stone film Alexander.

Guerlain Vol de Nuit: fragrance review and history

Roja Dove likes to narrate the tale of an American customer who came into a British shop opulently dressed in mink and diamons when Vol de Nuit was not available in Britain, and upon being offered by the sales assistant to try something else, she quipped "Honey, I didn't get where I got today wearing anything but Vol de Nuit and I am not changing for no-one!" Such is the emphatic loyalty Vol de Nuit produces in its admirers ~dame Diana Rigg, Katherine Hepburn and Barbara Streisand among them. I can very well understand why, because I have been securely caught in its web myself. Its haunting, powdery, almost skin-like quietude accounts for a rather sweet fragrance that caresses the senses much like the moody bass and saxophone in a smooth jazz piece. It is seductive despite itself ~in contrast to the calculating wiles of Shalimar~ peppered with the noble juxtaposition that a pressed shirt decorated with an art-deco jewel would evoke.

Guerlain followed their tradition of using evocative names inspired by famous personalities or stories (Eau Impériale for Empress Eugenie, Eau du Coq for French actor Coquelin of Syrano fame, Shalimar for the imperial gardens of Lahore, Mitsouko after Claude Farrere's protagonist in "La Bataille"; and much later Liù after Puccini's heroine in "Turandot" and Chamade after Sagan's novel). They chose "Vol de Nuit"/ Night Flight by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, chief pilot of Aéropostale, French continent-to-continent mail operations company, and a combat pilot in World War I. Saint-Exupéry also wrote "Courier Sud"(Southern Mail) and "Terre des Hommes"(Wind, Sand and Stars) but was immortalised via the classic allegory "The Little Prince". A close friend of Jacques Guerlain, famous for his romantic conquests and very much read at the time, he disappeared in a reconnaissance flight during World War II (1944). His fate, eerily similar to Fabien's, the newly-wed protagonist of "Night Flight", a pilot on the airmail plane from Patagonia to Buenos Aires who is caught in a cyclone and dies while his wife Simone anxiously awaits signal atop the control tower, is shrouded in romantic mystery. Thus, two years after the publication of the novel, in 1933, Jacques Guerlain launched his fragrance by the same name.


The fragrance Vol de Nuit, inspired by the brave early days of aviation, much like En Avion by Caron, or alternatively the ocean-liner named Normandie by Patou, they all coincided with the at once fascinating and perilous exploration of uncharted territories, exotically comparable to our contemporary exploration of the galaxy. And yet despite everything Vol de Nuit compared with En Avion or even Normandie is tamer than its whirwind name would suggest but none the less magisterial for it. Technically a woody oriental, yet with its pronounced opening green note it totters between an oriental and a chypre. Which is understandable if one considers that it was the first fragrance to make overuse of galbanum, thus influencing classics to follow such as Germain Cellier's Vent Vert, Paul Vacher's Miss Dior and Guy Robert's Chanel No.19. The other characteristic element in Vol de Nuit is jonquil absolute. The initial green rush of those two notes along with spice (a delectable touch of cinnamon, perhaps deriving from benzoin) follows a swift diminuendo into delicate flowers similar to those that appear as if pressed between the pages of a stranger's antique journal in the heart of Chant d'Aromes. The ambience of that floral hug is softly-spoken, refined and gentle ceding to a haunting drydown of woody musky nuances, with the characteristic ambery-vanilla-orris-coumarin sweetness that comprises the tradition of Guerlain (the Guerlinade). The original composition contained costus oil, but today that ingredient is restricted, therefore synthetic approximations by IFF are used. That powdery, discreetly smoky phase resembles the quiet plush of Habit Rouge (the masculine version of Shalimar ) laced with the slight wistfulness over a wise advice that you just didn't follow...

Notes for Guerlain Vol de Nuit:
Top: orange, bergamot, lemon, mandarin, petitgrain, galbanum, sage, aldehydes
Heart: violet, rosewood, palmarosa, jasmine, jonquil/daffodil, pimento
Base: Vanilla, benzoin, Peru balsam, musk, cedarwood, orris, tonka bean, oakmoss, agarwood, sandalwood, vetiver, ambergris, castoreum.

Originally the Vol de Nuit flacon was designed with a front that represented an airplane's propeller at the time when Air France was born and air-travel held the lure of adventure. The name is cut out of a circle of gold metal suggesting the propeller belt. The outer box was conceived to look zebra-stripped to denote the fascination with exotic travelling and Africa, the wild continent.

Later on the flacon followed the almost vase-shape of other Guerlain scents. In the '80s and '90s a refill was made in plain glass for the classic gold Habit de Fete canisters. The parfum circulates in the squat short flacon with the quadrilobe stopper that still holds Jicky and Nahéma in extrait de parfum. The French Air Force Collge orders bottles of Vol de Nuit to be emblazoned with their emblem so that their cadets can offer as gifts when officially visiting abroad. There even was a talc product aromatized with Vol de Nuit which I hope I could come across one day.

The parfum concentration in Vol de Nuit is eminently nobler, yet the Eau de Toilette especially in vintage versions is very satisfactory and rich. It is incidentally one of the Guerlain fragrances where the newer batches have not the pillaged air other thoughroughbreds have suffered, although it lasts somewhat shorter, perhaps because under LVMH supervision all the animalics have been replaced with synthesized versions to comply with current ethical concerns (as is the case in all Guerlain fragrances).
NB: Not to be confused with the recent introduction of Vol de Nuit Evasion (2007) which is in fact an eau de toilette concentration of Guerlain's Guet Apens/ Attrape Coeur (more on which subsequently).

Vol de Nuit is available from Guerlain counters although not all of them carry it and if they do it might be tucked back behind the countertop. Ask for it!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain series.

Pics through euart, ebay, parfum de pub.