Hermes Hiris: fragrance review

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

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

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

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

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

Chanel Les Exclusifs Misia: fragrance review

Few toiletry indulgences feel more decadently feminine than owning a fine goose down puff for applying face or body powder. Few rituals feel more delicately ballet-like in their choreographed sequence than the traditional powdering of the body, fresh out of a bath, using said goose down puff with small pat pat pat motions that are as close to caresses as they are to little slaps, both erotic provenance of the demi-mondaines of another time. Misia the fragrance encapsulates in liquid form this graceful dance in Chanel's 15th Les Exclusifs perfume launch, redolent of the retro makeup scents of yesterday.

Emanuelle Beart in Le Temps Retrouvé by Raoul Ruiz via

Chanel via its new head perfumer, Olivier Polge, son of Jacques, only the fourth perfumer in the revered history of the French brand, bows to Guerlain's Après L'Ondée; a composition from the first years of the 20th century based on the ethereal marriage of heliotrope, violet and iris. Yet Chanel's Misia, like the eponymous lady friend of Gabrielle Chanel's it was named after, holds its own ground as well, an outstanding entry for Polge junior regardless of the trodden course. 

Olivier Polge may have excelled in Dior Homme previously, exploring the cocoa dust facets of the iris note in a men's scent, but it is in this feminine composition that he propels the retro facets of iris in their logical apogee, somewhere between the retro cool powder of Love Chloe and the earthy dustiness of Norma by Histoires de Parfums.  The "lipstick note" is after all its own perfumery meme, swirling its tutu years ago with Drole de Rose by L'Artisan Parfumeur and stomping its foot down naming names in Lipstick Rose in the Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle line. (Even Guerlain revisits their own themes, what with Meteorites limited edition fragrance and now with French Kiss.) Chanel's lipsticks account for a huge segment of the brand, so walking down that road felt like a given.

After all, Polge Junior has something of the Midas touch in him; count with me: Flowerbomb, La Vie Est Belle, Mon Jasmin Noir, Burberry The Beat...

The intensely powdery, starchy cloud of orris (the dried rhizome of iris flowers) is at the very heart of Misia with very perceptible cool, sweet violets for "lipstick" (α methyl ionone); in fact the very scent of proper, ladylike lipsticks with their violet-rose aura which separates the teens from the grown ups. While Misia starts with a bittersweet top note reminiscent of time-honored perfumery aubepine-heliotropin chord, the heart of the fragrance is pure cosmetic impression, an archetype of grooming and of la salonnière. Polge used both rose of Grasse and Bulgarian Damask rose for the floral component and a cluster of benzoin resin (caramelic, vanilla plush), tonka beans (hay and almond like) and modern musks for the downy soft drydown.

“I thought of the Palais Garnier in the days of the Ballets Russes: pearls and aigrettes in the women’s hair melding with the scent of red-tinted lips; the sound of musicians tuning their instruments; and the dancers wearing make-up from head-to-toe, warming up behind red velvet curtains. I thought of how to interpret lipstick and powders into a perfume and decided to use violet dressed with rose de Mai and Turkish rose, which trigger memories of lipstick, while the benzoin I added creates a powdery effect, like make-up. It’s very feminine and floral but it’s also sumptuous. The strong violet accord is a new ingredient in the grammar of Chanel”  reveals Polge to Lucia van der Post.

It was Polish muse Misia Sert, née Maria Sofia Olga Zenajda Godebska, a Belle Epoque fixture and the subject of many a Renoir and Bonnard painting, who introduced Gabrielle "Coco" Chanel to many of her subsequent fixtures; Venice, baroque, Les Ballets Russes, Paul Reverdy...
She was also the confidant to whom Chanel poured her heart out to when the latter lost her first true love, Arthur "Boy" Capel, to a car crash.

In a way Misia the fragrance aims to be as emblematic and prophetic of great things ahead as Misia the muse was to Chanel's career. May it prove so!

Chanel Les Exclusifs Misia eau de toilette is offered in 75ml and 200ml bottles with magnetic closure, same as the rest of boutique exclusive Les Exclusifs perfumes.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: 
Best Violet fragrances guide
Powdery & Dry Perfumes
Parfums Lingerie: intimate femininity

Chanel Les Exclusifs Misia: new fragrance

The fragrance line Les Exclusifs by Chanel has been having its ups and downs through the years, but it has always appealed to customers who are interested in perfume first and foremost, with the famous logo as an addendum rather than the whole raison d'être of the purchase.

Les Exclusifs Misia, named after the best friend of Gabrielle Bonheur (Coco) Chanel, joins the wondrous juices of 31 Rue Cambon, Sycomore, Coromandel, Beige et al, in the exclusive circuit sold at Chanel boutiques and online at the official site of Chanel.com, encased in magnetic closure bottles holding either 200ml or 75ml.

Misia Les Exclusifs by Chanel comprises fragrance notes of violet, May rose from Grasse, Turkish rose, orris, benzoin, tonka bean, and musks. The fragrance of Misia is composed by in-house perfumer Olivier Polge.

Chanel is after all busy in business as usual, with even news of "looking to open a new factory in the Compiègne area of France, creating several hundred jobs and perhaps 10,000 tangential jobs for suppliers in the region", according to French local newspaper, the Courrier Picard.

For those interested in the story between the two women, Lisa Chaney's biography Chanel: An intimate life and Justine Picardie's classic tome Chanel: Sa Vie are both thorough and highly recommended. You can order them following the highlighted links.

notes via Fragrantica

Le Galion Snob: fragrance review & history

Many state that Snob by Le Galion is a poor man's Joy, referencing "the costliest perfume in the world" ~as the Patou perfume was being advertised post-Crash~ as the litmus test for understanding the lesser known fragrance. It's all because Le Galion (Neuilly, France), a brand founded by Prince Murat and acquired by perfumer Paul Vacher, was engulfed by the passage of time; all but vanished by 1990, and its remnants vintage palimpsests crying out for a studious scholar. If we simply go by Snob's name, nevertheless, the literal scholar might as well be in absentia.

aromania.ru

It is perhaps as well that not many people are keenly aware that the word "snob" began as a notation on English colleges' records, notably Cambridge, of entrants who were devoid of an aristocratic strain circa 1796. "S.nob" supposedly signified "sine nobilitas", "of no aristocratic bearing". The exact etymology is lost on us, though it was originally used for shoemakers and local merchants. The lauded democratic inclusion of more people gifted in the head department rather than in the name & pocket department in those bastions of class distinction is of course the basis of modern civilization as we know it. Yet, that very distinction was not amiss to those who were participating side-by-side with those possessing "nobilitas" for many decades to come; hence the deterioration of the word to the one  signifying the aping of aristocratic ways and its further decline into its modern usage of one who shuns anything they consider low-class.

It is this very element, re-appearing in a perfume name from 1952 and coming from an aristocrat originator no less, which makes me think that there's either a heavy-handed irony of the Parisian clientele choosing it or it was primarily aimed at the American market to begin with. If names of Le Galion's other long-lost perfumes, such as Indian Summer (1937), Shake Hands (1937), Cub (1953), and Whip (1953) are any indication, their perfumes were certainly not only reserved for continental Europe, but whether they succeeded abroad hinged on complex parameters as we will see further on.

Snob was composed by perfumer Paul Vacher, famous for his hand in the original Miss Dior in 1947 (with Jean Carles), and Arpège for Lanvin in 1927 (with André Fraysse), as well as for Diorling, but Vacher also worked for Guerlain). Snob is a "flower bouquet" perfume, a mix of several floral notes which intermingle to give an abstract impression in which one can't pinpoint this or that blossom. The rose-jasmine accord in the heart is classical for the genre and in good taste, with the opening displaying intense, sparkling, lemony-rosy aldehydes. The more Snob stays on skin the more it gains the musky, sweet & powdery timbre of classic ladylike Chanels, like No.5 and No.22. The fusion of vetiver and sweet musk plus orris gives a skin-like quality that remains oddly fresh, especially in my batch of "brume". The fragrance was dropped almost immediately, making it a rare fragrance collectible. The reason? Fierce antagonism with none other than...Jean Patou!

Parfums Jean Patou had registered a trademark for a Patou "Snob" fragrance in the United States as early as 1953 (just months after the Parisian launch by Le Galion the previous year!), a venture resulting in less than 100 bottles sold in total, but effectively excluding the Le Galion fragrance from the American market. Importing any infringing trademark was naturally prohibited and this exclusion lasted for almost 2 decades, thus blocking Le Galion's perfume chances in the vast USA.

Snob by La Galion was launched many years after Patou's Joy, a bona fide inspiration, unlike Patou's own practices, in an era that clearly exalted the ladylike florals with the fervor of newly re-found feminine values of classiness, obedience, elegance and knowing their place; the New Look mirrored this change after women's relative emancipation during WWII.
In that regard Snob is something which I admire, but cannot really claim as my own in the here & now, much like watching reels from the 1950s, when the Technicolor saturation conspired to an almost unreal quality of the people on screen; such was their visual perfection that they stood out as Platonic ideas rather than actors playing a role.

Notes for Le Galion Snob:
Top Notes: aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, neroli, estragon, hyacinth
Heart Note: rose, jasmine, ylang ylang, carnation, lily of the valley, orris
Base Note: vetiver, musk, civet, sandalwood, cedar, tonka beans.

(added notes with the help of 1000fragrances)

Le De by Givenchy: Vintage and Modern Les Mythiques Re-issue Comparison~ fragrance review & history

What possessed Givenchy to create two fragrances in 1957, the well known L'Interdit and the less known Le De, both inspired from and originally intended for Audrey Hepburn? In retrospect, though both elegant, delicate enough florals of immense clarity to reflect the tameness of the 1950s in terms of perfume expectations and societal mores and therefore suited to the "nice girl" elegance of Hepburn herself, the commercial supremacy of one over the other has left Le De in the twilight. It's perhaps telling that Bette Davis, no spring chicken when Le De became available in 1958 ~the actress was hitting 50, well into maturity by the standards of the time~ chose to wear the ill-fated one. Le De remains today a snapshot of how women used to smell, ladylike and in pearls, and even in the re-orchestrated re-issue that the company launched in 2007, seems a captive of time in one way or another.

via savemybrain.net

The history of Le De 

The oddly named Le De is a reference to the particle of nobility in Hubert de Givenchy's name. In 1952, at the age of 24, Givenchy opened his own design house on 8, rue Alfred de Vigny in Paris introducing it with the "Bettina Graziani" collection, named after Paris's top model at the time. He had a tight budget and only three staff working in a room loaned to him by friend and mentor couturier Cristobal Balenciaga.

The landmark of Givenchy's style, and the contrast to his more conservative contemporary Christian Dior, was innovativeness: The revolutionary use of cheaper fabrics employed in designs that intrigued with their aesthetic viewpoint, instead of their bourgeois luxury (influenced no doubt by Balenciaga), and his "separates", instead of the more standard option of dresses. Audrey Hepburn, later the most prominent champion of Givenchy's fashion (and to many the fashion plate whose image both benefited from and inspired him in equal measure), met the French designer in 1953 during the shoot of Sabrina. He had mistakenly thought he was going to meet and dress Katherine Hepburn...An immediate friendship was forged over this misunderstanding and Hubert went on to design almost all the wardrobes she wore in her movies, prompting him to later say that "Audrey's image is associated with my name".  She never failed to note that "Hubert gave me self-confidence. In one of his suits with the beautiful buttons I can forget my shyness and talk in front of 800 people". Their friendship lasted till her untimely death.

Le De came about when Hubert chose decided to gift his friend with a perfume; actually he commissioned two, the other being L'interdit (created in 1957 and commercialized in 1964) and they were hers alone for a whole year. In 1958 the idea of launching perfume under the aegis of his house saw Le De being introduced to the market while L'Interdit was immortalised in another classic Audrey Hepburn film, Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Comparing vintage and modern Le De Givenchy

The vintage edition of Le De comes across as a strange floral etude in the lineage of Le Dix de Balenciaga, with the violet note treated in a non sweet manner, contrary to all confectionary and makeup references that violets usually translate to perfumery. Instead the astringency of the violets gains soapy and powdery nuances (thanks to orris and rose) presenting the suds and puffs of a beauty ritual through the sheer panel of a light filter. There is no natural reference, just abstraction. The narcissus essence is laced with the impression of a horse's sweat, segueing into a musky feminine aura that is lived-in contrasting nicely with the general "groomed" effect. It is subtle enough that you won't catch it unless you're looking for it.

In 2007 a re-issue of Le De Givenchy was launched under the auspice Les Mythiques, a homage collection to the classics in the Givenchy line. The modern Le De is a play on humid floralcy. A dewy floral would theoretically appeal to modern sensibilities, even though this style had commercially expired by the time that the company thought about launching it. The violet is subdued and a "clean" orange blossom and lily of the valley are making it approachable and familiar. The structure recalls a woody musky floral and sillage and projection remain low-key, though perfectly calibrated to function as a constant halo. As of time of writing, the modern Le De is still available from Harrods.

How to Differentiate Different Editions

The original Le De Givenchy was introduced in 1957. The vintage bottle has rounded shoulders and is following the classic mould common for L'Interdit as well. It was available in eau de toilette and extrait de parfum. The 2007 re-issue of Le De Givenchy in Les Mythiques line is encased in a lilac box with the logo of Givenchy repeated in the design motif of the packaging. The bottle in frosted glass, tall, with sparse lines and sharp shoulders.
EDIT: My reader Lily notes that there is an update on the Les Mythiques 2007 edition, introduced in 2011, with slight differences in the packaging, although I haven't come across it in person. If anyone can describe the differences and whether there's a change in scent I'd be happy to include the info.

Notes for the vintage Le De Givenchy:
Top notes are coriander, mandarin orange, tarragon, bergamot and brazilian rosewood
middle notes: carnation, lilac, orris root, jasmine, ylang-ylang, lily-of-the-valley and rose
base notes: sandalwood, amber, musk, oakmoss and guaiac wood.
Notes for the 2007 Les Mythiques Le De Givenchy:
Top notes: coriander and lily-of-the-valley
middle notes: jasmine, ylang-ylang and bulgarian rose
base notes: sandalwood, vetiver and incense.


Les Feuilles Mortes: music by Joseph Kosma and lyrics by poet Jacques Prévert. Yves Montand sung it in 1946 in the film "Les Portes de la Nuit".

Parfums Weil Chunga: fragrance review & history

To understand the demise of Chunga is to realize that it is truly unmarketable in today's world: For a feminine perfume it flunks the test of being traditionally pretty or particularly becoming, demanding too much out of its wearer in both intelligence and attitude (After all it was advertised with the slogan "for women who want the world"). For a masculine (and men would be wise to try it if they can get their hands on some) it is an alien thing, being neither fresh -as is the majority of aquatic and aromatic fougeres around-, nor sexy -as are the orientalized woodies with succulent tonka and lots of sweet amber in the base. Maybe only Philip K. Dick replicas can wear Chunga by Weil right now, aside from dedicated perfumistas that is, which misses marketability points big time. But it's a shame, I can tell you that, because Chunga is a great fragrance coming from a great perfume house, the Weil fourruriers. (champions of the parfum fourrure notion)

The name comes from Micaela Flores Amaya, a Romani-born flamenco dancer known as "La Chunga" which translates as "the difficult woman"...and indeed the fragrance is somewhat "difficult" alright.
Introduced in 1977, Chunga comes in a string of great chypres with green elements and aldehydes that are elegantly assertive and resolutely determined: Chanel No.19, Lauder's Knowing, Coriandre by Jean Couturier, the first Jean Louis Scherrer fragrance. And thus lovers of the afore-mentioned perfumes are advised to seek out some Chunga for their collection.
In the print advertisements Chunga was targeting literally every woman and that included all races and all skin colors. A pioneering thought for a traditional French house! "Comme un nouvel horizon"...like a new horizon, which marked a new interest in encompassing more ethnicities in the game of perfume, reaping the benefits of feminine emancipation alongside the "black power" that emerged in the 1970s. Another set of print ads is tagged "et la fete commence" (i.e. and the celebration begins), showing a more typical couple in black tie in the midst of some dancing move, a more or less expected extension of perfume as a fashion accessory for a night out.

The olfactory structure of Chunga unfolds like a secret drawer within a drawer: The opening is aggressive, with its citric tang of bergamot and lemony tones sparkling like marble, with the particularly sharp incision of a scalpel, shiny and new and you think that it will remain arid and bitter and gloriously ingestible till the end, until the tables are turned and a second stage emerges. The base of Weil's Chunga is redolent of powdery amber, vetiver and a slightly urinous, honeyed, sweetish musky note that is quite retro; a throwback to days when bodies weren't deodorized to within an inch of their lives and hairy regions were much hairier than recent memory...on both sexes, that is.
The comparison with Weil's more popular and well-known, still-circulating-in-some-version-or-other Antilope perfume is not without its own value: Whereas Antilope is lady-like and more properly floral and feminine in the heart notes, Chunga like its name is butcher, more incisive, with elements that translate as more masculine or sharper. My own bottle is marked Parfum de Toilette, which nicely puts in it the early 1980s.

Chunga was the last fragrance issued by the house in Weil in 1977 and has since become a discontinued rarity. For those with an interest in chronicling the arc of the green, aldehydic, perfume-y chypre, it's incomparable and worth the investment.

Notes for Weil Chunga: aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, peach, clove, jasmine, lily of the valley, linden blossom, orris, ylang-ylang, amber, honey, Tonka bean, vanilla, vetiver, musk 

 pics via hprints.com, museodelparfum.com and punmiris.com

Chanel No.19 Poudre: fragrance review

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

Of all the people in the world I would have never guessed that I would be one of the first to write a full review about Chanel No. 19 Poudré, one of the two latest introductions from the fabled house. In fact even if the spirit of Coco Chanel told me this morning I would not have believed it, for all signs pointed to an uneventful day.

Yet life has a way of stringing the impossible, isn’t it? I had to take a photo with my personal belongings otherwise nobody, including myself, would have thought of it.

August 4th was my day off, the unorthodox result of my manager’s scheduling so I could work Monday to Saturday. This Thursday was meant to be routine—errands in the morning, fitness workout in the afternoon, early retirement by night in preparation of the early shift tomorrow.

Except I found out in the evening that I had to cast my ballot an important provincial tax referendum by tonight else I would have missed the opportunity altogether, with the nearest voting station at a local mall about 15 minute drive from my house. Nothing chic has been discovered in that toy plaza since the arrival of Givenchy Amarige d’Amour, as I uttered to myself when I pulled out of my driveway.

The voting station was everything I loath, being a stone throw away from Walmart and the Hello Kitty concession stand, right next to the mall’s washroom. By the time I drop off my vote, after being asked to triple seal my ballot with three distinct envelopes I was just ready to leave. But then I remembered that one of my fragrances was about to run out, and not wanting to waste too much of my time I marshalled myself to The Hudson’s Bay Company, our historic—albeit slightly paunchy and tired by now—national department store monument. Move along, I said to myself, just get on with it.

The fragrance section of the HBC on a Thursday evening was nothing to behold: Sales staff three people strong, all manning multiple stations and sounding a bit inexperienced when interacting with other clients. With my look of death they left me alone after 10 seconds.

That’s when I bumped into a big display stand of Chanel No. 19 Poudré.

I did a double take and quickly scanned the store’s Chanel inventory. Not a bottle of No. 19 in sight, and only the display of the new edition available: 2 bottles of 100mL Chanel No. 19 Poudré eau de parfum. The most seasoned Chanel reps, even account managers, couldn’t tell me weeks ago when their supplies of Chanel No. 19 Poudré would come to the Vancouver flagship store. Now I was face to face with two bottles in the local mall, with associates not even knowing a thing about it. (“I think it’s a limited edition*,” the poor lady said as she carefully surveyed the shelves, “Two is all we have.” *editor's note: Chanel No. 19 Poudré is inteded as a regular diffusion to the original line and not as a limited edition)

I quickly grabbed the tester and gave it a test run. Now, having read all the information from Perfume Shrine (here and here) I knew what to expect: Beautiful orris absolute, soft and buttery sheer. Much more delicate than the original, and with the icy zing of galbanum now in tender check. I’ll take one, as I quickly pulled out my credit card. I walked out of the store a happy man. The story, however, had just begun.

While my initial impression of the scent stays true on the blotter--for up to three days I find-- on the skin is a slightly different story. About 10 minutes after the initial testing the orris absolute, so prominently featured in Chanel’s Les Exclusifs line (most notably 28 La Pausa and No. 18) started to soft focus: the delicate floral initially pinning in the background started came to fore, and on my way home one thing was becoming very clear—the orris absolute gave way to a suede musk, bolstered by a synthetic iris, which was what I got for the rest of the three hours. It’s still going softly but surely, actually.

Now I would be inclined to say that the musk element feels like a natural progression from Chance Eau Tendre, but to be honest the woody-musk drydown is very much a thoughtful rendition of the original No. 19 elements, most notably the pronounced woods within the eau de toilette version without the oakmoss presence. In fact that’s the ironic arch about the structure of the new fragrance: I had the eau de toilette of the original and the new one side by side on each arm and they are essentially the same breed. The biggest difference among the two would be the green and the floral facets—in No. 19 Poudré the rose and jasmine absolutes are decidedly not present, and neither was galbanum taking a cut in the new version. What makes the original so interesting (and so difficult to sink into at first try) is that hit-your-face-like-ice-blade freshness only the finest galbanum from Iran could do (anything less would conjure a hint of garlic from the inferior grade). The new version, in short, feels almost like a summery of the old in a more updated language, albeit a bit hollowed out in the centre to usher in an iris-musk sillage.

Thus am I disappointed? Far from it: I know this is going to surely reach a new generation and an entirely novel set of audience, most notably the American and the Asian audiances. In fact the entire artistic creation is right on the money, from the bottle to the juice. Even the image, albeit a bit on the forgettable side, is well integrated into the target image.

The original No. 19, to begin, is truly one of the priciest formula in the original Chanel archive, with the finished compound costing around 1800 Euros (the exactly figure from Chandler Burr’s A Perfect Scent eludes me at the moment). Yet it continues to be a tough sell in the States with its cashmere opening and independent development. When looking at the formula, most notably the original eau de toilette, one notices the genius of Henri Robert by pairing the warmth with the cold, the sunny cis-3-hexanol salicylate and hedione with the severity of iris, the crisp neroli with the sensual woody chypre. Carefully beaded verdant crystals on top of premium silver penne velvet, breath-taking but not for everyone. So if the new edition could help breaking people into the masterpiece, well, why not? Yes and no.

I don’t question the Chanel perfumers’ desire to stay true to the spirit of Coco Chanel, and I don’t question the quality of iris at the beginning of the fragrance (I have several commercial orris blends in stock, and after smelling them along side the latest Chanel it was pretty obvious that some synthetics, most notably the tea-like alpha-isomethyl ionone, is paired with the orris absolute). Yet I wish the sillage could be a bit more varied and nuanced, a bit more imagination on top of modernizing the tradition: Wouldn't it breath-taking to dazzle us, Monsieur Jacques Polge, by pairing galbanum with a beautiful green element not available at Coco Chanel's time, such as the Michelia alba leaves extract? (Come to think of it: Why not? Wouldn't the high priestess of innovation appove when it's brilliantly done? ) And the white floral facet: well, pretty—I can feel the lily of the valley hovering in the background with the use of hydroxycitronnellal—but all this makes me yearn for the original so much more. So we have anther version of No. 19 that’s not for everyone, this time in a different context.

On the other hand the new No. 19 is quite versatile, not only accommodating for different events but also as a layering base for the original parfum in order to amplify the iris in an interesting way. And as I have alluded to earlier in this article, the verdant fragrance can potentially be used as a masculine for some dandies. In fact I look forward to pairing this with a few drops of my 15mL parfum (which works surprisingly well as a masculine, by the way). By the same token, on the other hand, best to test the fragrance before purchasing a full bottle, as unlike the traditional No. 19 line what's on the blotter may or may not be what you get on your skin, as the case to me.

Chanel No. 19 Poudré is a green floral and was developed by Chanel house perfumer Jacques Polge: The notes of Chanel No. 19 Poudré include neroli, galbanum, jasmine, iris, white musk, vetiver and tonka bean. I sampled the 100mL Eau de Parfum tester, both on paper and on skin. I purchased a bottle, although I haven’t opened it yet. It’s out in the market, although at the moment availability varies depending on geographical regions.

photo of bottle in box, copyright by AlbertCAN

Sonoma Scent Studio To Dream: fragrance review

To Dream, indie perfumer Laurie Erikson's (of Sonoma Scent Studio) latest release clearly poses as a violet fragrance and yet it is so much more that it can stand for many things: a woody floral for those who don't want too much of either declination; a balanced composition that explores minimal powdery elements alongside a soft, fuzzy smoothness and sweetened woods over the familiar ambience of viola odorata; a non makeup scent for men who want to venture into the realm. To Dream is quite enchanting, inducing daydreaming indeed, and at the same time supremely easy to pull of for both sexes, projecting on a pleasant hum at all times, no sharp points, but rather colourful accents, like an oil painting by a late 19th century artist.



To Dream features soft violet and rose with a base of heliotrope, tonka, amber, vanilla, frankincense essential oil (very lightly done), oakwood absolute, orris, cedar, sandalwood, and hints of cocoa, suede and moss. Even though Laurie had been working on violets before for her Lieu de Rêves (Place of Dreams), reviewed on these pages, the two compositions, sharing the violet-rose-heliotrope heart, soon depart. Lieu de Rêves has a childlike innocence and the hazy contours of flou stills of Louis Malle's Pretty Baby; a nascent sensuality which beckons you closer Bambi-eyed. To Dream is a bit more sophisticated and more unisex, with woodier aspects from French oakwood absolute which comes from wine barrels made of Quercus robur wood; Quercus is the Latin name for oak, i.e. these are oaky barrels, the kind that hold aging-simpatico dry, red wine).

Smelling the raw essence of oakwood absolute, mossy and fruity at the same time, brought to my mind all the early memories I had when as a kid we went to grape distilleries & wineries (a Greek pastime during family holidays driving through the lush countryside) and I buried my nose inside the by -then empty- oaky barrels before being shown the fungus that is added to begin the fermentation process. The tannic facets of the wine were mingling with the slightly musty, pungent aroma of the wood itself. In To Dream this is a definite note and oenophiles will be delighted to discover it within a fragrance fit to wear. This woody note naturally lends itself to pairings with moss and the soft notes like the rose and strawberry bouquet of a young red wine. But that is not all: The powderiness and slight almondy character of To Dream enrobes this wood note and the florals with plush, a fine muskiness surfacing to blend all into a comforting, snuggly haze you won't want to get away from.

Notes for Sonoma Scent Studio To Dream:
Violet, rose, heliotrope, cedar, amber, frankincense, oakwood absolute, vetiver, tonka, orris, vanilla, musk, sandalwood, oakmoss, subtle suede, cocoa, and aldehydes.

To Dream is available as parfum extrait spray 34ml for 80$ on the Sonoma Scent Studio site and IndieScents.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Sonoma Scent Studio fragrances, Violets in perfumery

Painting Daydreaming by Eugene de Blaas (1843-1931)

Disclosure: I was sent a sample vial directly from the perfumer.

Tauer Perfumes Zeta: fragrance review & draw

Andy Tauer, enfant gaté of the niche universe, and deservingly so, excells in three things in his fragrant sonatas: hesperidia, rose and resinous, hazy vapors smelling of earth and dust. Getting two out of three in his upcoming fragrance Zeta isn't half bad. After all, how could a letter named after the Greek alphabet be bad in my world? In fact Zeta hints at the beloved honeyed Tauerade (the base that permeates most of Andy's perfumes) and will therefore appeal even to those who are not on a first-name basis with either hesperidia or roses. But even non-fans should give at least a cursory sniff to Zeta because it's truly very appealing, an ode to summer, an elegy of sensuous pleasures.

Tauer wrote a haiku to preface the fragrance:
"Linden shade in June
Sweet rose petals and the light
of Syracusa"

Because of this Italian reference and of the Greek letter in the name, I like to evoke Grecani music in my mind: that is songs of the Griko minority (Italians of Greek extraction, going back to the 8th century BC when the island of Sicily and Southern Italy were colonised), a mix of the two Mediterranean languages, κατωϊταλιώτικα, rolling on the tongue with their richness of vowels. So does the perfume, bathed in the warm light reflected on ochre and sienna stucco walls...

Zeta may come as a surprise to those reading that it's built on citrus notes (bergamot, lemon and mandarin), as it is above all s-o-f-t. Not a sharp, pinching, screechy note in sight, no sourness either, a concern sometimes with fragrance including roses. After all, Andy explored the more high-pitched notes in Un Carillon pour in Ange, where he mollified lily of the valley into submission, exhaling its best with a touch of melancholy. Zeta on the contrary is a muted, soft, melding fragrance, tender like cats paws and happy like producing a smile on a newborn's face.

The linden blossom extract is a CO2 product, ensuring a high quality essence. The fragrance is almost flavoured by the linden, reminiscing me of edible linden or rose honey I used to buy when galivanting on the slopes of Zakinthos island in the Ionian Sea, rather than merely the delightful blossoms on the tree. The balance between sweet and citric is beautifully played: Zeta keeps it steady and nice without veering into sugary. It also doesn't produce any pee notes in my skin, as some honeyed fragrances are accused to, sometimes.

The plushness of the rose essence here exhibits both aspects of the natural flower: the citrusy fruitiness nuance of a mandarin compote, but also a greener nuance, closer to neroli or geranium. Rose by its nature comprises hundreds of molecules in its essence, presenting such diverging facets as leomngrass, artichoke or lychee. Flanked by orange blossom absolute, the lushness is self-evident: The honeyed note of the latter invests the former in a bath of light; like opening the French windows on a bright summer afternoon and letting the sunshine come make love to you like a Mediterranean lover.
The fragrance also includes notes of ylang-ylang (subtle, not all-out-tropical) and the all inviting base of orris, sandalwood and vanilla: Almost a blatant come hither! But still, the mood is happy and tender, never poseur. If you have sampled his Une Rose Chyprée or Cologne du Maghreb, you know what I'm talking about. The embrace is billowy-silky, lightly musky, somewhat dusty and sweetly milky, full of expensive raw materials: Zeta not only feels natural, it feels luxurious and it surely must be in formula to compound terms. This is something that cannot always be said for fragrances in current production and for that reason you should definitely sample it while current batches last; next year might bring changes to the raw materials that might slightly shift it.
Colour me impressed.

I have 3 deluxe sample sprayers to send to lucky winners. State in the comments what impresses you about Tauer's perfumes or what does not and what you'd like to see in his next fragrance.

Notes for Tauer Perfumes Zeta: lemon, bergamot, sweet orange, ylang, orange blossom absolute, neroli, linden blossom, rose, orris, sandalwood and vanilla.



Zeta will be available in mid-April 2011. Zeta forms part of the "Collectibles": low volume perfumery, limited by the availability of raw materials that may change from year to year, but not limited edition.
This concept allows Andy to create and present perfumes that he otherwise could not. The Collectibles will be housed in the classic pentagonal 50ml bottle but in green glass with a silver label. More info soon on Tauer Perfumes.

Picture of Sicilian paysage via Ezu/flickr (some rights reserved)
Disclosure: I was sent the sample vials by the manufacturer.

Amouage Library Collection Opus V: fragrance review

People have been complaining about the Library Collection in Amouage comparing it to the other symphonic pieces in the house's portfolio and finding the fragrances (Opus I, II, III and IV) leaner and sparser; ultimately non as satisfying. Beside a full Wagnerian orchestra playing a Gesamtkunstwerk, like Gold or Jubilation 25, anyone would be deemed lacking. But further testing of the opera in the Library Collection confirms a theory I had that this is the "niche" sub-brand within the house (which is already niche enough), focusing on specific raw materials or accords and highlighting specific ideas which are themselves treated in a less complex, less dense manner.

They resemble études, rather than orchestral pieces: Indeed Opus I is a study in bigarade and what it does to lush florals. Opus II is a classic (and therefore somewhat predictable) spicy incense. Opus III is a violet étude, exploring both the confectionary aspects and the greener, leafy facets. I can't say I was impressed enough with Opus IV to retain a vivid impression. Opus V however is another one which investigates in more detail the various aspects of one material: iris/orris this time.

If I were to characterise Opus V, I would say it is a woody floral built on the facets of iris with a coda on agarwood. I can't stress enough that if you are to like Opus V, you have to be simpatico to iris, that strange rhizome note that can smell delicately of upturned earth, dusty old papers, boiled carrots and face powder.
Iris fragrances as compositions, run the gamut: from almost non-existent iris wrapped in a woody embrace with mastic accents, such as in Infusion d'Iris by Prada; to true irises taking on funereal melancholy like Iris Silver Mist by Serge Lutens; to surprising, astounding irises which pair the grey note of iris to the bright note of peach as in legendary Iris Gris by Fath; to calorific, chocolate-laced irises such as Iris Ganache by Guerlain or almond-laced ones such as Iris by Hilde Soliani. Not to mention other fragrances which although not pertaining to be a stand-alone iris, they feature copious amounts of it nevertheless, case of Chanel No.19 or Heure Exquise in point. In short, there's something for anyone in the marketand every niche company has their own. Why? Because "orris butter", the concentrated iris rhizome produced the traditional way, macerated for a long time, three years at least, but modern procedures have cut down that interval in the production, resulting in only three-months maceration time.

Opus V by Amouage opens on a lightly metallic, almost boozy note of silvery iris. It feels like sipping gin & tonic under a crepuscular sky with the uncertain temperatures of an April evening. Not particularly dry nor sweetened by other notes, it stages the scene for its expressive range in the next stage. Soon perfumer Jacques Cavallier flanks the composition with woodier notes, subtle, only slightly bitter (agarwood is mentioned, but I suspect some cedar and Iso-E Super as well), with underpinnings of suede, a soft mantle over delicate shoulders. Although the introduction wasn't sweet, as time passes a small subfacet of sweetness emerges, very mollified, without powdery aspects, just to annul the funereal aspects of iris. Indeed anyone who has been scared off by Iris Silver Mist will find a tamer, more friendly iris in Opus V and one which projects at a lower scale. The progression is seamless and feels natural, without the classical pyramidal structure. The lasting power is satisfactory, although the sillage is much lower than many of the other Amouage fragrances which announce their presence in no uncertain terms. If you were waiting for a typical Amouage, you might be advised to look in the main line of the house, because you won't find it here. Opus V is rather intimate and should be enjoyed in moments of a certain introspection or close quarters at the very least for it to highlight its best qualities.
Even though I find it perfectly pleasing, the inclusion of an iris composition in the line seems rather a compulsive move and for that it leaves me a little apprehensive.

Notes for Amouage Opus V:
Top: Orris absolute, rum
Heart: Orris concrete, rose, jasmine
Base: agarwood, civet, dry wood accord

Opus V will be available for purchase through Amouage and their respective boutiques, as well as online retailers which carry the brand. Amouage have uploaded a very conceptual short film on their site concerning the Library collection (lovely sight). Catch it on the Amouage site.

One deluxe sample sprayer will be given to a lucky reader. Please state in the comments if you like Amouage fragrances, or not, and why. Draw is open till Sunday 27th midnight.

Paining Black Iris by Georgia O'Keefe, 1906.
Disclosure: I was sent an advance sample mini from the company for reviewing purposes.

Unveiling a myth: Iris Gris by Jacques Fath (fragrance review)

 A fragrance history snippet cum fragrance review on the "best perfume ever" according to the legend...

by guest writer Denyse Beaulieu

The day I finally smelled the peach in Mitsouko – a full-fleshed downy peach bulging through the seamless composition – was the day after I smelled the mythical Iris Gris, by Jacques Fath. As though the latter had opened up an unknown dimension in the former: the same peach note, known as undecalactone or aldehyde C-14 (though it technically isn’t an aldehyde), pushing itself through once I had grounds for comparison.

Thanks to Luca Turin’s The Secret of Scent, I knew both fragrances shared the note. His few lines on the tragically rare Iris Gris, the best iris ever in his opinion, had spurred my curiosity. But I didn’t hold much hope of smelling it outside the Versailles Osmothèque: each, rare flacon seemed to go for astronomical price… The French couturier Jacques Fath launched it in 1947: but he died at 43, in 1954, and though Fath perfumes continued to be produced, the expensive Iris Gris was soon discontinued: hence its extreme rarity.

No hope at all, that is, until I happened on an open-air flea market right next to my place, under the aerial metro that runs past the Eiffel tower. Somehow, that Saturday, I knew there was a perfume waiting there for me. Eyes peeled, I wandered from stall to stall, thought I spotted old flacons, was quickly disappointed when the seller told me they weren’t perfume… And nearly fainted when she did point me towards a table where she had a couple.

It was sitting there. Iris Gris. No more than 1/5 evaporated, sealed, with box. Impeccable colour. Reasonable price for what it fetches in auctions. I didn’t haggle, and stole away with my prize, mind reeling. I knew I’d gotten hold of a myth.


The great unsealing took place in a café right by the Palais-Royal, with perfumer and perfume historian Octavian Sever Coifan. He was the man I needed for the occasion: he’d smelled the Osmothèque reproduction and could vouch for its condition (authenticity was never in doubt, because of the intact seal).

It is impeccable. Fresh as the day it was composed, which Octavian explained to me was due to the fact that it certainly didn’t have any hesperidic top notes: those are the ones that spoil in vintage perfume.
But what jumped out immediately was the peach. As smooth and downy cheeked as a Renoir model’s, sweet without being tooth-aching syrupy.

Octavian held out blotters of orris absolute, irone (the molecule that makes iris smell of iris: the higher the concentration, the higher price the orris fetches) and ionones (the violet smell) for comparison.

And magically, iris came to the fore. Its slight metallic tinge softened by the peach, but definitely iris – and iris with a smile.

Now every time I picked up the blotter, I got either peach or iris. A bit like in those 3-D postcards we used to have as children: tilt it one way, and you get the peach. Tilt it the other way, and it morphs into the iris. If there are other notes (and there are in Octavian’s detailed breakdown), I just couldn’t pick them up. It’s that seamlessly blended: like a “gorge de pigeon” (pigeon-throat) taffetas – a comparison Luca Turin uses in The Secret of Scent ~the iris-peach combination is woven into the very fabric of the scent. Then as the fragrance evolves, the iris-peach weaves somehow tightens and melds into a single, smooth and utterly unique scent: a joyful iris, a fleshed-out iris as light-hearted as an aldehydic, but without the “old-fashioned” feel that some people get out of aldehydic scents because of their classic status, or that “hairspray” smell that comes from hairspray actually being scented to resemble the likes of Chanel N°5.

The overall effect is amazingly modern and spare: it could’ve been composed yesterday and it could be reissued with great success tomorrow, and walk rings around Kelly Calèche (which I admire, by the way). Unlike some vintage scents that feel very much of their time and need a special frame of mind to get into – much as a vintage dress does – this feels as young and joyful as the day it was composed.

Jacques Fath was indeed one of the first couturiers to think of very young women in his fresh and sophisticated designs: of course, young women of the time were quite a bit more sophisticated than they would be in the following decade. With his matinee-idol good looks, the designer to Hollywood stars (he designed Rita Hayworth’s wedding dress) was very much a star in his own right, as famous in his time as Christian Dior whose New Look he interpreted in a more supple, playful manner. A gifted colourist, he was said to favour amethyst and grey – which may have partly been the inspiration for Iris Gris…


The scent itself was composed by Vincent Roubert, who authored the classic leather fragrance Knize Ten in 1924, as well several Coty fragances, including the best-selling floral aldehydic L’Aimant in 1927 (which was thought to be Coty’s answer to Chanel N°5), but also the masculine Fath Green Water (1927), still produced but with a very different formula.

The house of Fath has recently revived its clothing line with designer Lizzie Disney at the helm. Here’s hoping they reissue the original Iris Gris, without tweaking the formula at all. In the meantime, I’ll be enjoying every drop with the tight throat that comes from releasing a long-imprisoned genie from its bottle, knowing it’ll never come back…

For another take on Iris Gris, visit Octavian's blog clicking here.



Pics: Images: Bettina in a white satin battle-dress jacket, fall/winter 1949-1950, from Fath archives, excerpted from Mode du Siècle (éditions Assouline); Jacques Fath in his studio, courtesy couturier.couturiers.ru; peach iris courtesy jupiterimages.com.