Tom Ford Private Blend Japon Noir: fragrance review

The sexual ambiguity that surrounds Japon Noir , part of the exclusive & rather expensive Tom Ford Private Blend line, is reminiscent of Helmut Newton's photographs of androgyne figures, as if shot in midnight purple hues. There is an element of danger in it, like in the best of woody orientals or darkest leathery chypres; iron fists left out in the rain to rust slowly and booze & smoke smelt on the breath of muscle-for-hire. Unique and polarizingly perplexing, Japon Noir's enigmatic impression on me was palpable from the moment I first put it on my skin and brought its air of inkiness home to my significant other.

The inclusion of inky notes in Japon Noir points to a purposeful refinement, akin to the meticulous care of Japanese calligraphy on thick scrolls; much like the name would suggest. But that is not all, and this is its success: The ambery-patchouli mix suggests a sleek sensuality that hints at more carnal past-times. Indeed Japon Noir starts with a suave introduction that reminds one of sweeter ambery orientals while the fusion of spice and candied fruit notes is instant Lutensiana: the inspiration couldn't be far behind, surely. The inclusion of cumin, ginger, nutmeg and thyme is especially simpatico to those of a Moorish-loving sensibility. Although cumin isn't particularly "sweaty" in this one, body-odour-phobics are still advised to test it further before investing in a bottle; we all perceive levels of "dirtiness" differently and your threshold might be higher or lower than mine.

What makes Japon Noir unique is that those sweeter elements with the rather feminized jasmine heart, instead of petering out into a milky sandalwood impression, like in the best oriental tradition (Samsara, Obsession, Amouage Dia), raise themselves a notch into a wilder arpeggio, with the pungent warmth of leather and smoky-powdery incense (Incense in the eastern temple style like in Kyoto and possibly Ouazarzate, although in Japon Noir the combustion happening has a gasoline-like, synthetic impression). The base notes are not completely unlike the common leitmotif in many of the Private Blend fragrances, but Japon Noir stands alone in the combination and textural treatment of notes. In many ways a fragrance for connoisseurs, its individualistic streak makes it one to at least admire, if not outright love.

Japon Noir is advertised as a shared fragrance, pegged as a mossy-woods composition (according to the Michael Edwards taxonomy, corresponding roughly to the traditional chypre category). Yet my own classification would be someplace between woody oriental and leather chypre; a renegade in search of solace.

Notes for Tom Ford Private Blend Japon Noir
Patchouli, Vetiver, Amber, Jasmine, Porto, Leather, Spicy Note

The Tom Ford Private Blend line is available at select doors, such as Neiman Marcus and Harrods, but Japon Noir is reportedly discontinued as of January 2011 (like Moss Breches, Velvet Gardenia and Bois Rouge, other unique fragrances in the line-up, before it); which is an abject shame, but there you have it! (According to Tom Ford's interview on WWD in 2007, that was the plan all along: chop off a couple to make room for more every few seasons). If you're a fan, grab the last remaining bottles now.


Photo by Helmut Newton of women kissin, via colamonstrosity.tumblr.com

L'Artisan Parfumeur Voleur de Roses: fragrance review

In Oscar Wilde's tale "The Nightingale and the Rose", drawing upon an ancient Sufi tradition, roses are dark red like blood, bearing the price of sacrifice for the sake of beauty and love. In L'Artisan Parfumeur Voleur de Roses we witness the dark, earthier aspects of a nightime rose garden which blossoms, dense with foliage, only when true love manifests itself and a nightingale sings ever so sweetly as its pierces its heart upon the thorns.

Even though men are not known for typically wearing roses in the Western world, in Arabian countries they embrace those dark, almost gothic roses flanked by pungent woody notes like oud and patchouli. For those men and women with an adventurous heart, L'Artisan Parfumeur created almost two decades ago one of the most characteristic combination of those two polarising essences: the brutal yet tender collision of rose and patchouli.

Voleur de Roses (Roses' Thief) is like the granpa of niche patchoulis on the market, as it came out as early as 1993, composed by perfumer Michel Almairac (well known for his work on Chopard Casmir, Gucci Rush, several Bond no.9 scents such as Fire Island and The Scent of Peace, the new Chloe and the re-orchestration of Zen into a springly fruity floral). Subsequently all brands jumped onto the bandwagon of patchouli revival (it had been a dormant note since its heyday in the 1960s) and now it has not only swept the market as a protagonist in the new "pink chypres" (faux woody florals that substitute the base of moss with patchouli and vetiver) but also the much maligned -but deservedly most of the time- "fruitchoulis". Imagine a current bestseller, Chanel's Coco Mademoiselle, without the accord of the soiled petals gathered off the ground which made it so contemporary and attractive to young women: it would have been impossible without a forebearer providing the skeleton of the idea, such as Voleur de Roses. Patchouli and rose is nothing new, as the dark, deep and sweet earthiness of the former seems to make the essence of the latter smell like petals unfurling into infinity. All perfumers know that. But in the L'Artisan scent this notion was put front and center, united in an accord which projects with both strength and sensuality. The rose is not sour and it feels natural, not like a photorealistic rose on the stem, but rather true to the rich liqueur-like essence; boozy and contrasting warmth with coolness.

Although built upon two distinct and contrasting elements, the structure of Voleur de Roses is a powerful synergy of these antithetical forces, uniting into a stentorian voice which denies rose of all its archetypal attributes: romanticism, femininity, delicate elegance, softness. Instead this fragrance is like the torrent that ripped rose bushes off their petals and leaves (hence Voleur!) and left the premises like a patchouli-wheeled tractor ran through them repeatedly. If you do not like patchouli as a note (and if you're a reader who didn't live under a rock for the past 15 years you'd recognise it from overexposure in many contemporary fragrances) you're advised to back slowly away and never look back or you'll turn to salt like Lot's wife. This is a direct, over patchouli scent which gains in that odd camphoraceousness that patchouli soli-scents exhibit as time passes ~Borneo 1834 or Prada Intense are good examples of that sort of thing. It figures that L'Artisan featured a stand-alone Patchouli (later substituted by Patchouli Patch) on their catalogue previously: it's the stuff that niche fragraces capitalised on; focus on the raw materials themselves, far away references, emphasizing different facets of the essences.
Voleur de Roses is a fusion of two essential elements that comprise over 3/4 of total number of fragrances in both feminine and masculine perfumery, from floral chypres and masculine woodies via floral woodies and from Chanel through Guerlain. But the formula in this L'Artisan is also a careful framing (rather than ornamentation) of that skeleton with fruity accents (hints of strawberry, a whiff of plum) and a slightly musky-salty note. The composition is linear and a love-it-or-hate-it opus, one clear message in a perfectly coherent chord reverbarated into eternity into a hollow stone-built church. I personally like it very much indeed...but then I am a devotee of the sweet earthiness of aged patchouli that is reminiscent of burying one's hands in wet black soil...



Those who find they'd like the idea of rose and earthy notes/patchouli combined should also try Agent Provocateur's original scent in the pink "egg", Une Rose by F.Malle, Parfums de Rosine Une Folie de Rose (a lighter and easier interpretation) as well as Rose d'Homme by the same company (a decidedly masculine take on the idea), and also the more chypre-leaning Rose de Nuit by Serge Lutens.

Notes for L'Artisan Voleur de Roses:
bergamot, rose, plum, patchouli

Perfectly unisex, although originally marketed as masculine (at least going by what the older bottles read on the top of the cardboard box), Voleur de Roses is available online at L'Artisan and at boutiques specializing in L'Artisan scents.

illustration by Charles Robinson for the Oscar Wilde fairy tale

Erik Kormann Eau de Froehliche: fragrance review

It was just the other day when we were discussing the merits of a vanilla laced with other ingredients to cut down on the sweetness, the stickiness and all around juvenile factor. Today I'm happy to review a scent that pairs incense with vanilla and balsams, materials which bring out a wonderful oriental "gourmand" character that is mouthwatering, yet not cloying at all: Eau de Fröhliche by Erik Kormann of 1000 & 1 Siefe.

If you haven't heard of the artisan behind it, we need to reproach you. We had covered his delightful citrusy August cologne some seasons back. His newest niche creation is an incense water inspired by the old German carol O Du Fröhliche, translating as "Oh how Joyfully"! You might be thinking by now how can an incense be joyful and not mysterious or moody (one look at the vial is enough to answer that) and how can an oriental featuring vanilla no less be fit for the transitioning of the seasons we're experiencing. And yet! Fear not: Like Erik's previous cologne, this Eau de Parfum is long lasting but behaves extremely well.

The fragrance takes on a very individual take on incense (forget the CDG Incense Series and other scents featured in our Incense Series here) , as it invests it with materials which are pliable, soft, enveloping, lending it their inherent joy and warmth like hot breath on a cool, misty window pane:
Tolu balsam, tonka beans full of coumarin and vanilla absolute create a creamy aspect, while the cocoa nuance of iris finds its perfect partner in crime in chocolate-faceted natural patchouli with its inviting, sweet and alluring smell. Other notes include rosewood and cardamom as accent pieces. The incense thus smiles like the brass of an orchestra playing classically-rounded tunes in a wood-panelled auditorium where nothing could ever go wrong.

If winter is still bothering you and you need a little comfort, clothed in a cuddly, embracing composition, Eau de Fröhliche can't but address that need. Available in Eau de Parfum from Erik's 1000&1 Seife or via mail.

For those reading German, take a look at Erik's blog post about his options.
You can contact Erik for availability/details at his E-Mail: kontakt@aromatisches-blog.de



In the interests of disclosure I was sent a sample by the perfumer himself. Pics of vial and sketch via http://perfume.twoday.net/ and aromatiches.blog.de

Ineke Gilded Lily: fragrance review

Ineke Rühland follows a nifty idea concerning her niche brand: an ABC of fragrance so to speak, each new scent named after the next-in-line initial letter. So after some of her earlier work (reviewed here) and last year's Field Notes from Paris (click here for review), the latest fragrance is called “Gilded Lily” after G.

According to the press info which we had announced a while back: "When Ineke read about the scent of the Goldband Lily of Japan (lilium auratum), she felt compelled to order a few for her garden to study their fragrance. This note became the heart of Gilded Lily.[...] Gilded Lily’s "fruity chypre" structure opens with sparkling top notes of pineapple and rhubarb followed by the goldband lily, and closes with patchouli, oakmoss and amber".

I admit that as far as I'm concerned, Gilded Lily doesn't conjure a fruity chypre in the manner of classic Femme, Diorama, or Mitsouko to my mind (or even a contemporary fruity chypre like Esteban's Modern Chypre, YSL Yvresse or Chypre Rouge by Lutens), but rather a rather unisex floral demi-fougère. The former are peachy-plummy symphonies of creamy millefeuilles and golden light getting deflected from a window pane at the 6th arrondissement on a bright autumn afternoon when chic tailleurs are thrown in haste on a heap on the parqueted floor and ties are used as impromptu blindfolds... Gilded Lily is a cool blonde walking the streets towards the museum of Modern Art in New York City, her arms getting goosebumbs from the cool air holding a white lily with frothings of retro greenish shaving cream on its heavy petals in a papier-mâché vase, a Magritte-worthy scene.

What I mean: Although advertised as a lily chypre fragrance, I get no big lily bouquet, the kind of thing that I was used to receiving while giving piano recitals in my university days. Those were engulfing, very floral-spicy affairs and ~if inhaled too much~ they tended to give a migraine, despite their uncontested beauty. Nor do I get the dark mossy autumnal forest floor that I associate most with chypres. Gilded Lily needs no gilding in fact, nor is it particularly embellished. It's neither sweet nor too floral, but rather after a short floral-fruity top note (which is NOT like most of the mainstream swill at stores right now, thank heavens!) goes straight for a woody liqueur-like clean patchouli drydown of modern proclivities which would have men notice it and claiming as their own, even though it's touted as a feminine.
After seven fragrances Ineke emerges as possessing a distinct style of her own, a sort of "signature", which one either loves or dislikes; there's no in-between. Gilded Lily is certainly very much within that style and shares elements with other creations of hers. Fans will be pleased and the rest would know what to expect.

Gilded Lily is available as Eau de Parfum and along with the rest of Ineke's line (After My Own Heart, Balmy Days & Sundays, Chemical Bonding, Derring-Do, Evening Edged in Gold and Field Notes from Paris) are sold worldwide at the stores listed on her website, http://www.ineke.com/

Painting Les Amants by René Magritte

Penhaligon's Sartorial: fragrance review & draw

Penhaligon’s latest fragrance, Sartorial, is tailored; literally. It reminds me a bit of the Humphrey character in 1980s BBC Yes Minister! satirical series: of a certain age and social placement, immaculate, a bit stuffy suits thanks to the job requirements, yet there is a glint in the eye, no doubt about it. You can't deny there is rhyme to its reason and intrigue to its plot, but is the scent as inspired as it's suggested in the press material?

Still for all its smell-good factor within the tired (by now) aromatic fougère* genre Sartorial by Penhaligon's presents something of a dichotomy: On one hand, it reminds me of my elegant grandpa (he uncharacteristically wore chest-thumbing Givenchy Gentleman and carried an inexpensive white bottle of Tabac with him on beach vacations, of all things), so young blokes might get scared off ~or repelled, it depends on their lineage memories.
On the other hand, it's got something of the ape-to-gentleman British touch which Penhaligon's obviously meant to catch for overseas audiences, so chalk it up to a success at the drawing table, pun intended. What's left to wonder is whether high-end shoppers will immediately realise that it is so reminiscent of older classics of the 70s that have trickled down to the point of "old man scent" (Please refer to our The Perfume Wars Old Lady vs.Older Woman Perfume article to fully realise the implications of such a moniker)

Created by perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour at the nudge of Emily Maben, Penhaligon's marketing director, it was inspired by the scents of the workroom at Norton & Sons, bespoke tailors at No. 16 Savile Row who dressed everyone from insulars Winston Churchill and Cary Grant to "imported Beau Brummels" Fred Astaire and King Juan Carlos of Spain. Now, the tailor's doesn't really smell of much, you might argue, perhaps a bit of that indeterminate wooliness and dry chalk that is par for the course where flannels and fine cashmeres are cut to produce those bespoke suits we admire. And you would be right! So, we're dealing with a transposition of Englishness into a brand which is characteristically British to a fault to begin with; it's a bit like putting a huge beret on the Eiffel Tower or an extra pinch of sugar to a square of Turkish baklava!

According to Penhaligon's:

"Sartorial is a contemporary interpretation of a classic Fougère; the traditional notes of oakmoss, tonka bean and lavender have been exquisitely stitched together with woods, ozonic and metallic effects, leather, violet leaf, honey and spices to create the perfect illusion of a tailor’s workroom. The modern thread running through Sartorial is beeswax; echoing the blocks of wax each thread is run across before stitching. This sweet smudged note ties together the more traditional elements; the oiled flash of shears cutting cloth, the rub of fabric beneath fingers, tobacco tinted cabinetry, puffs of chalk in the air and old paper patterns vanilla with age".

Nice story, but what is original in Sartorial is first and foremost structure: One of contrasting duality between tradition and deconstruction (is it old or is it new again?), and one which reinterprets programmatic elements into an abstract impression, much like the fougère itself. Lavender, oakmoss, patchouli and often geranium with coumarin as the sweeter note act as the skeleton of the fougère, the most archetypally "virile" genre, but also one which doesn't evoke a natural smell but rather the Victorian salons where men were allowed to scent their handkerchiefs with "clean" colognes and waft them in the air. That's so Penhaligon's I could tear up a bit. The dichotomy is so clear as if Terence Stamp is weilding his sabre in Far from the Madding Crowd and then shoots a baddie in The Limey.

The arresting top note in Penhaligon's Sartorial is nicely misleading, seemingly giving the impression of a masculine cologne citric blast (thanks to traditional distillate neroli, often featured in men's colognes as a mid-hesperide, mid-floral top note). But it's actually a careful, intelligent nugget which belies any classification: It combines the sharp notes of ozone with the soapy-clean-after-shave effect of aldehydes, sprinkled with the metallic-watery note of violet leaf (very cliché, as it's featured in so many unisex and masculine contemporary scents, so obviously Bertrand is toying with us). Despite the mention of spices, the effect is not pronounced (a bit of pepper is all I sense). Sartorial is not a spicy fragrance and none of the spices make themselves known per se; the wonderful leather, lavender and patchouli-coumarinic facets rise soon after the top notes dissipate and persist for long: The caramelised end of the spectrum of lavender is supremely coupled to the naturally occuring dark cocoa note of natural patchouli absolute. It just smells good!
The earthiness of patchouli is a given for Duchaufour who has proclaimed the earth's smell as an eternal inspiration (and who uses the Racine base** to infiltrate his compositions with it very often, a note between aged vetiver and polished woods): The effect is not exactly "dirty" though (as in dirt), as it is closer to yummy, honeyed and lightly incense-like (more myrrh than frankincense) and somewhat musky: think of Luten's mysterious and intense Borneo 1834 with its roasted notes and Ayala Moriel's Film Noir than Chanel's fluffier chocolate meringue Coromandel.

Penhaligon's Sartorial weaves its strange spell by its poise and cocksure attitude at the tailor's fitting: Not only does it not proclaim whether it's a "leftie" or "rightie" (is this too much information for a Brit?), it's snuggly enough to be filched by a woman as an androgyne backdrop for when she ventures out to turn the tables; only if she's supremely feminine however!

One carded sample is available for a lucky reader. State what you think if you tried it in the comments; or, if you haven't, whether you like its concept or not and why.

Notes for Penhaligon's Sartorial:
HEAD NOTES: Aldehydes, Ozonic Effect, Metallic Effect, Violet Leaf, Neroli, Cardamom, Black Pepper, Fresh Ginger
HEART NOTES: Beeswax, Cyclamen, Linden Blossom, Lavender, Leather
BASE NOTES: Gurgum Wood, Patchouli, Myrrh, Cedarwood, Tonka Bean, Oakmoss, White Musk, Honey Effect, Old Wood Effect, Vanilla, Amber

Artist Quentin Jones was commissioned by Penhaligon’s to create a stop-motion animation exploring the story behind the new gentlemen’s fragrance Sartorial. Filmed at the Norton & Sons shop on Savile Row, the animation features the fragrance’s creator Bertrand Duchaufour. Patrick Grant, the owner of Norton & Sons, also makes a cameo appearance. The opening scenes depict perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour at Norton & Sons, absorbing the scents and smells of the workrooms. Bertrand is seen smelling the fragrant scents exuded from the rolls of fabric, machinery and paper patterns before he is able to embark on the creative journey to craft a contemporary fragrance or cologne inspired by the scents and smells of the famous Savile Row workrooms.



*Aromatic fougère is a subcategory of the "fougère" family of scents: Essentially, an accord of lavender-oakmoss-coumarin (from tonka beans) creates the classic fougère (examples of which are the historical Fougere Royale by Houbigant which started the "family" and the 70-80s classics Azzaro Pour Homme, Paco Rabanne pour Homme, Drakkar Noir) and touches of aromatic plants (usually herbs) are added.
**Corps Racine by Symrise or 2-(3-phenylpropyl) Pyridine according to H&R

In the interests of full disclosure, the company sent me samples in the mail to try it out.

Frederic Malle Portrait of a Lady: new fragrance

Les Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle have ventured into home fragrance lately (here & more below on this post), but the fine fragrance department was seemingly neglected for a while. Portrait of a Lady, their newest feminine fragrance is going to change all that, introducing another coveted item in the niche line. The name is of course inspired by the same-named novel by Henry James from 1881, focusing on a heroine who afronts her overwhelming destiny with all the tragic mood of a classical Greek tragedy and set in a context which clashes the Old and New World sensibilities to great aplomb.

Composed by Dominique Ropion (who had collaborated with Malle on Une Fleur de Cassie, Vétiver Extraordinaire, Carnal Flower and Géranium pour Monsieur), Portrait of a Lady, the upcoming F.Malle fragrance, is centered around rose alongside spicy notes of clove, cinnamon and incense, developing a complex sillage that is promising to be oscillating between an oriental and a chypre. After all the F.Malle Une Rose is indeed almost chypré already. The woody note in Portrait of a Lady is patchoulol, a terpene extracted from natural patchouli, whose one isomer is responsible for the scent of patchouli itself. This refinement allows to avoid some of the technical problems of using the unfractured patchouli and leads to a purer scent. Rose and patchouli have been a beloved theme of modern perfumery in the last decade with several worthy speciments in niche fragrances, from Voleur de Roses by L'Artisan to Lady Vengeance from Juliette has a Gun. But the orientalised take and the spice addition alongside the smokiness of incense seem like a novel take that seems exciting and promising. Could it prove to be the perfect Gothic rose fragrance that sometimes people are seeking?
Portrait of a Lady will retail from 145 to 215 euros for 50ml and 100ml respectively, available from November 2010.

In the home fragrancing front, ‘Diffuseur Solitaire’, a non electric minimally designed new gadget, shaped like an aluminum cylinder in either black or metal-finish adapts itself to confined spaces. The more modest price point (compared to the 360 euros that were asked for Fleur Mécanique) is another advantage. It is for the moment offered in re-worked scents of ‘Coffee Society’ and ‘Saint des Saints’ (review on the link) which were originally developed for the scented candles in the F.Malle line. But the recharges of the Fleur Mécanique line have also profited from a lifting: a new concentration extrême, touted as more than 50 % is being presented as "+" version.

All pious at the Malle shrine, enter!

Diffuseur Solitaire : 85 euros ; Recharge "+" : 55 à 75 euros, available on the oficial site editionsdeparfums.com/

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: Upcoming releases, Frederic Malle news & reviews

pic via osmoz

Twin Peaks: Zino by Davidoff, Chanel Coromandel, Lutens Borneo 1834

Comparing an uncompromisingly masculine fragrance such as Zino by Davidoff with a unisex offering from Chanel, daintely named (Coromandel) after Chinese laquered panels which might sooner decorate the apartment of a woman or a gay male than the chick-trap of an abode of a bachelor might seem like a exercise in futulity. Heck, there's even a makeup line at Chanel's bearing the very same name! Yet the two fragrances, winking both at yet another patchouli-ladden beauty, Borneo 1834 by Lutens, bear the proud insignia of hard partying and bohemian airs which a rich, decadent patchouli heart knows how to provide so well.

And for those on a budget or searching for an easier alternative to savour the allure of Coromandel, Zino is a choice that can be found easily on discounters and online stores, being utterly underrated for absolutely no sane reason at all. I hope after this review a couple of people will summon the courage to search for it, as it's totally worth it. But perhaps the greatest recommedation would be that it has been gracing the oh-so-fine body of Captain Jack Sparrow, né Johnny Depp for quite some years now (Fittingly as it was first issued in 1986). Who can resist his charms, his chiseled face and bohemian attitude? Personally, I could see it on someone like Vincent d'Onofrio as well. If you're fond of aquatics and/or a fan of a girly Robert-Patterson-like allure (of Twilight fame), you can stop reading right now, it will only get painful.

I had written on my Chanel Coromandel perfume review, when I compared the scent to a cinnabar-hued brocade jacket, upper button undone with black camelia Chanel earrings: "The initial impression is that of a citrusy, orange-like pipe tobacco mix rolled in powder, much like the one encountered upon meeting that vixen little scent called Fifi by lingerie designer Fifi Chachnil or a slightly less milky Fumerie Turque. [..]Perhaps the orange impression derives from the inclusion of frankincense, a resin that sometimes gives off a sweet citric tang while burning. A sweet lush note throughout is echoing subtly like vanilla pods immersed in fruity liquor and it opens up and expands on the wings of aged patchouli, mellow, soft, sweet and inviting [...]with a touch of Borneo by Serge Lutens and Prada thrown in for good measure. [...] The pervading dryness along with just a touch of frankincense for a sense of mystery, not showcasing amber in any great degree all the while, provides a great balance to the sweeter vanilla elements and makes the whole not puff up in blue clouds of smoke, but stay the night on warm skin and well used sheets".

Zino starts on a classic masculine accord of lavender, clary sage and bergamot, bracing, nose-tingling like the top notes of Jicky, almost recalling a fougère, but immediately we're drawn into the maze of oriental woods, where the dark green of patchouli hypnotizes the senses with its sweet, beckoning and a little overwhelming scent and a trompe l'oeil hinting at tobacco (A Davidoff fragrance without some allusion to it? Unthinkable). Zino's big rosy heart worn on its sleeve is the perfect accompaniment to the green leaves with moth-repelling properties, and serves to smoothen the former, alongside the other subtle floral elements. Every ingredient bursts into life on the skin and despite the potent opening the scent manages to appear as rather subdued in later stages. Once upon a time touted as the "fragrance of desire", I admit that for this woman on this day, it still seems good enough to eat and amazingly sexy while we're at it too.

Sheldrake’s handwriting is all over 2007's Coromandel, which would make the comparison with his previous Borneo 1834 for Serge Lutens (2005) a natural fit. The two fragrances share a pronounced similarity at the drydown, a fuzzy, synthesized woody-amber drydown like ambroxan (much more pronounced though in -say- Lolita Lempicka au Masculin). Zino also shares in the traditional ambery fade-out after its scultural masculine top, its darkness an ink-like blob on thick matte paper, but lacks the distinct coffee note that runs through the heart of Borneo, instead opting for extending the note of patchouli to its chocolate-like extremes. Borneo on the other hand is an intensely camphoraceous patchouli laced with dark-roasted coffee and cocoa notes and much dryer, while Coromandel, perhaps due to its eau de toilette concentration and axiom of "application with abandon" alluded to by the big, honking bottle, seems airier and less saturated than both. Airier for an oriental woody, mind you! Its kinship with the original Prada should give you an idea of the ballpark we're talking about. The sillage of every scent is delicious; a mysterious wake that will have people swerve to catch a whiff and ask you what it is.
Ultimately, between the three, Coromandel is the daytime, easier and more powdery version, Borneo more suitable for evenings and trend-setters, while Zino is the one reserved for sexy men and for women not afraid of five-o-clock shadows on them. If you're among the latter, do try Zino for yourself too, you'll see it acts like a fedora over long hair.

Notes for Zino by Davidoff:
Top: lavender, palisander, clary sage, bergamot
Heart: geranium, rose, lily-of-the-valley, jasmine
Base: patchouli, cedar wood, sandalwood, vanilla
Notes for Coromandel by Chanel
Benzoin, patchouli, woodsy notes

Notes for Borneo 1834 by Lutens
Patchouli, Camphor, Cardamom, Cistus, Galbanum, Cacao

pic of actor Vincent d'Onofrio via fanpop.com, Sarah Ranes portrait via indiepublic.com

Anya's Garden Moondance and Starflower: fragrance reviews (& a draw!)

When the well-trodden becomes anew there is reason for joy. If certain white flowers have always seem unatainable to you, if you found yourself avoiding tuberose for reasons too complicated to unfold, all naturals indie brand Anya's Garden has two aces up her sleeves: Moondance and Starflower, two unconventional new fragrances that ~in typical Anya style~ will surprise you!

In the words of Anya McCoy in Moondance "water mint is underfoot as you dance among the violets and tuberose, as apple herb and roses sing softly".
The ethereal touch of violets opens with a trompe l'oeil touch of the mint: is it there or isn't it? "This is not the direction toothpaste is going", I said to myself, when testing, as the familiar cold-on-a-hot-tongue feeling of industrial-strength fake mint didn't register. Yet, prompted by my desire to locate it, after reading the notes, I paid more attention and it is there if very subtly: But how strange! It only maxes out the dryad feeling of the woody-orris violets into cool green pistas! Herbal scents are difficult to harness, because they seem to project at a frequency that registers them either in the culinary (lamb chops roast) or the marginally aromatherapeutic: think tisanes and hot compresses. Yet, in Moondance the chamomille reminds one of nothing of the sort. Instead it fuses with the Rose de Mai absolute and the natural alpha ionone isolates (i.e.violet) into a synergistic ritual dance in the forest under, you guessed it, a full moon. Tuberose only hints at its presence, if you're not specifically searching for it, you might not realise that it is delicately weaved in here: its bombastic nature is well-behaved for once, like a loud, overactive child who is mesmerised briefly by the shooting stars into silence, as furry animals watch from a distance (Anya used hyrax tincture and hyrax absolute to render this fuzzy animalic comfort blanket). The general ambience is not unlike Isabel Doyen's creation for Les Nez The Unicorn Spell (which is similarly unisex) and lovers of the latter should definitely give a try to Moondance! My only gripe would be its relatively short lasting power, which means that you could use it on a scarf or ~even better~ a leather band on your wrist (How utterly charming! Why should Kurkdjian have all the fun?)

If your tastes do not run into the timid, but you're set for no-limits throttle, full-on speed, then Starflower is more your thing, and by Jove, ain't it mine! Anya McCoy presents floral gourmand Starflower as "candy flower, dreamy and steamy, almond cherry, chocolate and tuberose bring Mexico to you". A Mexican delicasy doesn't even begin to describe it, as luscious chocolate, allied to beautiful, slightly camphoraceous but oh-so-good-it-hurts patchouli (and possibly a maple touch) tempt the taste buds before the nostrils claim all the pleasure. There is nothing of the sanitised patchouli that mainstream brands churn out by the bucketload aiming at the fatigued nose-velcro of urbanites burned out on the Angel-doused armpits of commuters. This is the spirited love affair of rich essences which do not succumb but to the skillful hands of a certain Miami shores artisanal perfumer. The result in Starflower is oddly animalic, deep, incredibly lasting for an all-naturals perfume, and somewhat buttyric: Indeed a CO2 butter essence is hiding under the narcotically-scented tuberose (rendered into her edible vestige, posing for a screen-test with Marcolini and melting into a pool of cream). Anya reveals: "I first became aware of its use in ice cream from an 18th Century book Encarnación's Kitchen: Mexican Recipes from Nineteenth-Century California, and further research showed its use in other sweet desserts. My perfume musings got me to thinking, well, let's see how it would pair with vanilla and chocolate, two other tasty and fragrant offerings from Mexico." I can only say that Starflower should come with a cautionary label attached: "Restrain application or you're seriously risking at having your arms (or other body parts) nibbled on!"

A small precaution if I may would be to sample Moondance before indulging in Starflower, so as not to suffocate the more ethereal into the more full-bodied, much as one would do when tasting wines of different attributes, and cork-off them for a couple of minutes before sniffing (as all-naturals are famous for being too intense to fully grasp at first).
Moondance and Starflower are available from Anya's Garden, in parfum extrait ($75 and $60) and an Eau de Parfum ($125 and $100) or $5 per sample.

Anya had the generosity of sending me two ample samples of the expensive scents for a lucky reader, along with those I sampled for reviewing. Enter a comment if you want to be in the drawing!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Natural scents and perfumers, Tuberose scents

Painting The Fairy Lovers by Theodore von Holst via touch of vaudeville. Women of Mexico Girclee print via fashionfling.blogspot.com.

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

Etro Messe de Minuit: fragrance review

Speaking of the ethereal allied to the feral in fragrances while reviewing Tubéreuse Criminelle by Serge Lutens, I had tied the former to that other "otherwordly vampire of piercing eyes which draw blood inveigling us into submitting willingly to its almost sacral fangs", Messe de Minuit by Etro. To say that it is the most arresting in Etro's elegant line is no exaggeration, but neither would it be an overstatement to claim it has the most striking mien in current perfumery!
Messe has the admirable quality of producing gut-instinct reactions in everyone who comes into contact with it much like the Cloisters in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC or the haunting executions chamber of Madame Tussaud's in London. Like the distant cousin who is neither elegant nor pretty, but when she sits on the piano everyone is mesmerized into attention, Messe de Minuit has a way of making you fall under its spell. Wearable it is not for most social occasions, even if one loves it like I do, so my personal solution for enjoying its wonderfully witching emissions all the time has been the discovery of the exquisitely luxurious candle: In its thick glass jar with its wide golden lid with the Etro logo on, it decorates my study at home, besides my old books collection and my antique camera from the first decade of the 20th century. Opening the lid equates a religious experience that reminds me poignantly of my own mortality, much like listening to the Commentatore scene of Mozart's Don Giovanni does, when he appears booming "Don Giovanni a cenar teco m'invitasti".

Even though the name (Midnight Mass) alludes to the catholic service of Christmas' Eve, in my experience the fragrance changes considerably depending on the season/climate, from the chillier crypt mustiness of the wintertime to a sage-like fuzzy warmth and gingerbread tonality in the warmer months. It in this frame that the fact la mama Sofia Loren chooses to wear it in the balmier nights of the South should be evaluated.

Introduced in 2000 by perfumer Jacques Fiori of Robertet (his tour de force in his many compositions for the textiles & fashions Etro line, founded by Gimmo Etro in 1968), Messe de Minuit starts damp and musty and brightly citrusy, with a scent that reminds me of raw pleurotus mushrooms left in the fridge for a couple of days. In this regard it is the shadowy mirror image to another citrusy incense fragrance from Etro, the more luminous Shaal Nur. The herbal and mildew-like quality gives a compelling weirdness to the perfume. The opening note also reminds me of the aromatic, herbal tête of the Slovakian liqueur Slivovica, but also of a frenzied July unearthing artefacts in the cave of Le Portel in the Pyrénées under the alternating hot sun and the cool shade of the archeological sheds.

While Messe de Minuit is touted to be "an incense fragrance", its core is nowehere near other popular incense fragrances. Passage d’enfer by L'artisan Parfumeur, Comme des Garcons Kyoto and Creed's Angelique Encens (all wonderful!) are completely different; they present a more serene attitude that still has a beguiling quality about it, drawing you closer, not further. Messe de Minuit on the other hand creates a needed apostasy. It also doesn’t possess that rich, resiny, sweet, smoky quality that I associate incense with, perfectly exhibited in Comme des Garcons Avignon or Armani Privé Bois d’Encens. It is as if the REMNANTS of incense smoke have settled down and been dampened in a old Paleochristianic temple. No holy smell , no passage of angels , no spiritual elevation. On the contrary , this is an abandoned abode , a lonely place deserted by man and God that has been festering demons and evil spirits , unhealthy and perverse. I can definitely see the face of the Antichrist in the background….
And then , what a surprise! It becomes really warm, quite spicy and deeper with bitter myrrh and sweetens considerably thanks to the amber and a touch of honey, almost urinous but not quite. Those old demons know how to play tricks on you. They put on a slight smile to beckon you in and eat your soul. And it also becomes earthy and “dirty” and makes you wonder about a certain frustrated humanity they once had that has become a distant memory to them. And it lasts, as if damnation will be forever. As it should be. I can see Anne Rice’s vampires wearing Messe de Minuit effortlessly while cruising in the human world.

Notes for Etro Messe de Minuit: Orange, bergamot, tangerine, galbanum, honey, labdanum, incense, myrrh, cinnamon, patchouli, amber, musk

Messe de Minuit is available in Eau de Cologne concentration at Luckyscent in the US, Senteurs d'Ailleurs, Liberty and Escentual in Europe. The packaging has recently been redesigned (black & white design, silver cap), depicted hereby is the (prettier IMO) older one. The matching candle, which is gloriously fragrant even unlit, is available at Fragrancenet.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Incense Series



Carlos Alvarez and Ildebrando D'Arcangelo in the Commendatore scene XV of the second act of Mozart's "Don Giovanni", originally uploaded by gtelloz on Youtube
Photography Roman Shadows by 3Lampsdesign

Al Maali by Itarji: fragrance review

It's always interesting to witness the intercultural exchanges between newer and older worlds and especially so in fields that pertain to olfaction: the amount to which French perfumery and tastes have been influenced by the Anglo-Saxon "clean" trend is staggering; as is the intergration of classical "stinky" notes into modern compositions (Stockhausen meets Rameau, so to speak), or the worldwide influence of the Asian school of diaphanous treatment. But never is the effect more eye-opening to the globalisation of the international market than upon experiencing an Arabian fragrance of all things that smells like a modern French classic: in short, Al Maali by Itarji is an Arabian speaking fluent French of Angel-ic cadenzas of agility.

We have been conditioned to believe the reverse is more common (isn't Nahéma the reference Franco-Arab masterpiece?) and rather en vogue, what with the Serge Lutens seraglio and the plethora of ouds or oud-inspired fragrances on the market (witness the Montale line), as well as the increasing popularity of getting to know the Arabian rituals of fragrancing [click for article]. Yet as previously discussed there is also the side of Arabian attars vaguely smelling like ideas that belong in a westernised society, scattered among more traditional offerings. But then again, it's not uncommon to encounter small local companies using ingredients by the big aromachemical producing companies, such as Givaudan, Firmenich and IFF, even in the medinas of the Arabian peninsula! So nothing comes as a shock to my eyes any more...

I was sent a little of this intriguing Arabian fragrance by my eloquent friend Maria from Bittergrace Notes in a back and forth of perfume haikus to communicate impressions on the most evanescent of small pleasures. She had described it as "a rich, green patchouli-fest" and she proved to be dead-on. The opening of Al Maali has an interesting spicy-limpid accord that reminds me of wet nutmeg and cardamom pods, ready to be used in Easter bread dough or a smidge of the spicy-powdery top of Yves Saint Laurent's discontinued Nu in Eau de Parfum. Maybe even a small, small hint of saffron? Yet wait a couple of seconds and with a rushed dash patchouli enters the scene unapologetically, its radiance and warmth being generous and "open", quite natural in fact and capturing the audience for the duration of the performance. I am quite fond of patchouli and in fact have a precious bottle of 20 years old essence which I cherish. When patchouli oil ages it gains in complexity and acquires a round effect which adds to its charm.

The effect in Al Maali is semi-gourmand, quite coumarinic with a whisper of sweetness minus the caramel tonalities of the usual treatment in that mold and with a dangerous undercurrent of sensuality. I don't quite understand how the desciption on the site states "Light floral, green scent; fresh and understated". It is anything but light or floral (or traditionally fresh) and it asserts its presence in a most delightful way. Yet I can see how this is excellently suited to both sexes and suitable for year long wearing if you use it sparingly. I would hazzard that it would please the numerous fans of the progeny of both bittersweet gourmands in the mold of Lolita Lempicka and Angel as well as the boho-chic youth of today with their nostalgic eye on the 60s. The lasting power is exceptional and the diffusion/sillage very pleasing, radiating warmly without making you choke to your death upon spritz (at least judging by my sample sprayer which diffuses it in a light and steady mist).

You can buy Al Maali on the Crescent Beauty site (what a cute name!) and the price is quite advantageous compared to the western equivalents.

Pic via pxdaus.com

New Diptyque Candles: Patchouli, Roses Rose, the Basile collection

Diptyque might have discontinued some of their most interesting candles (and fragrances!) but they're busy expanding the rest of their stable with new additions. After the trio of hesperidic colognes (L'eau de l'eau, L'eau de Neroli, L'eau des Hersperides, all by nose Olivier Pecheux), which they issued last year, they are adding new candles in their lineup now.

"Patchouli: Its long blue leaves, steam distilled on tiny plantations way up in the hills of Indonesia, effuse a surprising woody scent.
The freshness of patchouli stems, humus and moss, wrapped in warm wood and resin. Deep yet luminous, it rekindles with its exotic roots and delicate accords.

Patchouli scented candle : € 47

The Roses Rose candle is nestled in a very British-style box. Its design is inspired by Liberty fabrics and pays tribute to the Diptyque founders who originally created textiles for this historic department store.
The Roses Rose candle is a mixture of antique rose petals and aromatic geranium leaves".

Roses Rose scented candle (limited edition) : € 50

The Roses Rose candle is timely coinciding with the shopping onslaught of the St.Valentine's celebration...

These come as an addendum to another Limited Edition that Diptyque issued a little while ago: the Basile collection of three scents (Amber, Scotch Pine and Briar Honey) which optically replicates the design of one of their first fabrics, in its turn based on the rich motifs of Byzantine architecture. The three scents, intended to make winter days and nights a little more luminous and warm, are as follows:

"Amber: The mystery of a substance so rare that Arab merchants once used it as a currency as precious as gold. The enchantment of ambergris with woody, leathery notes.
Scotch Pine: Being green in winter as well as summer is only one of the virtues of Scotch Pine. Its vigorous, resinous notes evoke the scents of a majestic pine forest and the freshness of the fleeting winter.
Briar Honey: It is difficult to find a sweeter, fruitier nectar. You almost feel like you’re in the middle of a moor full of fresh, scented briar".

Basile Collection scented candle : € 55 each

Pics and info via Senteurs d'Ailleurs

Rose Barbare by Guerlain: fragrance review

Barbaric rose, rose of Attila, rose of the Goths, Rosicrucian and mystic. Where are you? The lines of Walt Whitman in my ears: "I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world".
Or even this:

"November sun is sunlight poured through honey:
Old things, in such a light, grow subtle and fine.
Bare oaks are like still fire.
Talk to me: now we drink the evening's wine.
Look, how our shadows creep along the grave!--
And this way, how the gravel begins to shine!

This is the time of day for recollections,
For sentimental regrets, oblique allusions,
Rose-leaves, shrivelled in a musty jar.
Scatter them to the wind! There are tempests coming.
It is dark, with a windy star.

If human mouths were really roses, my dear,
-- (Why must we link things so?--)
I would tear yours petal by petal with slow murder.
I would pluck the stamens, the pistils,
The gold and the green,
-- Spreading the subtle sweetness that was your breath
On a cold wave of death....

Now let us walk back, slowly, as we came.
We will light the room with candles; they may shine
Like rows of yellow eyes.
Your hair is like spun fire, by candle-flame.
You smile at me--say nothing. You are wise.

For I think of you, flung down brutal darkness;
Crushed and red, with pale face.
I think of you, with your hair disordered and dripping.
And myself, rising red from that embrace".

~from a poem by Conrad Aiken (1889-1973)

Rose Barbare by Guerlain is an elegant rendition of a floral composition that features rose notes, soft and a little astringent at times on my skin, like the Centifolia variety grown in Grasse rather than the opulent Damascena of the Ottoman and the Bulgarian variety. Rather sweet and not particularly powdery, underscored with some peach fruit ~but not as loudly fruity as Sa Majesté La Rose by Serge Lutens, nor as mysteriously chypré as Rose de Nuit by the same house~ Rose Barbare bears a passing resemblance with Nahéma, especially as it develops on skin. However the latter is fiestier, like a red-haired woman in wrath, whereas Rose Barbare is a dark blonde affair of sweetness, chic and insouciance.
Although the formal brief talks about a "heady and incisive Ottoman rose", I don’t find this one heady nor incisive. On the contrary it is light and chyprish and quite modern, in a retro-chic way that is au courant. It is a proud young scent, made for a house that needs an injection of young clientele.
Personally I am a little overwhelmed by Nahéma, so the prospect of a less potent rose would seem like a good idea to a person who is no big rose lover by my own admition. But it is also supposed to harness other elements of the Guerlain tradition and the chypré base of Mitsouko, Parure and Sous le Vent is one of them. Mitsouko has achieved legendary status through the years and is often used as an example of what great art in perfumery can achieve. However its impact on modern noses is demystifying and for that reason Guerlain probably wanted to keep the best elements of it and modernize the idea behind it. But whereas Mitsouko is all loss and poignant introversion, Rose Barbare is pride and prickly fingers.
The addition of synthetic musks, some honeyed fruit and aldehyde C11 gives both booziness and volume to the scent of Rose Barbare and alludes to its rich heritage. This one is a perfectly soft composition with some grassy accents and a base that hides a green and dusty quality reminiscent of oak moss, but not quite (since the latter is one ingredient that has had its fair share of allegations to be an irritant); instead patchouli, like in most modern "chypres", with its rich aroma anchors the composition into deeper waters of sexuality that might lure me in to explore further my dysfunctional relationship with rose.
Created by nose Francis Kurkdjian, who was one half of the creative team behind the winning composition of the mesmerizing Narciso Rodriguez for Her perfume, conceived in only three weeks for the opening of the renovated main boutique La Maison Guerlain at 68 Avenue des Champs-Elysées, Paris in 2005 and without a brief from the House according to Chandler Burr, it is a feat; a little enigma in that it stands alone in its pedestal as something unique, but at the same time it doesn’t produce a visceral reaction to it, which is perhaps to its detriment.

Notes for Rose Barbare by Guerlain:
honey, rose, spices

Rose Barbare forms part of the L'Art et la Manière 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 Perfume Shrine: the Guerlain series.

Painting courtesy of mica1224art/Flickr. Bottles pic via Guerlain.

Paloma Picasso Mon Parfum: fragrance review

It's hard for me to speak of Paloma Picasso perfume and not implicate the obliviously innocent in this. Because it happens to be the signature choice of someone I knew, someone who is most probably unawares of this blog, its writer and musings. I doubt I had even registered much in her mind back then when her scent made an impression on me. A really young novice I was at the Conservatoire, accompanying her vocal classes on the piano.

Anna was a creature of fire and spice, long tresses of chestnut trailing her back in thick curls, a straight, impressive nose under austere dark brows, but with a gregarious, roaring laughter that dared to flirt with anyone within a 10-mile radius. She dressed in full bohemia, just about 10 years after its heyday or about 20 before its resurgence, any which way you choose to see it. She wore dangling earrings made of ethnic beads and smoked heavy Gitanes. And her scent seemed to preceed her; which was not all that au contraire to the mood of the era, if only because there were numerous others, men and women alike, who followed a fragrance cloud rather than the other way around. That was the 80s, that was when Paloma Picasso launched Mon Parfum, a powerful chypre fragrance meant to embody her unique style.
Anna did not wear white shirts with black skirts, though, nor painted her lips in a crimson bloodfest that recalls the picadors in the tercio de varas. No, Anna was beyond such clichés...

The Ritual Fire Dance by Spanish composer Manuel De Falla conjures up comparable images in my mind. (the cello soloist is Julian Lloyd Webber and the clip was uploaded by gindobray)

The pungent green and dry chypré opening was like a bruise, aching long after the blow has been hit. And then roaring spices came cascading down in quick succession: clove and coriander, bold and proud, unashamedly pronouncing their presence before the hazy drop of flowers smelled at a distance was perceived, with a little hedione brightness. Rose was musty, musky, playing hide-and-seek with an effluvium of patchouli leaves with a little powder, much like that in Aromatics Elixir.
The gaunlet however was only thrown after the base notes develop, like the hides of dead animals, rich castoreum with more than a touch of the masculine, at a tannery on a warm day. The funk of a big animal in its ammoniac glory used to cure the hides is there and it dares you to bypass without closing your nostrils for a while, doubting if this is supposed to smell good or bad. A conundrum!

It came in a glorious soap formula that was made for bathing meant to make you smell dirtier than what you started with and didn't you love this, back then.
The eau de parfum was Anna's preferred concentration, encased in a black glass bottle from what I recall (current versions with lightned up base -due to restrictions in animalic ingredients used- are in plastic). And upon resniffing for the purposes of this review I couldn't but wonder how it was possible to tolerate, -nay, love madly- such a potent mix! It would take a very sparing application in this modern day and age to make it smell acceptable. But it is worth trying to find the perfect balance. The parfum/extrait which comes in a white splash bottle is perhaps the way to go as it is meant to be dabbed and not sprayed.
It's interesting to note that some modern day scents such as Sisley's chypre Soir de Lune were even inspired by Paloma's approach.

Paloma Piccaso, the daughter of Pablo, codenamed this scent Daphne 19, which puzzling as it is it is reminiscent of my own experience. Perhaps she knew someone named thus, while at her stint at Tiffany's as jewel designer, echoes of which are evident on the elaborate bottle, shaped after a pair of earrings made of petrified palm wood she designed for the brand? Or did she merely refer to the odorous plant? Dubious...
Mon Parfum was composed by Francis Bocris in 1984 with Paloma's guidance and includes the following notes:

Top: bergamot, lemon, hyacinth, angelica, ylang ylang, clove
Middle: Rose de Mai,jasmine, lily of the valley, orris
Base: Oakmoss, castoreum,vetiver, patchouli, amber, civet, musk, cedarwood, tobacco, sandalwood

.

The touch of a masterful persona that purposly discards social rules to do their own is evident in Mon Parfum by Paloma Picasso. Anna wore it amazingly well. Not all do.

Pics from parfumsdepub

Amethyst Fatale by Oriflame: fragrance review

Has it ever happened to you to completely dismiss something new merely on the value of past experiences and then be proved wrong? Surely it has! This is what happened to me with the newest perfume by Swedish skincare and cosmetics brand Oriflame, concerning their newest release Amethyst Fatale. Although I have sampled many of their products, I had always assumed that their fragrances are second in hierarchy after their skincare which forms the lion's share of their revenue anyway. Experiences with their fleeting specimens also contributed to a nonchalant view towards sampling more of them. Because although many were decent enough, their lasting power left something to be desired, which hinted at a cost-effective management decision.
Not so with their latest however. The first in the so-called Gem Collection, a line of scents that aims to be inspired by gemstones (obviously a big trend now if one judges by the similar offerings by Bulgari, Olivier Dubrano and Lalique) and focus on the perfumers themselves instead of the celebritoid du jour, managed to convince me that it might be worth a shot sporting it from time to time, especially as it has been created by Jean Jacques (responsible for Balmya, most of the Matsushima Masaki scents and L'or de Torrente) with the collaboration of one of my favourite noses, Francis Kurkdjian. And lo and behold, compliments ensued. Not a bad start!

According to Cosmeticsdesign-europe.com:

Sweden-based firm's new perfume is not marketed on the pull of fast moving celebrities, but on the role the perfumer behind the scent.
"A key trend in the fragrance market is the rise of signature fragrances and Gem Collection is tapping into that trend," said a spokesperson for Oriflame .
In the case of Amethyst Fatale, the signatory is the creator of the perfume, the well known "nose" Jean Jacques.
Oriflame's decision to use Jean Jacques' signature to market the new fragrance represents a new take on the endorsement idea.
"Consumers are becoming more aware of the complexity of perfumery and so educated consumers are likely to be drawn to fragrances that are endorsed by experts rather than celebrities," said Briony Davies from Euromonitor.

Perfumer Jean Jacques attempted to translate the Amethyst gemstone into a scent whilst being guided by the image of the femme fatale whose arresting beauty and gaze makes you dive into "an unexpected world of passion and danger". To complete this task, Jean Jacques used the iris.
"I could imagine in the elegant odour of the iris: powdery, soft and caressing, all of which echo the amethyst," said Jacques.

Amethyst with its deep purple colour (although there is a green variety as well, called prasiolite) is considered to make the wearer calm and in control of his various emotional levels. Its name derives from the Greek amethystos/αμεθυστος which means sober and is traditionally linked to protection from intoxication and to those born in the month of February. But don't let that stop you!
Its mythological root lies in the tale of Dionysus, god of wine and celebration, who was insulted by a mortal who didn't acknowledge him. Enraged, he spotted a young maiden named Amethyst. The unsuspecting girl, on her way to pay tribute to the goddess Diana, was detained and two tigers were summoned by the god to devour the youth. Amethyst cried out to Diana in despair and the goddess quickly transformed the young mortal into a glimmering white stone (known as “quartz”) to protect her. When he realized his wrongdoing Dionysus wept tears of wine onto the stone staining it purple, creating the gem we know today as amethyst.
Lovely tale, isn't it?


Iris and the colour purple are very au courant these days as well and with the charmingly pleasant experience of Prada Infusion d'Iris and the less exciting Iris Ganache by Guerlain in my short-term memory banks, I set out to explore another iris-based scent. This time it involved the smooth ambience of the modern chypre, a concept on which I talked in detail before.
Amethyst Fatale promises "pure fragrance intoxication. Combining warm amber notes with powdery iris and lush rose, this unpredictable scent refuses to be forgotten" according to Oriflame.

As I open the little glass vials of Eau de Parfum available for sampling, the impression of a chiaroscuro patchouli composition is greeting me with a wink. The feeling is far removed from the headshop and into the protection of clothes from moths, as was one of its primal uses. You can almost feel the tactile sensation of soft wools caressing your cheek as you open up an armoire with plush knits. Its crushed powder is gently folded in rosy liquid that recalls damp earth as if rained upon with the echo of distant thunder. The marriage of rose to patchouli is cemented in tradition but with the flair of a first-throes passion, as those two amorous lovers adore bringing each other's best points out: patchouli making the rosy petals unfurl indefinetely, mellowing them and anchoring the feminine smell; rose caressing the green leaves and rendering them softly powdery.
Francis Kurkdjian is of course famous for his modern rendition of roses -and abstract floral notes in general- such as in Guerlain'sRose Barbare, Ferre Rose, Narciso For Her or the re-issued Rumeur by Lanvin. And here I can see the mentor's influence.

The iris part might be contributing to the earthy feel I get as well, although to my nose this is not a predominantly iris scent, but rather a palimpsest. There is an element of powdery tonality that reminds one of white musks as used in popular renditions lately, as well as the slightly woody and vanillish whiff of benzoin. The impression is never too sweet and in that regard it is infinitely superior to most things currently put on a pedestral on perfume-store shelves and certainly to Armani Code whose bottle it might be argued that it vaguely reflects.
As it exits the scene in lento moves it does so with the gentle refinement of a lady who is assured of her attractiveness enough not to assume poses and goes for the subtle approach of white silk underwear instead of racy red lace.


Oriflame is available in European countries and overseas in the Americas and Asia, but not in the United States.
So, for our readers in the US I have a couple of samples I would be glad to offer if they enter a comment that they would like to receive one. Hurry while the offer lasts!

Stay tuned for an interview with Jean Jacques next!
Ad pic from Oriflame, ring pic courtesy of askDaveWest