Annick Goutal Les Absolus Vanille Charnelle: fragrance review

The problem with the term "charnelle" (carnal in French) for Anglo-speaking audiences persists after the online mocking of Guerlain's analogous fragrances (Les Elixirs Charnels or better known as Carnal Elixirs). Of course one might argue it's hard to beat Poupée (doll in French) by Rochas... Nevertheless don't let that distract you from the creamy goodness of the latest Annick Goutal vanilla fragrance, Vanille Charnelle, part of Les Absolus d'Annick Goutal luxury perfumes trio.

Vanilla fragrances can come in various guises and heaven knows one more vanilla is not what is missing from the market, especially at this point. However the polished touch of perfumer Isabelle Doyen and art director Camille Goutal promises a milk bath preceding a lovers' tryst Popaea (Sabena) style.

The butyric note in Vanille Charnelle is held down by two interesting elements making the fluffy base more playful; one is a peppery note that tingles the sinuses with the anticipation of a session of light spanking, the other a nectarous ylang ylang which brings the floralcy of vanilla into focus. Dark vanillas exhibit boozy, dark, whiskey and rum facets, but Vanille Charnelle is more reminiscent of almonds than of booze and has that goose down feel that white musk has when done right.

For Goutal, who had already offered the moderately priced Vanille Exquise, which many vanilla lovers counted among the ones they love, the decision to offer a disproportionately elevated in the posh stakes vanilla sounds rather odd. But vanilla is a known aphrodisiac, as per pop culture (and who can forget the Guerlain claims to Shalimar being cat nip thanks to its rich, dark, leathery vanilla) and it seems one can't have too many in one line. It also ensures a steady interest at the counter...

The luxurious presentation by Annick Goutal in the Les Absolus line, that opens like the scene of a theatre production to reveal a performance by good actors, merits the asking price more than the innovation of the formula. Still...pas mal du tout.


Related reading on Perfume Shrine: 
Annick Goutal news & reviews
Top Vanilla Fragrances: a Series

Annick Goutal Les Absolus Ambre Sauvage: fragrance review

ISIPCA perfumer teacher Isabelle Doyen and art director for the Goutal brand Camille Goutal have proven their flair for the concept of an "oriental" perfume mainly through the collection Les Orientalistes some years ago. A trio of worthwhile scents came out in 2007 including Ambre Fetiche Encens Flamboyant and Myrrhe Ardente. The collection was augmented in 2008 with Musc Nomade a firm favorite of mine in the stakes of intimate musk fragrances. Their current output on the orientalist theme for their more upscale line Les Absolus(there's also Vanille Charnelle and 1001 Ouds) leaves me rather hesitant as to how much this is a corporate decision rather than an artistic one; especially taking into consideration the details surrounding Ambre Sauvage.

via

One look at the luxurious packaging and the price asked (195 euros for 75ml of eau de parfum) suggests a target audience of wealthy patrons shopping for posh gifts; Cartier lighters and Tiffany's more serious silver pieces engraved for the ocassion. This is undoubtedly true for most niche fragrance brands nowadays; just look at the Section d'Or by Serge Lutens (including L'Incidiaire and all the others) with its stratospheric prices! It's not an easy to digest truth for readers of perfume blogs and fora but it is nonetheless true enough and one should at one point make peace with the facts.

But what about the scent?

Sauvage (i.e. wild) is a name brandished a lot in 2015 because of the masculine fragrance launch of the same name by Christian Dior and LVMH. Loosely based on part of the name of the classic Eau Sauvage from the 1960s the modern Sauvage is anything but. Similarly Ambre Sauvage (Wild Amber) by Annick Goutal is not to be taken literally.

Amber by its own makeup is a scent produced by the synergy of two colliding forces; the dark resinous id of labdanum/cistus and the malleable softness of vanillin super-ego. I have elsewhere described how some ambers seem to be like child-POV engulfing hugs by well meaning aunts; too much of a good thing. Thankfully the refined French aesthetic of Doyen and Goutal ensure that their manipulation of the materials is never saturated. The raw materials become in their hands building blocks of a gouache where the colors melt into one another to the point where you can't quite discern where one begins and one ends. Doyen and Goutal have argued that basing their concept on the etymology of raw materials is a whole different ball game than working on memories; memories can only go as far in the pursuit of olfactory accuracy. By following the material's arc one can direct themselves into a mapped out path and deviate knowingly.

This is at once grace and irony in this case nevertheless: with sauvage in the name one expects something untamed and untramelled even by the codes of gallic civility and correct navigation. Neither the inclusion of patchouli (a lightly chypre facet) nor the wink of a leather-animalic quality in the top notes evoke a wildness that would be out of place in a salon. Ambre Sauvage is a classic refined amber rather than a poet maudit. Unlike Ambre Sultan by Lutens with its uncinventional aromatic impression of a Moroccan dish the Goutal fragrance is quite Parisian.

These two elements (leather and patchouli) do lend nevertheless a sophisticated character that cuts it above the soup of sameness among many ambres in the niche market. A delicious cooling smoke-chocolate hint recalls the treatment of lavender drawn through to its caramelic end of the spectrum in Doyen's L'Eau de Lavande for Annick Goutal many many years ago... The more Ambre Sauvage dries down the more it declaws itself; thanks to vanilla absolute coming forth creamy and smooth and mouthwatering but never cloyingly sweet. And it's perfect on a man as well. It's hard to dislike Ambre Sauvage.

Furthermore Ambre Sauvage smells dangerously close to Ambre Fetiche. Although the latter is among the better ambers out there (and one of the ambers I personally wear for that very reason) the launch of the former at this point in time suggests that a rather more concentrated edition with obviously high end packaging is meant to aim at more moneyied customers. Not necessarily more discerning ones. One might want to make peace with the facts at last.

Miu Miu eau de parfum: fragrance review

Has Miuccia Prada exhausted the fragrance concepts for her own brand and has expanded into its sister brand, Miu Miu? More like the youthful yet sophisticated Miu Miu label needed that which it was lacking; a lifestyle fragrance. Miu Miu eau de parfum comes along to fill that void (and alas not   the one in perfume lovers' hearts) and, although nothing seismical, it is a decent enough composition aiming to be the introduction to perfume for the quite young ladies who look up to the unique Prada fashion sense.

Unsurprisingly the formula was developed by Daniela Roche Andrier, the fetish perfumer of the Prada fragrance stable (and also famous for her creations for Bvlgari, Bottega Veneta, Martin Margiela Untitled and Marni), and bears a quota of her graceful trademark. Although when I first smelled Miu Miu eau de parfum I wasn't bowled over by the innovation and in fact wracked my brains to put my finger on what it reminded of (read on), I have to admit that it is not unrepresentable, at least compared to all the syrupy stuff around, and would probably sell quite well.
The collaboration of Miu Miu with Coty Inc. (the Prada frags are developed with Puig) definitely meant that the perfumer was subject to several focus group tests as well as meetings with the project managers team. This usually means creativity isn't given free rein.

The composition in Miu Miu eau de parfum tethers between the freshness of green notes and quite sharp floralcy of lily of the valley, rendered through modern synthetics, since the old golden standard, hydroxycitronellal has been heavily rationed, and the warmth of something that is almost patchouli-like, yet it's not.

The sharp lily of the valley fragrance note and the green jasmine (similar to the ethereal one in Marc Jacobs' discontinued Blush) is fitting the neopuritan aesthetics of the Miu Miu brand, so one can totally see the choice from a strategic, branding point of view. The woodsier background can be explained via the need for something that resonates with the sweeping trend in feminine launches of the past 15 years: something with patchouli notes...

The familiar faint patchouli chord that is indeed pack & parcel of almost every new fragrance launch aimed at the under-45 crowd (and even some aimed above), at least ever since the introduction of Narciso for Her, the pioneer of the "nouveau chypre" fragrances [refer to this for chypre definition & perfume examples], is, astoundingly enough, not exactly patchouli oil. In Miu Miu eau de parfum the note has a hint of pepper and mainly a wood hue, sans the usual dark chocolate facet of natural patchouli essence. In fact the base note (especially on paper, as on skin it is more fleeting) reminds me of older aldehydic florals with green notes, like Lancome's Climat, but very faint. A wink by the perfumer?

We have touched the subject of fractioned essences before, when perfumers take a complex natural structure and extract only the odoriferous molecules they're interested in, tossing the things that give off notes for their particular purpose. For Miu Miu eau de parfum this involved what the producing company, Givaudan, calls "akigalawood" (try saying that 5 times quickly) which is basically a Givaudan trademark (submitted in May 2012 if that's of interest) made in alliance with Soliance.

This is how Boris, a leading biochemist within Givaudan explained it: “The mission of the Ingredients Centre of Excellence in Zurich, Switzerland is to employ enzymes to develop new fragrance ingredients, and it was within this context that the Biosciences team recently created Akigalawood®, where an enzyme known as laccase was used to transform a natural starting material into a new natural and captive perfume compound. Akigalawood® has recently been commercialised in a leading men’s fragrance for the Brazilian market. This novel material has a profile similar to that of patchouli, combined with vibrant spicy aspects of pepper and noble agarwood facets. This enzymatic process, which only requires mild processing with salt and water, is also a far more environmentally friendly way to develop new raw materials for fragrance use.”

Miu Miu eau de parfum seems to be that triumph of new things that don't really feel new. Perfect for the nostalgic brand then with its 60s cat eye makeup and retro hairstyles, but not for the hardcore perfume lover.

The splendid bottle is inspired by the coveted Miu Miu matelassé leather handbags and the odd color combination reminds me a bit of Cacharel Loulou. The model in the campaign is Stacy Martin, shot by Steven Meisel. Song is Lesley Gore's "You Don't Own Me" (recorded in 1964).

There is also a dedicated website to the Miu Miu fragrance.

Shopping info: Exclusive to Neiman Marcus and Bergdorf Goodman from September to December 2015 in the United States. Already available in department store counters and Sephora (where I tested it) in several European countries. Starting from 55€ /£48 /$75 for 30ml/1oz eau de parfum. Ancillary body products also to be available. 

Annick Goutal Duel: fragrance review

Like erotic opponents distancing themselves from each other only to better aim at the heart with a fatal gunshot, the materials in Annick Goutal's fragrance Duel are juxtaposed, yet strangely sharing common ground. One can't shake the impression they'll both live to tell the tale, till a certain point at the very least.

Paraguayan petit grain, a distillate from the leaves and twigs of the citrus aurantia v.amara aka the bitter orange tree [learn about its many raw materials for perfumery here], gives the citrusy top note, Maté absolute provides a leathery undertone; this South American herb has an aroma between black tea and cut hay. The cunning thing is the two notes complement each other rather than oppose one another; the tang of the former provides a welcome suaveness to the pungency of the latter. Maybe they ought to reconcile and with Gallic charm and a gentle shrug of the shoulders decide to share the damsel after all, if she agrees.

The green aura of the combination of the two raw materials, petit grain and maté absolute  (a common facet of both, their "touching back to back" so to speak) provides a summery diversion.
The house's art director, Camille Goutal, daughter of Annick, and perfumer Isabelle Doyen wanted to exploit the green character of mate absolute as well as its leather-scented backdrop into a modern, avant-garde composition that would appeal to those searching for something gentle yet substantial.
Its many facets (hay billowy softness, refreshing hesperidic tanginess, dry austere tobacco-leather) make it graceful and interesting.

Hints of tobacco and iris ground the airier, more fleeting notes in Duel without weighting them down. A prolonged fuzzy softness due to white musk is what makes the fragrance, although featured as a masculine in the Goutal canon, totally wearable by women as well. Like other masculine scents by Goutal, like the little known Eau du Fier, or the helichrysum roasted feel of Sables, Duel can be shared.

Personally I love using this cologne when wearing khakis and white T-shirts, with only sunscreen and mascara on my face, it seems to complement this kind of 'woman on a journalistic mission' rather well ; sort of gives me the energy I need in the heat to feel collected enough to pursue my line of research.

Bottom line: Duel is quite fresh yet oddly sexy; it smells the way Gabriel Garcia Bernal looks.

Available as eau de toilette 100ml at Goutal counters in select boutiques.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: 
Annick Goutal perfume reviews and news
The Leather Fragrance Series
Top 10 Masculine Fragrances
Gender Bender: Masculine Colognes Shared by Women, Feminine Fragrances Worn by Men

The Case for a Good Drag of Smoke: Korres Premium II L'Eau de Parfum

Poor Jon Hamm had to smoke 74 herbal cigarettes in the pilot of Mad Men alone, such is our modern shunning of smoking, even more so on screen, where it's strictly seen as "period work." And yet ... You can do lots of things with a cigarette on hand: gain time, use that sharp intake of smoke as a decisive battle cry, fill that hanging silence of exhaling with something to look into, occupy your hands, offer to light a damsel-in-distress's own cigarette ... smoking has its own language and codes.

Which nicely brings me to our matter at hand. A gorgeous tobacco fragrance for men. Those old-cut ones, like Richard Widmark. Widmark looked quite a bit like my own grandfather, who wore Tabac Original by Mauer & Wirtz; there's poetic justice in the lives of perfumephiles, you see.

via

Thus goes my review of the Premium II L'Eau de Parfum by Greek brand Korres. Issued in late 2014 and among the very good surprises of the beginning of this year, I realize that it's not exactly summer material (though you could wear it, why not), more of a flannel suit and fedora hat affair, yet it beckoned last week when the heatwave made everything smell so very intensely that I was sure I was either smelling fragrances from three blocks away or experiencing a case of phantosmia (sensing phantom smells). Please find my full review of this beautiful tobacco and woods cologne on this link. As always you're welcome to comment either here or there or both.

Guerlain Quand Vient La Pluie & Quand Vient L'Ete: fragrance reviews, notes & bottles history

Approaching Guerlain fragrances has me strained on the brink, like the tailor with his home-made parachute when he was about to jump from the Eiffel tower more than a century ago. Contrary to this proto-pioneer of aviation the apprehension comes not from the chill of the unknown but rather from the gloom of having one’s lust non-quenched. Like that supreme stylist Vladimir Nabokov said, “the look of lust is always gloomy; lust is never quite sure—even when the velvety victim is locked up in one’s dungeon—that some rival or influential god may still not abolish one’s prepared triumph.” Thankfully there are instances where neither rival nor influential god can take away from what one has carefully designed, even when it’s relatively of a recent vintage yet sure in the footing of tradition; and who better than Guerlain to be in that position? The two seasonally named, yet of panseasonal capabilities perfumes, "When the Rain Comes" and "When Summer Comes," prove to be amongst those “vintage” (and I use the term very loosely) Guerlains for whom lust is fully justified.

Guerlain Quand Vient La Pluie via 

Find out on this Fragrantica link why that is. plus how these two meta-vintages smell and how they implicate other famous and less famous Guerlain perfumes, such as L'Heure Bleue, Apres L'Ondee, Terracotta and No.25, before being both contained in the limited edition Les Saisons coffret.

Fragrance notes for Guerlain Quand Vient La Pluie include bergamot, rosemary, neroli, heliotrope, violet, jasmine, amber, gourmand praline notes, patchouli and musk.
The bottle was designed by Serge Mansau

the 1910 original formula (loosely inspiring the latter) Quand Vient L'Ete by Guerlain, in Baccarat quadrilobe bottle (circulating to this day) Pic originally from Ebay via 

a later re-issue of Quand Vient l'Ete in the retro bottles, originally on Ebay via  

Fragrance Notes for Guerlain Quand Vint L'Ete (2007 formula) include:

Top notes are mint, lemon and rose; middle notes are lily, jasmine and ylang-ylang; base notes are carnation, iris and vanilla.

Clinique Aromatics in White: fragrance review

It's easy to get immersed in the White Bear Problem while reading Clinique's laconic message for their newer fragrance Aromatics in White.

 Pretty. Intense.

 What does your mind "read"? Pretty intense, right?

As Dostoevsky wrote in 1863, "Try to pose for yourself this task: not to think of a polar bear, and you will see that the cursed thing will come to mind every minute."

In a way Aromatics in White is both things; both at once, but not one stressing itself upon the other.
It's a quite decent and very contemporary modernization of what has been the Great Dragon of the Clinique stable of thoroughbreds, Aromatics Elixir. The company is of course owned by the Lauder Group and the same IFF perfumers, like the legendary Bernand Chant have worked for both outfits ~the archetype is his handiwork, as is Aramis for men -another Lauder offshoot-, Lauder's own Azuree perfume and Alliage.


The classic Aromatics Elixir, is the scent that half of Athens, Greece, smells of. (The other half smells of car exhaust, lush jasmine vines, roasted coffee and charcoal smoke from diners. It'd make a pretty intense and pretty great perfume; indie perfumers take note!) Its commercial success is uncanny, for decades on end; it can't be just a generational thing, but something much more ingrained in the country and its cultural "chypre" heritage. After all history is a hard subject to shoot down...

Hardcore chypres are nothing if not head-strong, and thus the original is much derided, polarizing its audience; from mad love to "old lady" slurs of disgust, "a dream to some, a nightmare to others!".
The need for what I call "chypres nouveaux" was therefore latent all through the 2000s and the smashing success of Narciso Rodriguez for Her recalibrated what we consider a "modern chypre fragrance". (It's basically a floral woody musky and if you have guessed by now that Aromatics in White is one, you'd be more or less correct).

Consequently the senior Aromatics, with its dynamite rose-n'-patchouli core, had already been lightened with Aromatics Elixir Sheer Velvet Philtre Sensuel (try saying that quickly three times) from 2006 and Aromatics Elixir Perfumer's Reserve from 2011. The arrival of the new edition couldn't skip the sophisticated contemporary style that recently begat things like Si perfume by Armani or La Panthere by Cartier.

"I have always been fascinated with the magic of Aromatics Elixir and its attraction on the skin. I wanted to convey that feeling with a new, modern composition," stated perfumer Nicolas Beaulieu on the occasion of creating Aromatics in White.

Aromatics in White is particularly musky (and I'm glad fellow blogger Persolaise agrees), intensely patcoulisized and quite sweet in a sort of arabesque way, though not quite (no leaden "amber note"). Notice the prolonged, very pleasant powdery-soapy drydown that is simple but not simplistic. Its volume is turned down, yet its impact is keenly felt. And if you think you're not smelling it after a while, lean in cause it keeps itself alive on clothes like crazy.
All of these definitely put Aromatics in White into the contemporary map of worth-whiles (and the fluid, mother-of-pearl like austerity of the bottle is a bonus), but it might never really surpass the Sacred Beast that speaks the Charm of Making. Some things are immortal, even if they're not for everyone.


Fragrance Notes for Clinique Aromatics in White:
Top: Sichuan pepper, violet leaves, labdanum
Heart: rose, orange blossom, patchouli
Base: leather, musk, grey amber, benzoin, vanilla. 

Twin Peaks: Korres Pure Cotton & Prada Infusion d'Iris

Do you associate iris the fragrance note with pure cotton? You should. Today's comparison involves two fragrances which share the same olfactory core in a language that has become Morse code for comfort, effortless elegance and sophisticated grooming.

Back in the 1970s and 1980s the scent of "groomed female" involved some floral aldehydic fragrance with the powerful blanched aspect of something termed White Linen (and we will revert to that) or First by Van Cleef & Arpels (or even Chanel No.5 for the purists), while still topping everything with the garland of sweet ladylike flowers. It probably involved matching ensembles, genuine supple kid skin leather goods and a 18K gold trinity ring by Cartier.
Our Millenial rotation has dispensed with the niceties and the romantic semiotics of flowers (especially since the metrosexual male partook in female ritual) and appreciates the "clean" "dry" feel minus the glamour and the hard cash. Enter the iris and white musk brigade that has been hammering down our collective nose door for a full on decade as the new code for "groomed".

via Korres Instagram

The "cotton" mention is thus explained; the former hot iron on a starched linen shirt coming from aldehydes is now smothered into the downy soft fabric softener feel of irones on freshly laundered cotton sheets (irones form the main constituent in the scent of iris/orris). You can casually stroll any super-market aisle and pick up any product in the body products range or even the laundry detergents/fabric softeners; "cotton" is code for lots of irones and white musks. Case in point? Carrefour's Cotton shower gel, for one.

Infusion d'Iris doesn't smell particularly iris-y. truth be told. That is, it's not the starchy pasta-and-sourdough feel one gets from orris, the dried rhizome "resinous" extraction coming after macerating the roots, even though the perfume's whole marketing standpoint stresses that technique ("infusion" etc. though if you notice, in the "list" of "ingredients" on the packaging iris/orris isn't mentioned). It's a powerfully woody resinous "clean" smelling entity with formidable attributes that do not proclaim their presence.  Benzoin, cedar notes and a hint of incense resin give warmth-coolness contrasts and copious tenacity and I suspect musk does too. This is also what I smell from the Korres Pure Cotton fragrance and the scratchy (but in a good way) lily of the valley aromachemical that signifies "I feel pretty, oh so pretty".

Beyond perfumery tropes, nevertheless, there is a very practical, tangible reason why Perfume Shrine's smell-alike perfumes articles, Twin Peaks, are so popular and this post is one such case. The full effect of the well-established best-seller by Prada comes at the fraction of the price in the newer incarnation by Korres! In fact Korres is probably playing on one of their older eaux de toilette, Iris Lily of the Valley Cotton. 

If you have been following our blog for years, you surely recall our dinosaur-worthy article of how much perfume actually costs. The internet has since erupted on similar breakdowns of cost vs. retail price, but beyond the pure logistics, any dedicated fan will tell you you're paying not for the raw materials but for the expertise, the know how, the tradition, the beautiful aesthetics...in the end for the sheer experience. (And that's why if you haven't read The Aesthetic Principle you really should). Price is irrelevant if you truly love what you get.

from the Wallpaper "Clean Slate" editorial featuring Korres products, via Korres Instagram

And yet, how do you explain two perfumes that are so close in scent that opting for one when having your eyes closed wouldn't produce a micro-grimace (lips falling down on one side, eyes rolling up) of distrustful apprehension?  Of course lots of other brands and companies have cottoned on (can't help the pun) to the success of the Prada Infusion d'Iris, not least Prada itself (mainly with their Infusion d'Homme). Chanel for one seems to have revitalized the No.19 perfume stable with Chanel No.19 Poudre, a scent which smells more like something from Prada (a soap devised by Prada) than traditional Chanel (a soap referencing Chanel)...and feel free to call me reductionist if you like, since I'm sorta sacrilegiously "reducing" both to soap. (Though soap is hard business to get right). And I'm coming round to the beginning of my parsing treatise; it's probably Dove and their classic soap scent which has inspired this whole genre. Something fluffy, soft, powdery and full of irones, lily of the valley, orange flower and white musks.

Fragrantica categorizes Korres Pure Cotton (part of the newly launched Eau de Cologne range) into the "aromatic spicy" fragrances and gives (the official) notes of mandarin orange (on top), iris (in the heart) and amber (in the base). It is an eau de cologne edition in a biggish bottle in the familiar elegant Korres aesthetics with a matte black rubber spraying mechanism. It smells and performs exactly the same as Prada's original Infusion d'Iris eau de parfum. Perfumephiles on a budget, rejoice!

Acqua di Parma Ginepro di Sardegna: Growing Icicles ~fragrance review

If the popular ice princess Elsa from Disney's Frozen had a scent, Ginepro di Sardegna by Acqua di Parma would be it; the spontaneous eruption of icicles and snow flakes that come whirling at the flick of her hand is within the fragrance's intentional scope. There is one scene in the movie in particular that perfectly evokes for me the feel of the Ginepro scent: the other main character, Anna, alongside a comic snowman and the friend-who-will-dawn-as-boyfriend-material-in-the end (surely a time honored trope) enter a forest where ice curtains of icicles hanging from the tree branches tinkle in the frosty air like piano glissandos.

pic via

This goosebumps producing, intensely fresh yet at once highly spicy fragrance from Acqua di Parma feels like a slice of Iceland in the midst of a heatwave when wearing even a chiffon top over tap pants feels like too much. Perfect for the southern summers, then! The unisex fragrance is part of the mostly fabulous Blu Mediterraneo line which includes the unusual Mirto di Panarea, a personal favorite, as well as the ultra popular Mandorlo di Sicilia,  the light-hearted Arancia di Capri and the nicely introverted woody scent Fico di Amalfi.
Ginepro di Saregna (Juniper of Sardinia) recalls the now discontinued Cipresso di Toscana from the same line and no wonder since its basic aromatic "note", juniper belongs to the family of cypresses, trees traditionally tied to the Mediterranean paysage, part of which is the isle of Sardinia/Sardegna. I'm not sure if this was a move to satisfy the lost customers of Cipresso or a plea to new ones who are attracted by new, new, new.

Ginepro di Sardegna is immersed in the vigorous gin & tonic feel of juniper berries, bitter aromatic and  tingling on the tongue, coupled with the eerily cooling feel of peppery spiciness. The peppery effect is not unlike the one in Poivre Samarcande (in the Hermessences collection by Hermes) so I'm hypothesizing that the effects of a clever use of Iso-E Super perfume ingredient are harnessed for all their worth, especially since cedar is the main woody note to underscore the composition. The after-feel is quite powdery, a soft, dry talc impression (I suspect white musk).
Further than a mere parsing of smells nevertheless Ginepro di Sardegna feels the way a Brâncuși looks, seamless and polished. Not entirely novel, one might argue, but pleasing all the same.

It's perfect for a seaside holiday under the scorching sun, the same as it's perfect on a gray winter day when you look forward to the snowflakes.

Lovers of Angeliques sous la Pluie by Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle, Navegar by L'Artisan Parfumeur, Poivre Samarcande, Bang by Marc Jacobs, Juniper Sling by Penhaligon's and Piper Negrum by Lorenzo Villorezi should give Ginepro di Sardegna a try. More traditionally masculine feeling than feminine (apart from that powdery touch at the end), but who really pays attention when the back of your throat almost closes by the, welcome, dry frost?

Fragrance notes for Ginepro di Sardegna by Acqua di Parma:
Top: juniper berries, bergamot, black pepper, allspice, nutmeg
Heart: sage, cypress
Base: Virginia cedarwood

Interestingly the strength of Acqua di Parma is that although it was bought by LVMH as an existing company (and we all know what that means for historical houses) the basic core was developed post hoc and therefore great attention to detail and clever marketing paid off instead of backfiring. Bravo!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine:
Cool silken fragrances: Like Snowcapped Trees in the Ringing Winter Air
White Noise Fragrances
Acqua di Parma fragrance reviews & news

Neela Vermeire Creations Pichola: fragrance review

The impressionistic school of perfumery seldom fails to fall victim of one or two cardinal sins. Either it won't replicate the received impression we, the audience, have of a particular referent (perversely enough there seems to be a collective "idea" of how particular places & things smell like), resulting in  confusion, despite adhering to the definition of the artistic term. Or the clarity of structure will be subordinate to the "harmonic" effects resulting in something that "falls apart on the blotter", as perfumers say. Not so with Pichola, the latest fragrance launch by the cult favorite niche fragrance brand Neela Vermeire Creations, overseen by a true perfumephile, its founder and guiding force, i.e. Neela, and composed by the steady hand of independent perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour.

Rie Rasmussen, Vogue UK December 2005, photographed by Norbert Schroeder via

Pichola was inspired by Lake Pichola in India, since the canon of Neela Vermeire Creations draw inspiration from the peninsula. But fear not, ye armchair traveler of little faith in your abilities of envisioning vast expanses of water with flowing flowers. Much as Pichola draws elements from the impressive scenery it is not a carte postale style of fragrance for Americans in need of issuing a passport. As Carson McCullers put it "We are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most of the places we have never known..."

Pichola is not a travel "selfie". This shape shifter of a fragrance has backbone, finesse and above all the charm that makes a fragrance go beyond the mere pretty into addictive.

It impressed me in that I have tried the scent three times and Pichola performed differently on ALL three occasions, which hasn't really happened before. You can blame it on Rio, I guess, but I did find that the temperature of my skin brought to the surface different elements.  The first time Pichola by Neela Vermeire projected as an intensely white floral with a cleaned up jasmine and orange blossom, plus a budding gardenia note. It gave me a nod of Pure Poison, to be honest, which was impressive since that one is a very loud (albeit beautiful perfume) and not  Bertrand Duchaufour's "style" (who is more subdued and much less obvious).
On the second testing Pichola was much milkier white floral and had a green-husks velvety touch floating about, like coconut and fig leaf (stemone, massoia lactone, something along those two lines) which did remind me of Duchaufour and his masterful translation of earthy tones and woody notes, such as in L'Artisan's Timbuktu. Third time it was distinctly orange blossom and lush, scrumptious but not really indolic tuberose, plus a sandalwood milkiness chased by a huge clean musk note.

This creature purred...and I purred with delight over it.


Fragrance Notes for Neela Vermeire Creations Pichola:
Top Notes
Neroli, Clementine, Bergamot, Cardamom, Cinnamon, Saffron, Juniper, Magnolia
Heart Notes
Orange blossom, Rose, Tuberose, Jasmine sambac, Ylang ylang
Base notes
Haitian vetiver, Benzoin, Sandalwood , Driftwood

Related reading on Perfume Shrine:
Neela Vermeire Fragrance Reviews & News: Trayee, Mohur, Bombay Bling
"Creamy" fragrances: scents of rich clotted cream 
Indolic vs. Non Indolic: White Florals of Passion
The Jasmine Series: Perfumes highlighting the King of Flowers

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

Histoires de Parfums Petroleum (Edition Rare): fragrance review

All the colors of a bruise: black and blue, teal green edging out in purple, fading to rosy, ending in ochre yellow like ancient parchment.

The electrical buzz of arc-welding, fiery orange sparks filling out the skies, the rusty mine of the shipwreck. The air filled with a mineral, scorched feel. The plank-plank of cork wedges hitting the iron ore at the loading decks.

A leather cloth, all smeared with wax. The musty smell of the hold of an old ship. He had his hair loose and oily with sweat and ambery brilliantine. My hand aching from trying to hold tight onto the lower mast. I said "I'm hurt". He should have said, "honey, let me heal it", like Bruce. Only he never said it; not in so many words.

John Klingel

Petroleum by Histoires de Parfums is Gerald Ghislain's story on oudh, the prophylactic defensive rot on Aquillaria trees and its resinous, nutty, woody, complex scent. Infused with fizzy orange, musty patchouli and a prolonged furry, white musk aftertaste, lasting hours, purring after the roar, Petroleum is the gift of the earth in an unassuming bottle. This oudh étude surpasses many others, in a masterful cadenza of chromatic tonalities: from black and blue, teal green edging out in purple, fading to rosy, ending in ochre yellow like ancient parchment. The chromatics in a drop of "liquid gold", in an old bruise that still aches when pressed.

Aedes de Venustas Copal Azur: fragrance review & samples giveaway

How can a strictly indoors smell, that of burning incense, so tied to wooden pegs and tight clusters of people, gain an outdoorsy veneer? The French perfume school has long thrived on the exploration of indoor scents; from the culinary scents of hot butter, peachy and plummy compotes and pain d'épices fused into classic chypres and orientals, to the introspective scents of the church and the literary salon, full of incense, beeswax and the scent of the paper-knife between paper leaves, the ink that dots the pages... These reflect the traditions that have built France's reputation as the seat of good food and decent banter. But the great outdoors, a less Parisian perhaps, yet not entirely distant destination, was left uncharted right till the bucolic greeneries introduced with Vent Vert and the athletic agility of the 1990s marines. And then the outdoors came sweeping one day, sailing on.

Copal Azur by Aedes de Venustas & Bertrand Duchaufour isn't strictly a ....but.click to read my full review on Fragrantica grabbing a nice fluffy mohair blanket and a chocolate bar.
And enter a comment to be eligible for one of the 5 samples I'm giving away. Draw is open internationally till Sunday 23rd noon.

Hermes Hermessence Cuir d'Ange (2014): fragrance review

 The sum of its constellations is not one and the same as the Milky Way, and likewise holding an exquisite map is not one and the same as knowing the whole world. My exploration of Hermès Cuir d'Ange, the latest Hermessence creation by master perfumer Jean Claude Ellena, serves yet another subtle reminder to such empiricism.

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

Yes, I have been playing with Cuir d'Ange for a week now, complete with my Hermès leather notebook, leather bracelet and the latest Le Monde d’Hermès magazine. But the story goes back further.

Photo “Hermès, 2014” by AlbertCAN, all rights reserved

More than after a decade of charting Ellena’s tenure at Hermès one would think Cuir d'Ange serves as an inevitable arc to his craft―our Elena’s initial thought on this creation is worth repeating here:

In Jean le Bleu, Jean Giono, perfumer Jean Claude Ellena's favorite author, describes the father of the narrator as "a cobbler who makes soles in angel leather". Angel leather, cuir d'ange… the newest in the Hermessences, (those are boutique exclusive fragrances by Hermès) is recalling the passage which served for the inspiration for another perfume by Hermes back in 2007, Kelly Calèche. Indeed "cuir d'ange" was the VERY expression Ellena used when promoting Kelly Calèche. And Giono had a prominent position anyway in the presentation of Cuir d'Ange to our world of journalism as pretty young men and women actors read passages from his opus in le jardin de Paraïs at Giono's house at Manosque…

There, such marvellous consistency in story telling, la clarté de l'image. Taking this notion to its logical conclusion reviewing Cuir d’Ange can be the gentlest curation for any capable fragrance writer. And indeed during the research phase of this review yours truly had it all deftly mapped out, starting with Monsieur Ellena’s initial visit to the fabled Hermès leather vault, his surprising discovery that the scent of finest leather is laced with an infusion of delicate florals. Segue into a review of the original Kelly Calèche eau de parfum, reflection of iris, violet, mimosa into leather; perhaps a comparison with my initial thoughts on the ephemeral parfum variation. Cue Cuir d’Ange, perhaps the requisite list of fragrance notes here, perhaps an impression of Jean Giono’s poetic prose there, punctuating with generous quotations from Ellena’s books. Respectfully faithful, diplomatically articulate, effortlessly pleasurable to write. One delicate problem: I could convincingly review Cuir d’Ange this way without needing to sample the scent first.

Learning so much about the aesthetics in this case one runs the danger of pondering the aesthetic experience without having an olfactory experience firsthand. Curating beautifully detailed maps in lieu of an actual exploration, if you will.

I am by no means to suggest Ellena’s paradigm, so singularly well thought out and elegant, as anything else but commendable. The master perfumer has left an indelible mark in industry with his verve, flair and panache. Nor am I wishing the Hermès communication process to be any different: the authenticity of its communication here is incredible. With this being it’s the fundamental duty of any respectable fragrance writer to compose an equally genuine and independent reflection upon reviewing any scent.

Thus to me, upon hearing so much of Ellena’s thoughts on the concept of angel leather, it’s absolutely paramount to do Cuir d’Ange justice when sampling the latest Hermessence. Assumption cannot be made that this leather fragrance is the re-edification of the Kelly Calèche base. And long and behold those two are not the same.

The most marked characteristic of Hermessence Cuir d’Ange to me is the absence of the traditional top notes. Whereas Kelly Calèche opens with grapefruit and mango, Hermessence Cuir d’Ange opens with a halo. Yes, a nimbus: There no other way to describe the creamy roundness of white musks―most notably of Ambrettolide to me―and the unmistakable depth of Ambrox. Yet Ellena deftly cues in the leather, along with its Hermès floral nuance: Violet, narcissus, hawthorn all contribute to the hologram, with a delicate depth of powder from the violet, tobacco sheen the narcissus, and honeyed sweetness the hawthorn. There’s heliotrope at its depth, too, yet more noticeable as the leather develops. Kelly Calèche, in comparison, is more floral, as climbing rose and tuberose are definitely not present in Cuir d’Ange; the vegetal verdancy of green tea and iris, too, is all just Kelly Calèche. Hermessence Cuir d’Ange, in comparison, stays ho-hum in its billowy glow; while the aura is delicate, round and soft, there isn’t a distinct leap of notes in its scent progression. In fact all things considered Hermessence Cuir d’Ange doesn’t fit into any traditional olfactory pyramidal structure, lacking the top-middle-base counterpoints (the opening musks persist even during the drydown). Now during the time of master perfumer Edmond Roudnitska such compositions would be considered more as a perfumery base, yet a light bulb went off in my head upon sampling Cuir d’Ange.

As a Hermès client who has frequented the boutiques for 12 years (and counting) I can confidently ring the affirmative: Hermessence Cuir d’Ange is truly an olfactory reincarnation of the Hermès leather, period. Even the re-emphasis of flower into leather isn’t co-incidental, as the 2014 global theme of Hermès is “Metamorphasis”, as witnessed by the venerable brand’s print communications.

Now while many would place Bandit and Knize Ten as the touchstone of the classic leather genre, namely the isobutyl quinoline school, or Chanel Cuir de Russie the rectified birch tar school, Hermessence Cuir d’Ange is unapologetically a whisper in comparison—yet that’s not the point altogether. Ellena has been dreaming of a leather Hermessence fragrance even since his 2004 appointment as the master perfumer of Hermès, and I would argue that his ten years is reflected in Cuir d’Ange: part Jour d’Hermès radiance, part sparseness of Voyage d’Hermès . In fact if I am allowed to widen the scope of this discussion I would even say that this is a re-interpretation of the fundamental idea Ellena explored in L'Eau d'Hiver Frederic Malle, namely the modernization the halo effect found in Guerlain Après L'Ondée (1906) but without the Baroque frills: In the Malle hay absolute is paired with Aubepine (foundation of hawthorn) and Heliotropin (of heliotrope) instead. Yet the same idea of roundness in shaping.Which is to say the same Ellena caveats are still decidedly present: Ellena is still not here to persuade you about, well, anything. Hermessence Cuir d’Ange glows close to the skin—in fact I’m wearing 5 generous sprays (including a spray to my clothes) in order to ensure a long-lasting halo. And similar to the other Hermessence fragrances Cuir d’Ange I find modifies once on the skin. Osmanthe Yunnan and Iris Ukiyoé sing exceptionally well on me, whereas Vanille Galante and Rose Ikebana decidedly not. I’m giving Cuir d’Ange some more time to rest on my skin as the result.

Verdict: Luminous, deftly crafted, a fantastic addition to the Hermessence collection. Best to test it thoughtfully on you before committing to it.

Photos, from top: “Hermès, 2014” by AlbertCAN, all rights reserved; Hermessence Cuir d'Ange; Hermès Fall/Winter 2014/2015 campaigns.

Providence Perfume Co Ivy Tower: fragrance review

"Wow, this smells like…I've never smells anything like this" or "This doesn't smell like Dolce & Gabban's Light Blue. What do you have that smells like what I usually wear?"are a couple of the whispered comments of customers at the brick & mortar store of Providence Perfume Co, at Providence, RI 02903. I have recently written on the Aesthetic Principle which, like the pleasure principle, should, I believe, lead our choices on fragrances in an increasingly rationed world. And thus I find it pertinent that my review of Ivy Tower should follow it. Here is a green floral that is beautiful, delicate, different and missing the "herbal" component of some all naturals, which to echo its perfumer "doesn't smell like Light Blue and I'm OK with that."

via

Green fragrances are a difficult bunch to render in all natural essences, mainly because the green-smelling materials fall into two groups which each possesses one stumbling block: the natural elements, such as galbanum resin, are either very hard to dose in a composition of all naturals without overpowering the blend (Chanel No.19 and Jacomo Silences are not  perfumes for wussies!) or else are so subtle that they vanish quickly, such as the cucumber-tea note of mimosa blossom.; the more convincing synthetic materials such as cis-3 hexenol with its cut-grass feeling, Ligustral (snapped leaves) and Lilial with its green lily of the valley aura are of course off grounds for a natural perfumer.

Chanel No.19 Poudre tried to reconcile the green monster with the emerald-hued polished nails with the grassy rolling waif in gauzy whites and it presents a modern "temperate" effort that is valiant, if a bit tamed, for the lovers of the original Chanel icon that inspired it. I don't recall many other contemporary fragrances in the delicate greens genre that truly made it (A Scent by Issey Miyake though quite good never met with the success it deserved, Bvlgari's Omnia Green Jade is sorta too tame for its own good), excluding the niche scene for obvious reasons.

So Charna Ethier exhibits skill in rendering a rustic rained upon scene from somewhere north; like a secluded private garden in York, in North Yorkshire, I had once visited, all rainy soaked paths and ivy climbing on stone-walls retaining the rain drops and reflecting them like giant water bubbles that make your bones chill a bit even in the dead of summer. The fragrance of Ivy Tower like those bubbles takes on shades of green, blue, and gentle lilac, depending on where it hits on a warm, blood-pulsing vein and hovers there for a while in the confluence of watery sprites and drowning Ophelias. Eventually it takes on a more customary jasmine, lilies and woodsy notes path, but the journey up to there is dreamy enough to make a heart melt a bit.

Ivy Tower  (green) is part of a new collection of natural perfume oils by all naturals perfumer Charna Ethier of Providence Perfume Co, whose Samarinda has been reviewed on these pages before. The rest of the collection includes Rose 802 (pink), Orange Blossom Honey (orange), Summer Yuzu(yellow), Sweet Jasmine Brown (blue) and Violet Beauregarde (violet). The oils are color coded, which is supremely practical when sampling. The choice of an oil format (admittedly not one of my strong suits as I usually like the abundance effect that an alcohol based format allows) stems from the customer base: people blending essences at Providence's popular perfume bar, citing a desire for portability and longevity. 

The given notes for Ivy Tower by Providence Perfume Co are: jonquil, mimosa, geranium, jasmine, narcissus, blue tansy, lily, sandalwood. Info and purchase at www.providenceperfume.com

In the interests of disclosure I was sent a sample by the perfumer for reviewing purposes. 

Aftelier Perfume Palimpsest: fragrance review

I recall a particularly tough professor back in my University days demanded such hard-to-crack questions that one way to bypass embarrassment and speech impediments during the ordeal of the oral examination was to begin by defining what a thing wasn't supposed to be, the latter part of the definition implied to be known to both partners in the discussion at least.  Example: "Kintsugi has absolutely no relation to ikebana."  [ed.note all right, all right, apart from both being Japanese concepts, I mean].  This kind of "definition by negation" is sometimes useful to the fragrance writer because perfume descriptions are so very hard to do justice to in the first place. Palimpsest is one such case, not only because it has an indefinable quality of pure exquisiteness, but also because it is perfumer Mandy Aftel's very best.

Zil Hoque; Oil, 2009, "Palimpsest I"  via (recalling the horse in Salvador Dali's Tempation of St.Anthony) 

I can begin by saying that Aftelier Palimpsest is nothing like you'd expect an all naturals perfume to smell like; although I'm fond of the raw energy of some all naturals, there is a certain medicinal or vegetal quality that sometimes comes a bit too forcefully at first, which is probably the reason there is so much hesitation among perfume enthusiasts regarding this branch of perfumery art. One of the reasons for avoiding that might be that Mandy is using natural isolates for the first time in such a context, such as gamma dodecalactone (peachy, apricot-y) and phenylacetic acid (a honeyed note). They play out beautifully.
Another thing that I could negate is the official definition of a "fruity floral". Yes, the ripe peachiness is not unknown among fruity floral perfumes, but it's as far removed from the typical Barbie wannabe on the Sephora counter as could possibly be. With a name like Palimpsest I suppose one would expect it to deviate far and wide!

Palimpsest is a word I first came by when I was 15 and reading The Name of the Rose, the famous novel by Umberto Eco, "a palimpsest" as the author  introduced it. The cunning of the narrative technique relied on making the narrator retell a story that is based on an even earlier narration, lifted from an older manuscript and with extensive quotations from other books often in their turn referencing even older books. As Eco maintains throughout his opus in an intertextual turn of mind "books talk about other books" which is true enough in my, lesser than his, experience. All the tales are being woven into a "palimpsest", the old parchment scroll that bears writing over former writing that had been carefully scratched off to make room for new but is still vaguely visible beneath. In a similar manner perfumes talk about other perfumes and intertextuality in scent is a wonderful dialogue that I had occupied myself with breaking down a bit in the past.

via

Aftelier Palimpsest is one such perfume, taking inspirations from several points of departure and offering something new and coherent, recapitulating the history of perfumery, a given since it sprang from the research Aftel did for her book "Fragrant" out this October (you can order it on discount on this link), but being contemporary all the same! Midnight in the Garden of Eden; honeyed streams of lush florals (jasmine grandiflorum) with a sensuous and mysterious Lilith undercurrent of what I perceive as ambergris (a refined animalic perfume note), speak of a layered tapestry where one is hard pressed to see where one golden thread ends and another, in a slightly different hue, begins.

As Gaia, The Non Blonde, notes in her excellent review on the origins of the inspiration for Palimpsest:

"The gum of the Australian firetree (also known as Christmas tree), or by its official name, Nuytsia floribunda, is sweet and eaten raw by the ingenious people of Western Australia. It's not a common ingredient in perfumery (the only other one I know of was the limited edition Fire Tree by Australian brand Nomad Two Worlds, and I had a hard time warming up to its rawness). I never smelled the firetree as a raw ingredient, so it's hard for me to tell how much of what I smell in Palimpsest comes from it and what is pure imagination. But fantasy is a big part of the perfume joy, isn't it?"

My palette of raw materials, though rather extensive, is similarly limited in regards to this particular essence, so any opinion I might proffer on the adherence to the natural facets of the material would be illusory and misleading. Mandy herself mentions that firetree has rose and lilac facets with a milky undertone that the longer it develops the more it reveals smoky, oud-like, leathery tones. Talk about a multi-tasker! "It possesses an unearthly beauty which, ironically, arises from the soil", says fragrance connoisseur and fairy godmother to indies Ida Meister.
What I can say with certainty myself is that the golden incandescence of Aftelier Palimpsest has to be experienced first hand and quickly at that.

Aftelier Palimpsest comes as an eau de parfum (full bottle costs $170) and an extrait de parfum (same price). Samples of either retail at $6, while a mini of the pure parfum will set you back $50 on aftelier.com.

In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample vial directly by the perfumer for reviewing purposes.