“Virtuosity,” star perfumer Jean Claude Ellena says “is a form of seduction.” In the latestHermessence, Santal Massoïa, virtuoso Jean-Claude Ellena is quoted as wanting to evoke "what is beneath the air" in an Indonesian forest, and to that end he interweaved an airy fig note amongst the woody ones: fresh rather than creamy, with his trademark space between the notes casting rays of welcome luminescence amidst the dense forestry. Santal Massoia is a luxuriant fresh woody for those of us who appreciate the understated luxury of opting for one piece of jewelry over two; one lump of brown sugar in our tea instead of heaps of caramel corn syrup; and an original art work by an unknown painter, who moonlights as a newspaper illustrator, rather than reproductions of Monet's celebrated oeuvres on our walls. As Mr. Ellena points out in his book "Perfume, the Alchemy of Scent", any perfume is only “a succession of olfactory moments” after all. And living from moment to moment is a small proof of happiness, isn't it?
Hermès Santal Massoïa is such a succession. It opens with a greenish impression of fig skin and leaves, a footnote taken from Hermès Un Jardin en Meditaranée, but at the same time tinged with the unmistakeable scents of sandalwood and coconut, milky notes that combine to create a soft-focus effect like Sarah Moon photography. His green-creamy accord of stemone and octolactone gamma is among his signatures. The coconut note is subtle, watery, not very sweet, more reminiscent of coconut milk or a milk pudding. The wood dries that soft way, not fatty or especially fruity, and do I smell a hint of woody vetiver? I believe so. It doesn't change much beneath those two phases, much as most of the fragrances in the Hermessences boutique line; these are impressionist scents, with no pretense of going for the dense composition of Velázquez's The Surrender of Breda.
Massoia bark of Cryptocaria massoia gives an alkyl lactone (lactones are milky-smelling substances) which would naturally provide the lactic element of natural sandalwood. Massoia lactone (possessing a coconut-like, green and creamy scent) interestingly can also be found in molasses, cured tobacco and the essential oil of osmanthus fragrans. The material has facets of dried fruit and dulce de leche, which would lend themselves to a Lutensian opus easily. It's an unusual material to be sure and one which is not especially used in perfumery. The latest IFRA restrictions in fact target it, which is why perfumers have to resort to fractioned versions that result in a pure material with no risks.
Sandalwood on the other hand is a perennial classic: There are many established sandalwood fragrances in the market, from the mink-stole old-world plush of Bois des Iles by Chanel with its sparkling overlay of aldehydes (especially delightful in vintage extrait de parfum) to the classic woody bonanza of Tam Dao (aerated and creamy at the same time), all the way through the subtlety of Etro's Etra or the gingerbread complexity and heft of Jungle L'Éléphante (Kenzo). Sandalwood is making a come-back (did it ever go away?), with the challenge of coming up with a reputable & sustainable source of the material (the Mysore region in India is protected since the species is on an endangered list) or a composition of a base that imitates it satisfactorily. Recently Le Labo Santal 33 proposed a butch rendition highlighting the Australian variety of sandalwood (which is different than the creamier Mysore sandalwood) with a passing hint of coconut, while Tom Ford offers his own delicious, smooth cumin-laced Santal Blush in his Privé line of upscale fragrances, while Wonderwood by Comme des Garcons is another one. Hermès Santal Massoïa offers a new, admittedly luxe and subtle version of the prized wood which is mysterious and retains a refined freshness at all times; as with everything Jean Claude Ellena there is no hint of "notes lourdes" (fatty notes). This streamlined composition is not meant to be a diet sandalwood, but an elegant gouache that can remain contemporary, fresh and natural-feeling. Much like Iris Ukiyoe, it's a poetic formula. No one who follows the sensibilities of Jean Claude ~and I'm one of them~ expects a tooth-aching diabetes-coma-inducing dessert from him, nor a cheap "tropical" with that trademark sickening coconut note which obliterates everything within a 4 feet radius. In that regard, the man is consistent.
Hermès Santal Massoïa will therefore satisfy lovers of sophisticated, green woody fragrances, while it might seem too refined (or too sparse or possibly too green) for those who prefer their wood fragrances heftier, more calorific and direct-aiming. Personally I find Santal Massoïa luxuriant and quietly sexy, a radiant composition perceived by people around that lasts well on me (five hours and counting, someplace between Vétiver Tonka and Ambre Narguilé) and totally unisex. In fact it would be totally delicious on a man, a welcome break from "aromatic" woodies that make everyone smell the same.
According to Jean Claude himself (via joyce.fr): « Il est des bois verticaux et linéaires comme le cèdre, et d’autres horizontaux, ronds, souples et veloutés tels que le bois de santal et le massoïa. De cet entendement j’ai composé ce parfum de bois lactés, énigmatiques, invitant et distant, aux odeurs âpres et étranges de résine et de fruits secs, et familières de confiture de lait et de fleurs. Ca ne ressemble à rien d’autre et pourtant on est prêt à l’accepter. J’aime cette ambigüité, ce paradoxe ».
Hermès Santal Massoia includes notes of sandalwood, massoia bark, and coconut. It is set to be available at Hermès boutiques around the world from November 11th 2011.
Home-toasted cashews and hazelnuts, enrobed with a mixture of dulche de leche that contained salt and tahini paste, is part of the treats that my Kappadokian grandmother used to prepare on cool autumn evenings for us kids to consume while doing our homework and it is this memory which was jogged upon first smelling Parfumerie Générale's Praliné de Santal.
Parfumerie Générale Praliné de Santalfollows a parallel life with Jeux de Peau by Serge Lutens in its caramelised overtone due to pyrazines, aroma materials with sugared maple and phenolic nuances, and its étude on sandalwood. Whereas Lutens went with his childhood memories of toasted bread and the yeast of kneading, Pierre Guillaume went with toasted nuts with a coating of caramel & salt.
Both focus on the "creaminess" (i.e.the sweet, milk-ish quality) of natural sandalwood, though one puts it in a buttered context, the other in a nuts context.
It all depends on the kind of tooth you harbor!
On this occasion, the effect rendered is extremely nutty at first (if Bois Farine by L'Artisan Parfumeur instantly reminds you of peanuts you know full well what I mean); but it mellows into a richly satisfying woody accord on drydown. I'm not sure whether I would be more impressed with the originality of the scent, had I not came into contact with the idea in the Lutens fragrance first. It certainly has an elective affinity.
Roasted hazelnuts & peanuts greet us on the opening of Praliné de Santal (lasting for a good 10 minutes on my skin), a combination of savoury and sweet, before the scent falls into an unctuous billowy note of powdery, rich woods and the soothing, smooth silkiness of Cashmeran (an aromachemical which gives an intimate, close to the skin scent, between worn clothes and suede). In the interim there are soft, powdery hints emerging (referenced as heliotrope in the press material, but really more like powdered white chocolate and fluffy, airy vanilla), without diverging from the main gourmand-woody-oriental character of the perfume. In this regard it recalls Etat Libre d'Orange Archives 69, with its easily approachable ambience of spicy woods and distantly (but in the same mood) the satisfying tobacco-softness of Guerlain's Tonka Imperiale.
Pierre Guillaume, perfumer and founder of the niche brand of fragrances, is consistent in his exploration of soft, gourmand orientals; his are refined desserts that withhold some of the sugar expected from the genre, exploring the more resinous or woodier aspects for backing up the respective central theme. Praliné de Santal lacks a certain dynamic after the initial fall into the creamy woods, belying its sharp development of the first few minutes. It's actually sandalwood and Cashmeran which are the remaining notes on the skin after Praliné de Santal has completely "dried down" at the 2-hour wear application mark; a skin scent of delicious aftertaste; sensuous, delectable, maybe having you hankering for going beyond.
Parfumerie Générale Praliné de Santal is a limited availability scent within the line, available in 50ml/1.7oz for 88euros and 100ml/3.3oz for 120 euros on the PG site.
Butternut Squash, Sage, and Goat Cheese Ravioli with Hazlenut-Brown Butter Sauce via gourmetproject.ca
"None but the Mali Mountains contain Sandalwood" is written in an ancient Buddhist scripture. We know this is not the case, but the essence produced by Santalum album (a member of the Santalaceae family) has captured the imagination of man for 4000 years. Sandalwoodis the natural product par excellence: a scent so fine, so rich and yet with a fresh top note, so creamy sweet and so enduring that it has inspired generations of men and women to harvest its precious, sacred trunk in order to imbue products for personal and public use with its fine aroma. I vividly remember the sandalwood soaps I received as a gift when an impressionable teenager by a well travelled, older cousin: the creamy, woody, incense-y ambience was irresistible, to the point that a bar was tucked intact in my drawer of small tops to produce a spontaneous "aaah" of rediscovery each time it was pulled out.
Japanese temple incense is most often infused with the aroma of sandalwood in tandem with agarwood. Indian incense often is nothing but. From soap to shaving cream and from essence oil to fine fragrances, sandalwood is one of the most traditional and yet still popular "notes" in all of perfumery.
As I bathe my skin with real Mysore sandalwood soap, stockpiled a while ago as mentioned, I can very well see why: the suds retain a smell that is beautifully nuanced, clean yet rich, midway between masculine and feminine, with a beautiful lingering effect of polished creaminess on silky pyjamas and dressing gowns.
The productionof sandalwood essence
It is a time consuming process and depends on the maturity of the trees, the length of distillation time and the experience of the person distilling. Most time-honoured method of extraction of sandalwood oil has been hydro-distillation, lately phazed out by steam distillation and CO2 extraction (which is more realistic to the raw material of the wood, due to the reduction in heat processing)
The endangerement of natural Indian sandalwood
Especially in the famous Mysore region of Karnataca and of Tamil Nadu where they're protected by state law, even as early as the 1980s, the depletion of the trees due to over-harvesting has had several adverse effects:
1) sandalwood oil is one of the most-often adulterated essential oils;
2) the cost of sandalwood oil is rising dramatically (about 25% per year);
3) due to the value of sandalwood oil, the trees are being illegally cut, leading to the waste of this precious resource as trees that are too young are cut, or trees are cut but the roots are left to rot (the roots are the most valuable part of the tree from which to extract the oil). Additionally, this illegal poaching has lead to several murders of forestry officials and other crimes indicative of the black market;
4) the resource is becoming scarce. The current production of sandalwood trees is not enough to meet the demand of consumers. The trees are difficult to propagate and must grow for at least 30 years to become suitable for harvesting. The forestry departments in India are regulating the amount of material that is cut and sold, but there are many demands for other use of the land – for example, cattle grazing, the need for wood to keep people employed, etc. [1]
This situation has required the gradual substitution of this precious ingredient in fine fragrance with synthetic varieties (gradually and to the rhythm of depletion of any given brand's inventory of raw materials), such as isobornyl cyclohexanol. Some of them are quite costly in themselves and beautiful to smell, as evidenced below, possessing some of the beloved "creamy", milky facets of natural sandalwood. From a technical standpoint the natural consistutents of sandalwood comprise terpenes, terpenols and terpenals, i.e.terpenoid alcohols.
Sandalwood-Smelling Synthetic Ingredients
Several sandalwood synthetics nowadays comprise part of a perfumer's palette for both their technical merits (they are capsule forms of the effect of an otherwise very dense and demanding essence that is amazingly complex in nature), as well as for their isolated facets that boost one aesthetic choice over others, according to said perfumer's mood. Sometimes they can even co-exist as in the case of Guerlain's Samsara, the beautiful balance of natural and synthetic in one.
Among those synthetic sandalwood notes, Polysantol, a former Firmenich trademark, is quite popular thanks to its intense diffusion and realistic replication. Otherwise known as santol pentenol due to its structure it enters many a fragrance composition imparting herbal and almost tropical nuances with an animalic touch. Beta santalol or technically (-)-(1'S,2'R,4'R)-(Z)-beta-santalol (interestingly its positive entaniomer is odourless) is also a nature identical typical sandalwood note. It's the reverse case for the enantiomers of alpha Photosantol, the positive being strong and diffusive, the negative weak. Process producing sandalwood organoleptic substances from camphogenic aldehydes produce the prized Firsantol, another Firmenich trademark and a favourite with perfumer and writer Arcadi Boix Camps. Levosandol by Takasago introduces a sharper, more austere cedar note within the creamy sandalwood impression picture. Ebanol [(1S,2'S,3'R)-Ebanol], a Givaudan trademark, on the other hand is noted for its potency. Symrise proposes its Fleursandol which has a very strong, animalic-laced sandalwood note with floral elements surfacing. Other sandalwood substitutes present various unexpected facets, from the very clean with phenolic/guaiac notes on top and cashmeran notes at the finish like some enantiomers of HomoPolysantol to the waxy, leathery of other enantiomers of the same ingredient. The quest for sandalwood substitutes is under way as we speak with several patents from Japanese companies under way and is only going to accelarate in the coming years, despite the illegal poaching in Mysore of immature trees or the import of sandalwood from other regions of the Far East.
A recent addition is a synth blend smelling of sandalwood tagged "HipNote Sandalwood", composed by Tru Fragrance (formerly Romane Fragrances), claimed by the company producing it to be picked by perfumer Harry Fremont of Firmenich no less: “The use of synthetic substitutes within the fragrance world, like those found in "HipNote Sandalwood" and many of the season’s product launches, are essential in assisting in sustainability efforts, helping to ensure the fragrance development process does not destroy natural resources. By using these synthetic blends, we are able to eliminate any allergens that are found in nature and create consistency across different batches of the same fragrance product,” adds Amy Braden, director of product development for Tru Fragrances. The limited edition HipNote Sandalwood is available by request in limited quantities via “Hipnozes by Tru Fragrance” on Facebook, a dynamic, interactive online community which you can visit at www.facebook.com/Hipnozes
Other Sandalwood Varieties of Different Origin
But not all perfumers or all fragrances aim to merely replicate that classic Indian sandalwood scent: In Le Labo's case in Santal 33 for instance they're quite clear on using Australian sandalwood (Santalum spicatum), which is a different variety than Mysore sandalwood (Santalum album): indeed the Australian variety is more pungent, sharper in its dryness, with less density, almost metallic in its fine smokiness, still compatible to scent of skin.
Another sandalwood tree variant sometimes used for its rich essence oil is Amyris balsamifera, or West Indian sandalwood or simply amyris: Though not a true sandalwood, it still bears the nuanced, distinctive smell and is useful in soap production (and increasingly fine fragrance, such as the latest Francis Kurkdjian Amyris duo of fragrances) where the Indian variety would rocket the cost to stratospheric heights.
Finally the New Caledonian sandalwood variety is yet another species with a scent profile between that of the Australian and the Mysore varieties and it looks like it's going to be supremely popular in the near future.
LIST OF FRAGRANCES WITH PROMINENT SANDALWOOD (in alphabetical order):
Ref: Christian Chapuis, In the Quest for a Virtual Pseudo Receptor for Sandalwood-Like Odorants, Part I, Chemistry & Biodiversity, Volume 1, Issue 7, July 2004 [1] Eden botanicals
One of the most common questions I get in the mail revolves around the nuances, replication and substitution of perfumery ingredients, accounted by the perceived authority that Perfume Shrine has won in the hearts of perfume aficionados regarding the research on perfumery raw materials (we've tackled most in detail). Sandalwood and its varieties had escaped us and this should be amended soon. In the meantime, we got the chance for a preview sampling of Le Labo's Santal 33, a fragrance onomastically loaded and inspired by "a man and his horse in front of the fire on a great plain under tall, blue evening skies [...] firelight in his face, leaning on the worn leather saddle, alone with the desert wind".
In short, the Marlboro Man, all tough bravado and that special kind of personal freedom only available in a place where no one would be nagging about worn clothes scattered on the floor, or missed orgasms via hitting the snore button too soon. Ah, cowboy country bliss; a man's man land! But there you are and history places its mark of irony once again on what we thought one way but used to be another.
Marlboro was originally introduced as a feminine cigarette, philtered and all, and tagged "Mild as May". It took the creative genius of Leo Burnett in the span of a few months in 1954 and the rugged tawny face of Darrell H. Winfield to transform one appearence to another. And boy, did it ever came through! It's a comparable case with sandalwood and its substitutes: We tend to imagine one thing when we reference sandalwood, we come up with another reality when faced with it in a fragrance. The endangerement of natural Indian sandalwood, especially in the Mysore region, has required the substitution of this precious ingredient in fine fragrance with synthetic varieties, some of which are quite costly in themselves and beautiful to smell, possessing some of the beloved "creamy", milky facets of natural sandalwood. But not all perfumers or all fragrances aim to merely replicate that scent: In Le Labo's case it would be a gross miscomprehension to assume that they were in the first place. They're quite clear on using Australian sandalwood (Santalum spicatum), which is a different variety than Mysore sandalwood (Santalum album): indeed the Australian variety is more pungent, sharper in its dryness, with less density, almost metallic in its fine smokiness, still compatible to scent of skin. These attributes are highlighted in the newest launch of Le Labo. Like its creator, perfumer Frank Voekl had divulged a while ago:
"I’d like to design something that highlights one’s natural smell, as opposed to a scent to cover it up. It would be a skin product that blends with your scent rather than scenting you. Like an outfit woven from fragrance" [1]
Lovers of the musky woody Gaiac 10 by Le Labo might find a similar outfit in the new Santal 33, although the latter is sharper, less round than the afore mentioned, with a woodier rather than muskier core structure.
Santal 33 develops in roughly two main stages, not wildly opposed: The opening is full of the roughened up dry woodiness, as much due to Australian sandalwood as to cedarwood and its synth conspirators, with that characteristic duet which makes its appearence in masculine perfumery to great aplomb, and cardamom making a welcome respite, although nowhere as prominent as in Cartier's Déclaration. The woods are fanned on copious amounts of ionones from the violet & iris "note" listed, a hint of fruity coconut in the background. Nota bene this stage is brought to greater advantage on skin than on the blotter (where the fragrance can be rather screechy), while the latter stage includes an amplifying of the ambery-woody tonalities due to the marked presence of Ambrox. Despite assurances to the contrary, I cannot find any "leathery" accord to speak of, apart from the naturally pungent facets of the Aussie sandalwood raw material itself. Perhaps my own leather receptor is set on rather high. But rest assured the fragrance is as butch and rugged as a real rancher riding on a leather saddle.
The fragrance was composed byGerman-born perfumer Frank Voekl (He createdLe Labo Baie Rose 26with its peppery pink peppercorns rose, Iris 39, the quiet Musk 25 and indeed the Santal 26 candle on which the idea for Santal 33 sprang from; but he also authored fragrances for such diverse clients as Chantecaille, Tommy Hilfiger, Guerlain, Cerruti, Dior, Colette, Kenneth Cole and Laura Mercier).[2]
Overall Santal 33 is more masculine than feminine, as befitting its reflected image of distorted marketing genius, or rather it is a unisex fragrance for those who shy away from gender in their fragrances. Girly girls should therefore not apply. Still, I consider myself a rather girly girl and I found things to like in Santal 33, especially the phenomenal tenacity and the humming but always perceptible projection in terms of fragrance volume.
Santal 33 is an Eau de Parfum which forms part of the permanent collection, available from Le Labo, Barneys. It is a Colette exclusive in Paris at the moment, retailing €110 for 50ml, €170 for 100ml and is on pre-order online (it will be shipped in a few days).
A footnote on the accompanying images:
The Marlboro Man is such an American icon that I couldn't but pick an American actor who embodies those values to accompany my review, yet I couldn't bring myself to use the actual faces of the Marlboro brand. Hence rangy Sam Elliott of the mustachioned magnificence. As one writer writes: "Not since Scottie Pippen's nose has a (visible) body part taken on such a life of its own. It strategically hides the mouth of this modern cowboy, not letting any potential foes realize that he's already whispering their last rites."
The second picture comes from tawdryknickers.com and showcases perfectly the sheer irony. I thought you'd get a kick out of it!
Vanisia by Creed does not smell like pure unadulterated vanilla as the name would lead you to believe, thank heavens. It reminds me more of a lighter Égoïste by Chanel if that one put the sandalwood into the boudoir and puffed it and puffed it with lots of ambery rose-jasmine powder that gives a golden shimmer over mounty breasts. T
The resinous depths of its core, a complex and satisfyingly rich amber accord, recall the play between light and darkness in the paintings of the Spanish masters; dramatic expanses of vivid motion, shadowy corners that hide small details with significance that doesn't pass unnoticed. The double whammy of a misleading name and the wrong company (few houses are more derisive!) just conspired it to make it a very under the radar fragrance. Which is exactly why I decided to get the scalpel and start surgery on this page.
The "barbershop" effect makes its presence known in Vanisia via a faint lavender note (a classic combination, best appreciated in Pour Un Homme by Caron which is almost solely lavender and vanilla) as well as what smells like cedar, which makes it wearable for men as well.
Women will naturally gravitate to it for its sexy factor, best appreciated in the depths of the base notes, although I need to stress that you need to be a lover of ambers to appreciate it. It's quite powdery in a mature, retro way, with hints of soap as well, an oxymoron amidst the sultry tonalities that remind classic references with more than a hint of ambery"skank" such as Bal a Versailles and Tabu. Lovers of Guerlain Samsara might also find a complex beast to like and claim as their own. But they should be warned that it smells unashamedly mature, probably best reserved for those who already have other youth-ammunition under their belt; this is not a "spritz me with grapefruit and let me fool you into believing I'm 7 years younger" gimmicky. It's said by Creed that Cher likes this one and wears it: figures...
I am personally a little bit at odds with Vanisia: On the one hand I like the tempered amber character that doesn't imbue everything with a sticky candy floss note and includes that familiar ambergris Creed base. On the other hand I find there is some incongruence between the after-shave accord on top and the floral oriental core. Lately I have been unlucky into coming across bottles that seemed to be a little off, metallic and more "masculine" than I recall the scent to be. I am not sure if we're facing a reformulation or not (the tester bottles didn't look pristine brand new) or if there is fake stock circulating, which is surely the case for other Creeds. It would be interesting to hear from you in the comments if you have other experiences with that matter.
Vanisia was launched in 1987, supposedly for a Spanish queen, and is mostly unknown/unacknowledged till this day, although one of their more rounded fragrances.
Notes for Creed Vanisia: Top: bergamot Heart: jasmine and Bulgarian rose Base: sandalwood, amber and vanilla
An open fire… The soft drift of smoke… Where sensuality rises after the light has gone. This is how niche fragrance brand Le Labo introduces their latest release, Santal 33, based around the myth of the American West and the beckoning scent of wood.
SANTAL 33 is the second addition to the classic perfume collection since the creation of Le Labo in 2006 and was inspired by Santal 26, the brand's cult candle scent. The main ingredients/notes entering Le Labo's Santal 33 are Australian sandalwood (NB. this is a different variety with a different scent than the traditional Indian Mysore wood), papyrus, cedarwood, cardamom, iris, violet, ambrox and a leather accord. The new scent is presented in a 30% concentration of essential oils, classified as an Eau de Parfum but it could be considered as an extrait.
But what inspired the new scent, you ask, wondering on my mentioning the American West on top? Here's what they have to say: "Do you remember the old Marlboro ads? A man and his horse in front of the fire on a great plain under tall, blue evening skies - A defining image of the spirit of the American West with all it implied about masculinity and personal freedom. This man, firelight in his face, leaning on the worn leather saddle, alone with the desert wind, an icon so powerful that every man wanted to be him and every woman wanted to have him... From this memory is born SANTAL 33: the ambition to create an olfactive form inspired by the great American myth still a source of fantasy for the rest of the world...A perfume that touches the sensual universality of this icon... that would intoxicate a man as much as a woman... that introduces our use of cardamom, iris, violet, ambrox which crackle in the formula and bring to this smoking wood alloy (Australian sandalwood, papyrus, cedarwood) some spicy, leathery, musky notes, and gives this perfume its unisex signature and addictive comfort."
I would have loved to mention the ingenious mock-tweets that the Le Labo PR machine has sent along (one of them includes a well-known ~among perfume circles~ authoring duet who smashed the rest of them with a bludgeon and which implies they'll do so for this one a priori), but I suppose lawyers would be working overtime in that eventuality. They're hilarious though, I had a belly laugh; great job, chaps!
The new Le Labo is a Colette exclusive until May 15th for €110 for 50ml/1.7oz. Later on it will surface at the usual suspects.
info via press release, photo by Jen Dessinger via Le Labo manipulated by me
sam•sa•ra Pronunciation: \səm-‘sär-ə\ Function: noun Etymology: Sanskrit saṁsāra, literally, passing through Date: 1886 : the indefinitely repeated cycles of birth, misery, and death caused by karma
—Merriam-Webster On-Line Dictionary Definition.
Years later I’m still surprised by the paradoxical creature known as the original Guerlain Samsara marketing campaign (1989). Although the fragrance itself has now recognized as one of the diffusive bombshells of the 80s (partly contributed by women who unabashedly applied reapplied ad nauseum back then), the concept was infused with a subtle ironic tone which few had recognized to this day—tongues firmly planted in cheek from day one. In fact, the overall concept can be interpreted in so many different ways that, combined with the subsequent urban legends, I have no choice but hail the whole thing as a marvel. After all, how can a seemingly innocent tale of oriental incarnation points(slyly) to the truth about the eventual corporate fall of venerable perfumery house, in ways that I suspect few still fully comprehend?
Few may dismiss my claims until one realizes that the development process of Guerlain Samsara was a grand departure from its predecessors, for it was the first project which utilized fragrance marketing. (Yes, I understand how vulgar the “m” word may be to some Perfume Shrine readers—but read on.) Before Guerlain Samsara the fragrance formulation was the exact opposite: juice first, concept second. In fact, the developmental processes of classics such as Jicky, Mitsouko, Shalimar were not fully indebted to their romantic muses, be it personal anecdote (the British Jacqueline who couldn’t marry Aimé Guerlain), heroine of a novel by Claude Farrère (homage to the heroine of "La Bataille"), or the Mughal architecture wonder in Lahore, Pakistan (a.k.a. “the abode of love” in Sanskrit). No, the business model in the pre-Samsara era was akin to home-style pasta cooking: if it was any good the fragrance would stick.
However such a R&D method was not a mean of effective business management in the post-Opium era, especially since other designer fragrances such as Givenchy Ysatis (1984), Chanel Coco (1984), and Calvin Klein Obsession (1985) were dominating various markets while Guerlain Nahéma (1979) and Guerlain Jardins de Bagatelle (1983) flopped, especially in the North American market[1]. With this in mind Guerlain did two unusual things when developing the next massive launch: requested submissions from the Big Boys and initiated a project with a fragrance brief. Eventually the name Samsara was officially chosen as the name of the fragrance.
By now most people probably have seen the following PR write up: "Jean-Paul Guerlain was so moved by a woman whose inner beauty evoked a serene sensuality, he created a perfume just for her - Samsara. A fragrance that embraces and intoxicates, it is a seductive oriental made for a woman who conveys harmony and spirituality. Jasmine combines with the warmth of sandalwood, while powdery and vanilla notes magnify this blend". The statement above is almost a direct contradiction to the official definition of the Buddhist term! In fact, when Samsara was launched in Asia it received its share of puzzled looks: in my memory serves me well one of the spiritual writers from the Mandarin-speaking regions (林清玄) actually published articles about how the newest fragrance illustrated the lure of the material world and the emptiness it implies. (I read that article once back in 1990 so please do not quote me—still, I remember the author’s view on Samsara was less than stellar because of its supposed connection to the “harmonious reincarnation”.) To be fair Guerlain did not do itself any favour when it announced (upon its Asian launch at least) that the perfumer (supposedly Jean-Paul Guerlain), was “enlightened” after praying for hours in a remote temple…So why the whole fuss? If Guerlain wanted to appease its Asian market wouldn’t it be easier to call the scent Nirvana? (Remember, the grunge band didn’t its first album until 1988.) Well, the questions ultimately point to the basis of Buddhism: while explaining the paradigm of Buddhism is beyond the scope of this review I shall offer a part of my understanding since it ultimately points to an interesting truth.
One of the major issues that many religions need to address is the sufferings experienced by mankind: how can one elevate from the everyday spiritual sufferings? Legends have it that Buddhism originated when Prince Siddhārtha Gautama, upon meeting his subject for the first time, discovered earthly pains associated with aging, disease, and corpses. Since he father forbid the prince to study all spiritual matters the young man later set out to uncover the root of the problem. (It was prophesized upon Gautama’s birth that the prince would become either a great king or a great spiritual leader: naturally the king forbid his son to study spirituality.) Of course, Siddhārtha Gautama later gained enlightenment and became Buddha.
What Gautama supposedly envisioned during his meditation right before the enlightenment is worth repeating. Under a Bodhi tree, Gautama witnessed the human cycles and the consequences as a result: a perpetual motion of greed, jealousy, hatred, all of which are caused by ignorance. In fact, finding to starting point of such suffering is futile, much akin to finding the starting point of a circle. The cycle of such troubling human experience, of course, is samsara.
At this point you might be wondering how the first photo featured in this post fit into the grand scheme of things—it is, in fact, a samsara wheel, complete with all the states associated with the phenomenon. Of course, samsara is not merely reincarnation or karma: from my understanding the pains of repeating oneself due to karmic bonds and/or debts that allows the samsara cycle to continue...(for more information on the stages within a samsara wheel, as well as the meaning behind various depictions within the thangka above, please refer to the excellent interactive guide here.) Well, does the projected image much more akin to nirvana? Not exactly—in fact I think nirvana will be a fairly poor choice upon examining the official definition by Merriam-Webster:
nir•va•na Pronunciation: \nir-‘vä-nə, (,)nər-\ Function: noun Usage: often capitalized Etymology: Sanskrit nirvāṇa, literally, act of extinguishing, from nis- out + vāti it blows — more at wind Date: 1801
1: the final beatitude that transcends suffering, karma, and samsara and is sought especially in Buddhism through the extinction of desire and individual consciousness 2 a: a place or state of oblivion to care, pain, or external reality
The real essence of nirvana isn’t the equivalent of an oriental heaven, full of exotic pleasures. (Such earthly thoughts create more earthly delights until the karmic force runs out, remember?) Instead, nirvana is the cease and the decease of earthly desires, thereby wiping out samasara. All of which makes nirvana, by definition, an indescribable state—since nirvana is beyond the use of the five senses or even the duality-driven state of the human experience. Yet, Buddhism advocates that such surrender is merely a choice to go beyond the transient entertainment of the human experience and realize that the greater truth is the integration of everything in life—thus can only be experienced, not said in words since describing the state requires choosing one’s words, thereby separating some experiences from others [2]. In the end, I suppose Guerlain can’t pick a name that implies the cease and the decease of the consciousness!
Aside from the incoherence of between the projected image and the name the olfactory theme of Guerlain Samsara couldn’t have been more appropriate. Jasmine and sandalwood, aside from producing a sensual oriental alliance when expertly combined, actually capture the imagination of many Asian countries despite the cultural differences within the regions. While Helg has kindly explored the use of jasmine in perfumery in ways that I can never imagine in her excellent jasmine series, it’s worth noting that to many Asians the flower serves as spiritual shorthand of the various cultures within this region—there’s more to jasmine than, for instance, the vital ingredient in the classic jasmine tea. For instance, the iconic Mandarin folksong “Muo Li Hua” (茉莉花), taught in Chinese elementary schools as soon as the second grade, becomes the symbol of Asian aesthetics. (It is even used by Puccini as a theme in Turandot, most prominently in the middle of Perché tarda la luna? in Act I. More recently the famed Chinese director Zhang Yimou had used it liberally when directing various events related to the Beijing Olympics.) I’ve heard of many versions of this melody and to demonstrate the phenomenon I have a YouTube concert highlight featuring the Vienna Boys Choir (the pronunciation and intonation are quite spot on, by the way). I think all this indicates how the jasmine has become to represent oriental aesthetics.
Jean-Paul Guerlain’s source of inspiration might turn out to be different from a Buddhist temple after hours of meditation. Michael Edwards reported in Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances that Jean-Paul was set out to seduce Decia de Powell, an English woman who shared his passion for equestrianism. Upon being asked what fragrance would she like to wear, Decia supposedly asked for a concoction of jasmine and sandalwood as far back as 1985—and the final result supposedly contained up to 30% of sandalwood extract, one of the precious perfumery ingredients due to the diminishing population of the sandalwood tree and its slow-growing nature. (Jean-Paul also added, among many other things, Sandalore in order to create a powerful sandalwood effect.) But the perfumery industry can readily reveal contradictory stories and this is where Samsara’s story starts to take on a colourful spin: did Guerlain ultimately picked Jean-Paul’s submission for Samsara?
While nearly all official Guerlain PR material back up the master perfumer fully for years the perfumery industry members whisper among themselves that Guerlain Samsara might have been the first Guerlain fragrance created by an outsider. (Quel horreur! C'est absolument incroyable!) The story is even more bizarre when CNN reported nearly three years ago that nose Jacques Chabert was the nose behind Guerlain’s Samsara (and Chanel's Cristalle)…, further adding confusion and complexity to the urban myth…
Of course, Guerlain isn’t completely innocent in this regard: when Mathilde Laurent joined Cartier a few years ago the creator Shalimar Eau Légère (2003) strangely became Jean-Paul Guerlain after the master perfumer supposedly “optimized” the fragrance with citrus oils such as bergamot according to the Guerlain PR team. (How can the original be short of hesperidic top notes is still beyond me.) Champs- Élysées (1996) might have received a similar treatment since the olfactory strokes [3] are a bit different compared to the classic Jean-Paul Guerlain creations. (My guess would be Dominique Ropion after sampling Une Fleur de Cassie by Frédéric Malle, though the depth of the latter is unquestionably better honed.) Mostly interestingly, many Guerlain sales associates are still taught that L’Instant de Guerlain (2003) was created by a Guerlain family member despite the fact that Maurice Roucel was officially credited as the nose behind the project—the training documents supposedly indicated otherwise in some cases... Sure, many people have attributed Guerlain’s recent perfumery downfall from grace to the corporate greed of LVMH—but I feel that there must have been something wrong in the first place that caused the family to sell the corporation to the conglomerate. After all, as opposed to the Givenchy takeover (hostile in nature by all accounts) LVMH bought the brand upon years of mismanagement. I don’t believe for a second that it was simply a case that someone spending too much on guaranteeing the supply of costly essences, not after knowing the factors behind the failure of Nahéma, for instance. Management problems existed before the LVMH takeover—it wasn’t simply a matter of under finance that plagued many French luxury firms.
Years ago I read a short paragraph that ended up saying more to this day than many sources could articulate. Cathy Newman, a reporter for the National Geographic and the author of "Perfume: The Art and Science of Scent", once interviewed a noted industry member. While the man didn’t go into the specifics he indicated that the Guerlain family was a group of “octogenarians” who constantly “squabbled” over money and other matters. The traditional Guerlain management structure used to dictate the separation to duties among siblings and/or cousins, which potentially created strains even during fragrance formulation (as Jean-Paul Guerlain said during some interviews) as the cost of material may exceed the limits imposed by the other departments… Please don’t get me wrong: I’m not indicating that the Guerlain legacy less than it should have been—but to say that the family dynamic was a smooth sail and placed the LVMH acquisition squarely to the lure of the global corporation was not exactly correct either. Guerlain got sold not because the audience didn’t get the fragrance masterpieces—Guerlain got sold because the namesake family couldn’t identify the effective management strategies. (Interestingly enough, LVMH is still looking for ways to properly manage the Guerlain portfolio, as many perfumistas will sadly tell you. I suppose history does repeat itself.)
So the fragrance that was released 100 years after the launch of Jicky said so much more with its name than it should when the Sanskrit word originally described the sadness associated with karmic bonds: suppose Samsara also indicated all the emotions that the Guerlain (corporate entity) must have gone though over the centuries?
Fragrance-wise Samsara is arguably beyond just a simple combination of jasmine and sandalwood. Dr. Luca Turin once commented how the classic Guerlain compositions used quite a bit of Provençal herbs such as thyme and rosemary: Samsara subtly opens with lemon and tarragon, although the jasmine-sandalwood alliance can be strongly felt from the get go—making the bouquet largely powdery with a 80s lilt. (Peach is also mentioned as a top note in some sources, although to me it isn’t a prominent player—at least not in the famed Mitsouko context.) As the scent progresses ylang ylang further supports the jasmine idea with a spicy touch, concurred by carnation and rose. The overall aesthetic is round and smooth—as if invisible hands are arching the elements into concentric spirals, leaving an interesting sillage—sophisticated but strong-willed before the fragrance settles into the typical Guerlain balsamic-amber base with the aforementioned sandalwood as the main lead.
(I hate to say this…but I wonder more than once if Catherine Deneuve used Samsara during the filming of Indochine, for the complex love story can certainly be described as heavily karmic in nature![4] )
As for the famed packaging Michael Edwards reported that the pagoda-shaped bottle was in fact inspired by a Cambodian dancer statue displayed at Musée Guimet: the legs forms the outer shape of the bottle as the head forms the stopper…(no prize for guessing why red and gold are chosen as the colours).
Helg talked about how Guerlain’s model profiling in its ads and her theory certainly bears some interesting truth when considering the following ad:
So I urge everyone to re-examine this creation more than a blast from the past—the stories behind the creation itself are more than what one can bargain for!
Notes for Samsara by Guerlain: jasmine, ylang ylang, narcissus, sandalwood, iris, tonka bean, vanilla
Samsara is available wherever Guerlain perfumes are stocked. Two " discontinued "flankers that bear no olfactory relation are Un air de Samsara and Samsara Shine.
[1] Although the concept would be considered very foreign to the non-French speakers, Guerlain’s problem with the North American market might also have to do with its refusal to deliver extra sales incentives, a practice that was commonplace in North America. In short, I don’t believe it’s simply the diffusive juice that ultimately caused the failure of a juice: after all, as we all know a terrible juice can be quite profitable if managed properly (much to the horror of perfumistas). [2] I’m not a Buddhist and an even lousier student in religious matters: my little write-up on Buddhist terms only serves as an illustration to the terms associated with this fragrance. [3]Similar to writers and painters perfumers (especially the established ones) do have their olfactory styles, mostly due to their preferred ingredients and aesthetics. People who are highly trained can even conduct personality tests based on the olfactory signatures. According to Sophia Gorjsman the perfumers actually recognize each other’s olfactory signatures upon smelling a fragrance. [4]The Tale of Genji, the world’s oldest novel by Murasaki Shikibu, certainly attribute the protagonist’s often futile (and nearly incestuous in some cases) relationships with various female leads as deeply karmic.
Inhaling a lemon grove's foliage trail in the morning air under hot azure skies, set to savour the day with optimism, full of joiedevivremust be one of life's simplest and most satisfying pleasures. Fragrances that give a lift to my step and make me face the mornings with élan are precious.
The task of achieving just that is not easy: it has to be uplifting, but also suave, not rasping on the senses which are slowly winding up to function from the night's inertia. Optimistic but with a hint of the stoic that marks the nature of my thoughts. Ô deLancômewith its playfully double entendreof aqueous name and cool, dark green chyprish tendencies puts the right balance between the zesty burst of yellow hesperides and the alchemy of green herbs, interwoven like baroque music with its rounded forms philosophically puts some semblance of order into chaos.
The first advertisements for Ô deLancômeemphasised the back to nature vibe that the French do so well with artistic merit: young women on bikes emerging from the rampant countryside, drenched in sunlight but with the coolness of spring air and dew in the fragrant grass, putting goosebumps on the skin at the hint of a breeze. It is so rare to encounter such a blatantly unpretentious image in fragrance advertising any more. Seeing those advertisements while leafing spring volumes of French Elle magazine, yearly devoted to beauty rituals of what seemed an arcane yet factually a simple mode, made me realize at a tender age how the natural world hides secrets of longing in the grass.
Composed in 1969 by perfumer RenéGonnon, Ô deLancômecame out at the time of Paris students' revolt and became an emblematic fresh Eau, taking the uber-successful EauSauvageone step further with the inclusion of synthetic aroma-chemical Thujopsanone. The consolidation of greenness under the crushed lemon leaves in the palm, with a subtle woody background resembles a viola dagamba supporting a clear, young female voice singing rounds of couplets in an allemande that converge on the same sweet surrender of a third majore of Provence in the end of a song in minore. Almost thirty years later and it retains the fresh radiance of a young girl, nary a shadow under the eye, curiously a tad sorrowful for the joys of life she has yet to experience.
Unejeunefillette
De noble coeur Plaisanteetjoliette
De grandevaleur
Outre son grès,
On l'arenduenonette Celui point deluihaicte D'oùvit en grandedouleur ~{see the translation and musical notation on this page}
"a new olfactory adventure [..] and perfumery would continue to explore its charms and powers until the early 80’s: EaudeRochas, deCourrèges, deGuerlain, dePatou, deGivenchy, Eau d’Hadrien (AnnickGoutal), Eaude Cologne d’Hermès, and even Cristalle (Chanel) and Diorella (Dior) would successfully pick up the gauntlet of those fresh, signature thrills that left their mark on an entire generation".
Eaude Toilette comes in 75ml/2.5-oz and costs €48.50 and lasts incredibly well for this kind of fragrance.
Available at major department stores and Sephora.
The fragrance was re-issued in 1995 with a slight change in colouring in the packaging, which is helpful in identifying batches: the band around the bottle changed from ambery brown to bright green, same with the colour scheme of the box. The motif on the glass, like 60s wallpaper as Susan Irvine succinctly put it, remained the same.
There are two "flankers" to the original fragrance, both futile in my opinion for different reasons: O oui!, a fruity floral in a similar bottle with the palest white-ish blue colouring, aimed at generation Y, so saccharine-full generic and dull that it barely made a bleep on the radar; and a men's version in a green capped spartan column of a bottle called O pour Homme, marketed with the symbol of Mars (and male too) as the variation on O. Pleasurable thought it is, it seems like a redundant attempt to market what is already an eminently unisex fragrance in a new packaging to the opposite sex.
No need to splurge in getting both: the original is perfect on men as well and I highly recommend it.
Pics from parfumdepub.
Clip of popular song UneJeuneFillettearranged by J.Savall from the exquisite film Tousles matins dumonde, originally uploaded by Peteronfire on Youtube
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