By Kilian Moonlight in Heaven: short fragrance review

Kilian's Moonlight in Heaven is a fragrance I had my eye on for at least a year, nay, more! I took the opportunity to try it out in store with an American colleague, and we both oohed and aahed over its tropical floral glory which spelled summer writ large and in Technicolor. 

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I'm not usually the tropical kind of gal, but there's something in this Calice Beckercreation which smells like frangipani nectar, like the evening air is moist, and warm, and engulfing you in an embrace of pure lust. There's a touch of sweet coconut in the top note, but it soon gives way to that fruity and nectarous quality of the tropical garlands that exude warmth and come hither. 

I kinda see why it's encased in the single blue bottle in a line of black bottles!

Related reading on PerfumeShrine: 

Differences between plumeria/frangipani,jasmine, sampaquita and pikake

Estee Lauder Sensuous: fragrance review

The scent of Sensuous is rather clever, even if not particularly ground-breaking, balancing all the ingredients and chords in an effect that would make you feel, like one reviewer said, "the victim of your own fragrance snobbery." We tend to bypass mainstream releases in favor of niche, and yet there are some mainstream releases which make us wonder what we have been neglecting, or viewing with unwarranted contempt, and Sensuous is one of those scents.

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Sensuous in 2008 was moving the boundaries from already well known Estee Lauder floral notes towards an opulent oriental woodsy-amber concept, to praise the beauty and sensuality of women all ages. The fragrance was created in cooperation with the nose Annie Buzantian of Firmenich, who composed it of sensual lily notes, magnolia and jasmine petals in the top. The heart brings aromas of molten wood and amber, while the base introduces sandalwood, black pepper, juicy mandarin pulp and honey.

Lightly spicy and quite creamy, the original Sensuous gives me a warm, soft, just right impression of lightly scented skin, in a way paying homage to the creations of Lutens (though less spicy-sweet), but also winking in the direction of Tom Ford's personal favorite Santal Blush, which is also a very creamy and smooth skin scent if you let it dry down. The sandalwood is what is most prominent on my skin, totally a creative attempt at giving that old mainstay of perfumery a valiant effort, but quite effective and very indulgent; it's skin-like at the same time as it's clean and polished, perhaps with a distant whiff of smokiness in the background.

The advertising campaign for the original Sensuous was actually talking about "molten woods", which is as good a term as any fantasy line, I guess, to capture that titillating balance between straight-faced earnestness and blurted out seductiveness. People still pick perfume in order to appear more alluring, there's no use in denying it. So Lauder embraced it, but in a quite classy and clever way, which should teach the market a lesson or two.

The way to do that was to employ several different spokes models (actually two well-known actresses, the pleasantly mature and established Liz Hurley and the not-so-ridiculed-on-U.S-soil Gwyneth Paltrow; and two supermodels, Carolyn Murphy and Hilary Rhoda), dressed in an identical white man's shirt in various stages of decency. The move is clever in a double whammy way: men's shirts, as worn by women, not only offer a morning-after visual code that the public has been conditioned to interpret in exactly this way thanks to endless movies utilizing the trope, but also an androgynous way to borrow the "better" qualities of the masculine gender in the public perception and stereotyping, i.e. self-confidence, assertive disposition, a devil-may-care regard for others' responses. So in one single decision, Lauder and their creative directors managed to appeal to a woman who is both strong enough to not care about men's weighing of her value, but also attractive enough to have men in her life in a sexual way.

The next installment in the Sensuous line came in September 2010, more fittingly season-wise, in the countdown to Christmas. Sensuous Noir is indeed a rather dark fragrance and my personal favorite in the triptych.


Please visit Estee Lauder fragrance reviews and news on the PerfumeShrine.com using this link.

Guerlain Mon Guerlain Eau de Parfum: fragrance review

Mon Guerlain does not dare veer into the animalic, like its forerunners  Guerlain Jicky and Guerlain Shalimar do; this is the first thing one needs to watch for. The propensities of today do not allow hints of bodily odor emerging, nor would they allow the weird opening of Jicky which sometimes comes across as vaporized petrol. Instead, Mon Guerlain veers into the caramelic, with a rum & hay ambience, a "toffee" accord, which embraces the Carla lavender flower from Provence and renders it soft and pliable. After all, the starting point for perfumer Thierry Wasser was the vanillic accord, not the other way around. Was it a genius idea prompted by him? In a way. But not entirely.

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There are several nuances lavender can take. A decade back, when I was describing the main odor constituents of Fragrantica's vast notes database one by one, I came up with the short form of "an aromatic clean note, medicinal on one end and licorice-like on the other end", and I stand by my description to this day. Hermès was the first to exploit this duality fully, thanks to Jean Claude Ellena's idea of a quintessential blend of exquisite lavender wrapped in licorice in Brin de Reglisse (in the boutique exclusives line), therefore the mischievous reconstruction of an olfactory symbol of the South of France reinvented by the gourmet touch of a ribbon of licorice. “Dressed in mat black, a magnified lavender, memory and landscape…”  

Nowadays, it is the vanillic and licorice nuanced lavenders which are featured in any product that aims to appeal to women or women buying for babies and children. To wit, most children's products for the bath and body which claim "relaxing lavender" are mostly featuring a blend of musk with vanilla and abstract notes of extraterrestrial flowers grown on the moon; lily of the valley, jasmine and delicate, unreal roses. And this explains the divide that lavender produces; some people love the medicinal properties they have come to know from real lavender, some people abhor them, confused by the artificial construct that is advertised as "lavender" but really isn't. 

If we insist in our path with Guerlain's Mon Guerlain, and in direct juxtaposition with their classic lavender-laced Jicky, one can certainly see how over a century of fragrance production has seismically shifted the notion of lavender in general. From an animal-laced beast into a vanillic comforting cocoon for women who love their desserts, but don't want to be seen stuffing their mouths with it. 

There's something sexy about making one's self feel good about themselves, giving them the confidence to be themselves, to inhabit their skin, and maybe that's the root of the concept of comfy notes producing claims to sexiness and attraction. Mon Guerlain is in that direction, although to my more daring tastes, close but no cigar...

Very pretty (classic) bottle nevertheless!

Further Reading on the PerfumeShrine:
Guerlain news & fragrance reviews
Perfumer Thierry Wasser

Estee Lauder Sensuous Noir: fragrance review

This discontinued gem is shining in a deep purple bottle of sumptuous line that would match a wonderful smoky eye that looks so at ease on an autumnal night out. Sensuous Noir takes the good parts of Lauder's Sensuous (that idea of woody notes enhancing the natural scent of the skin) and taking it up a notch, adding patchouli with its dark sweetness interlaced like a shadow on said skin. More voluptuous, more intense, more sensual than the original version of Sensuous, the second version by Estee Lauder - Sensuous Noir includes characteristic wooden tones, an abstract floral hint and soft aromas of cozy oriental balsams that carry the entire composition.

Sensuous Noir has a stronger, more intoxicating and more seductive scent than the prior fragrance by Estee Lauder with half the same name, although the latter is also quite sensuous and silky and worth your time and money.

The top notes include a floral blend of purple rose, jasmine, rose oil, black pepper and spices. The heart focuses on the warm wooden notes, typical for this scent, with the use of the innovative Nature Print technology. The smell of "dissolved wood" in the concept, generated by pine tree and guaiac wood merging, was captured exactly by this technology, and used as a seductive note that was first used as a sensory note and complemented by the innovative Noir cream, lily flowers and patchouli notes. The base notes include benzoin, amber and soft vanilla with an amber overall scent. The final feeling is one of absolute self-confidence!


Please visit Estee Lauder fragrance reviews and news on the PerfumeShrine.com using this link.

Calvin Klein Obsession for Men: fragrance review

Back in the old days, when Calvin Klein was a bona fide designer house and the fragrances weren't made by Coty, the churning of smells was set on the decidedly loud end of the spectrum, and on the rather creative side as well. This was the decade of Dallas and Dynasty, of shoulder pads that pushed you over on the ladder to the corporate top, when women started to bring back home the bacon in earnest ("and fry it on a pan") and when the tip-toeing of perfume wearing in public spaces was only considered far-fetched dystopian sci-fi.

Obsession (for women, 1985) and Obsession for men (1986) were the natural products of such a period. Loud, brash, gold jewelry statement, knock-your-socks-off scents, full of the inherited warmth of their French counterparts (the success of the Opium perfume by Yves Saint Laurent fresh on the collective memory), but very American in their stylized presentation. And who could forget those infamous advertisements with the naked bodies standing atop a hammock in black and white, shot by Bruce Weber? Ann Gottlieb, creative director for Klein fragrances and responsible for countless commercial hits for countless brands, had demanded "sexy with a touch of raunchiness" and possibly, as it has been argued, got the balance reversed. But that's not a bad thing.

The person credited with the creation of Obsession for Men, a certain Robert Slattery, unaccredited for anything else, got the raunchy and sexy in spades by relying on the tension between trustworthy materials: mandarin on top contrasting with warm amber on the bottom, nutmeg and cinnamon spicing it up, giving a certain piquancy which recalls a man-made space somewhere in the late 80s, early 90s; gregarious, evening-time, where people smoke and drink freely, and where confident men in lots of aftershave prowl for the casual encounters of the evening, their own clean sweat mingled with the adrenaline of the flirting. It was a happier time, a less controlled time, and a time when anything seemed possible. Or, perhaps, it was a time when we felt ready for anything.

Obsession for Men in its current format feels watered down and lacking that density which sealed its unmistakable presence, but it still is a great trip down memory lane.

Manos Gerakinis Immortelle: Treackly Burnt Sugar - fragrance review

The name Immortelle comes from the golden-hued plant of everlasting flowers (immortelle in French) or helichrysum. The scent of immortelle absolute in its raw state is difficult to describe, somewhat similar to sweet fenugreek and curcuma, spices used in Indian curry, with a maple-like facet. Quite logical, if you consider the fact that the substance contains alpha, beta and gamma curcumene. Manos Gerakinis, a niche Greek line that is aiming ambitiously and delivers in sillage and lasting power most admirably, tried to harness exactly this precious oil, the one from everlasting flowers.

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A cross between burnt sugar and dry straw is a rather valiant effort at conveying immortelle's nuanced profile, but the more the immortelle oil warms up on the skin, the more it reveals human-like, supple nuances of honeyed notes, waxy, intimate... It pairs well in chypres and oriental fragrances, where it is placed next to labdanum, clove, citruses, chamomille, lavender and rose essences.

In Manos Gerakinis's Immortelle niche offering, the immortelle accord takes on a sweet and deep aspect, with spicy accents, a dark gourmand. The cinnamon is pronounced, making me passingly think of a Middle Eastern dessert carré. The result is resinous without becoming heavy, nor suffocating, nevertheless. Benzoin, a resin with caramelic aspects, pairs with the rustic roughness of immortelle that recalls the Corsican maquis and Greek insular landscape.

There are some ways in which Immortelle reminds me of Goutal's classic Sables (probably the reference point for immortelle scents, for daring to be the first one seriously highlighting it) and of Serge Lutens's Jeux de Peau with its whiff of toasted bread and its subtly caramelized notes. People who love L de Lolita Lempicka and Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur might also find in Immortelle a trusty ally for their moments of daytime sensuous abandon.

The Manos Gerakinis brand has an official website by that name, where all the shopping options are mentioned clearly with international presence in the Middle East and Russia.

YSL La Nuit de l'Homme: fragrance review

"Sexy as hell" is what our Hellenic readers hail this cologne as. An enthusiastic endorsement from people who do actually enjoy a wide array of male colognes, La Nuit de l'homme has been YSL's best release in their masculine section for quite some time. Recents batches have become decidedly weaker, but the magic of the spicy woody notes persists.

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Woody scents are typically manly, mainly due to a lack of distracting elements from their solid "watch me chop the wood, I'm a lumberjack" impression. But the cunning in La Nuit de l'Homme lies in interweaving a coolish tinge of spicy cardamom which interplays with the traditional barber-shop lavender to give a juxtaposition of cleanliness and mysterious exoticism. It's definitely one to wear when out flirting. There are very few women who don't like this one.

Givenchy Ysatis: fragrance review & history & free perfume giveaway

Ysatis remains among the most memorable perfume launches of my childhood, alongside Cacharel's Loulou, mainly due to the commercial that accompanied it, much like Faure's dreamy Pavane did for the latter. In the Greek version, a marvelously sonorous, rhyming phrase was able to be coined for the launch, a fact that would be difficult to accomplish in any other language:  "Αναζητείς το Υζαντίς" it went (a-na-zee-TEES toh ee-sah-TEES), roughly meaning that the love-struck male that would smell it would be forever seeking the source of the fragrant Ysatis. It does lend one to daydreaming, doesn't it. Especially to an impressionable, already obsessed with perfumes, mind such as mine, back in 1984.
The reality, as is often the case with perfumes, is far more prosaic: Jean Courtiere, president of Parfums Givenchy, came up with the name, while searching ~as is the formal naming process~ for something non copyrighted, non insulting in any known language and mellifluous enough to be catchy. Ysatis it was and it stuck.

The story

I also vividly recall that Ysatis was accompanied by images of carnival, chess board games and Venetian masks, a fact that I mistakenly attributed it to the masterminds at the advertising company borrowing heavily from the Venezia by Laura Biagiotti popularity, at its apex during the early 1990s, but it looks like it was done in reverse. (disregard the art school project ones posing as authentic). Accurately enough, my memory is as it should be: not only is the architectural Art-Deco-meets-skyscraper bottle of Ysatis posing as a chess piece itself, the commercial is set to a scene from the Venetian carnival (to the succeeding scoring of Hendel's Sarabande, immortalized in Kubrick's Barry Lynton, and of Folias d'Espagna by Arcangelo Corelli): the intrigued, love-struck man in question is seeking the glamorous, 1940s vague-coiffed and 1980s made-up woman behind the mask, the truth behind the glamorous facade. It all stood as very impressive and to this day I think they involuntarily captured a huge part of perfume's intellectual appeal; what is it that makes us want to peel the layers off a person like the beige-purple petticoats off an onion?

I'm relaying all these very personal associations to drive to the fact that Parfums Givenchy had a nice, long-standing tradition in my house, as my grandfather was a devotee of Givenchy Gentleman (1974), my mother occasionally dabbed from Givenchy III (1970) and my father had an amorous relationship with Xeryus (1986) many moons ago. So falling for Ysatis wasn't far fetched at all and taking in mind the first perfume I bought with my pocket money was YSL Opium, it seemed like a natural enough progression into the abyss into perfume appreciation. In fact the fragrance was so popular in Greece that a local fashion "chain" is still named after it.

Searching for this perfume these past couple of days I come across Ysatis advertised as "the perfume of power". But this is not what it stood for for me. Perceptions have significantly changed and we're not the creatures we were in the 1980s, when everything seemed possible, even gassing out everyone in the room with one's scent fumes, but Ysatis, poised as it is between three categories (floral, oriental and chypre) in its complex formula, has the tremendous force to evoke a time when one felt untouchable.
It sounds rather perverse and morbid choice for a teen, but I kinda think I was morbid all along. We did listen to lots of Joy Division and Cure and Siouxie & the Banshees and read Poe poems and gothic tales, so I suppose it wasn't just me.

The scent of Ysatis 

The main fragrance story of Givenchy Ysatis is unfolded in pummeling, sultry and creamy smelling essences of orange flower, ylang ylang and tuberose, brightened by the citrusy but sweetish oil of mandarin and chased by animal fragrance notes (smells like heaps of civet to me and there's also castoreum) and some spice in the base (the unusual for a feminine fragrance bay rum as well as clove). It's pretty "whoa, what the hell hit me?" at any rate. Like Gaia, The Non Blonde, says: "Ysatis is not for the meek or those still figuring out their style and taste". Word. If you have liked and worn Organza (also by Givenchy) in the 1990s, or Cacharel Loulou, and Ubar by Amouage, you have high chances of claiming Ysatis with the clinging tenderness usually reserved for Nutella jars.

Ysatis was composed by Dominique Ropion, maker of such ebullient, expansive fragrances as Amarige, Pure Poison, Carnal Flower, Portrait of a Lady, Une Fleur de Cassie, Alien, RL Safari, Flowerbomb or Kenzo Jungle, among many many others.




Ysatis has been reformulated and repackaged, though not ruined in the process; it's till Amazonian and lusciously haute bourgeois. Still if you're searching for the older formula, it comes in the black box vs. the newer purple one. The original bottles even read Ysatis de Givenchy. There is also a flanker, Ysatis Iris, also in a purple box, though that one has a purple hued bottle as well and of course the moniker "Iris" just below the name. Still, keep a sharp eye when shopping, as it's a rather different scent (focusing on violet & iris note sandwiched between the citrusy top and floriental bottom).

I have a generous miniature of vintage Ysatis for a lucky winner. Please state in the comments what was your favorite 1980s scent and what scents you'd like to see featured in the Underrated Perfume Day feature on Perfume Shrine. Draw is open internationally till Sunday midnight and winner will be announced sometime on Monday.

For more entries and fragrance reviews of Underrated Perfumes please click on the link and scroll.

Viktoria Minya Hedonist: fragrance review

It's rare that perfumes correspond to their names, but Hedonist by newcomer Hungarian perfumer (taught at Grasse) Viktoria Minya is the exception to that rule. If Leos Carax's passionately controversial film Pola X was shot again, I'm sure one of the props used would be this fragrance: Not only for its glamorous, French-chateau-evoking  visual introduction that drips of old world class and physical luminosity, but also for its raw, emotionally honest, unassimilated sex scene following the hero's descent into bottomless soul searching. This dark obsession needs its own olfactory track.

[that's another scene, actually]

Introducing a niche line has become an insurmountable task of difficulties by now: how to diverge and differentiate one's brand? It's less easy than it was in 2005 or so. Did I mention that creating a sexy fragrance is just as difficult? If not more? Well, it is. If you have followed perfume you know it's up there as desirable goal numero uno with manufacturers (not necessarily the people who love perfume, though!), but often the whole trial fails because, well, it doesn't work out. Imagine my surprise to find things that do work their magic. Not many but when they do.... ooh la la!!

There is already an interview with the photogenic Viktoria (who is a joy to communicate with) on Fragrantica, so what I wanted to add is just how EFFECTIVE her Hedonist is, in the sense mentioned above. In a previously anecdotal exchange between my significant other and myself, Ms. Minya's fragrance played a particularly decisive role. My man upon smelling it had a few ideas: "Let me see...smells a bit like coffee and honey, wait...that smells like the orange tobacco your cousin likes...some vanilla but not too much, eh? Tell me I'm right!" [My man is a perfumisto in the closet.] Myself I was sure this potent but ladylike potion had peachy-apricoty-citrusy nuances with lots of orange blossom rendered in an animalic fashion, lots of the voluptuousness of beeswax and yes, a super sexy feel! [No wonder he was aroused] I will spare you the carnal details to follow; I know Perfume Shrine's readers are possessive of a fertile imagination to rival Henry Melville's.

The handmade wooden box (with snakeskin leather look) opens to reveal a beautifully crafted bottle filled with hundreds of Bohemian crystals that sparkle in the champagne colored liquid, catching the light. I just wish that there were a way to own the perfume in perhaps a less glamorous presentation so as to cut down on the monetary overlay (195$/130€ for 45ml), but you can't blame a niche brand for wanting to stand out, can you?

Notes for Hedonist by Viktoria Minya:
Rum, bergamot, peach, osmanthus absolute, jasmine abolute, orange flower absolute, tobacco, vanilla, cedarwood, vetiver

Shopping info and more on Viktoria Minya's site.

Agent Provocateur by Agent Provocateur: fragrance review

When the first Agent Provocateur perfume first launched in 2000 in its ostrich-egg-sized pink bottle, little did one expect that the scent within would be atavitistic to the lineage of impressionable floral chypres of yore. Chypres, a perfumy and mossy family of fragrances, had been effectively extinguished from a whole generation's memory by then (relegated to mothers and grandmothers who continued to wear their signature scents discovered decades ago) and were incomprehensible things to another: surely this was a doomed project? Who in their trendy minds remembered or wore Shiseido Inoui, Balenciaga Cialenga, K de Krizia, never mind Mitsouko or Miss Dior?

But curiously enough, it caught on!

Why it Worked
Agent Provocateur is a lingerie brand teetering on the edge of campy and they made ample use of that element to promote their fragrant wares. To quote Adentures of a Barbarella: "They aspire to be kinky, elegant, sophisticated, and somewhere along the line it goes wrong. Their clientele is stuck up, their models are either socialites or Russian escorts (it's a fine line), and they sold out last year. The depraved tone of the campaigns can be hilarious". But after all, what's the point of racy lingerie if you take yourself too seriously, right?

But the thing is their first fragrance is sexy as hell, a bit retro, a bit modern, and all around brave and great, considering they launched at the end of the aquatic/ozonic brigade of the 1990s and the advent of cupcakes-from-hell of the 00s. It's deservedly something of a cult favourite, if only for the fact that it was so very different.


Scent Description
The big Moroccan rose in Agent Provocateur's heart, much like in classic Jean Couturier's Coriandre from the 1970s, is complimented by a paper-y woody note of amber and vetiver combined with warm musks, but it is the saffron along with the upbeat coriander that bring a rather animalic and weirdly "dirty" quality to the fragrance making it the olfactory equivalent of an aged Hollywood star the morning after she has had a rampant night in bed with a nostalgizing fan half her years.

This is a perfume to wear sparingly (it can be big), but it won't change much during the day and after the initial impression it dries down to an erotic and  skin-friendly, skin-compatible nuzzling buzz.
Agent Provocateur original EDP is in hindsight similar to many fragrances which followed, so if you like any of them you should give the great-aunt a try: Gres Cabaret, Lady Vengeance by Juliette has a Gun, Narciso Rodriguez Narciso for Her EDT.

Available as Eau de Parfum from major department stores.

Flankers & Stuff
The brand has brought out variations on the theme with:  Agent Provocateur Eau Emotionelle (EDT from 2006), Agent Provocateur L'Eau Provocateur (new, lighter interpetation for spring 2012), Agent Provocateur L'Agent (2011) and Agent Provocateur L'Agent L'Eau Provocateur (spring 2012) in similar pink-ostrich-egg bottles. They can differ quite a bit with L'Agent being a woody floral musk.
Nota bene that the quite different fragrance by the same brand called Maitresse is also having a lighter flanker edition for spring 2012, called -you guessed it- Agent Provocateur Maitresse L'Eau Provocateur.

Paco Rabanne La Nuit: fragrance review

Smell La Nuit by Spanish-born designer Paco Rabanne and nostalgise about the 1980s with a vengeance. In that carnal decade, La Nuit was aimed at "the sensual, sophisticated and modern woman" "partout où est la nuit" (everywhere where it's night-time) and was quite abruptly discontinued in the following decade. Paco Rabanne fragrances from the 1969 cool Calandre to the 1988 men's aromatic Ténéré and the excellent 1979 Métal suffer from market maladjustment despite their pitch-perfect tune-in with their times; they fly under the radar for no good reason and get discontinued all too unjustly. La Nuit (1985) is a similar case in point.

Poised between a leathery chypre with fruity accents and a deep oriental (with no great sweetness), Paco Rabanne's La Nuit, composed by perfumer Jean Guichard, is vaguely reminiscent of the danger and swagger of vintage Narcisse Noir by Caron: c'est troublant! It also has elements of the sharp scimitar weilded by Cabochard and the urinous honeyed leather of Jules by Dior. 
Once upon a time a certain biophysicist with a keen interest in perfumes had given away the perfume's core character by (positively) claiming that it smells "as if you sprayed Tabu on a horse", thus delineating the two main directions the composition goes for: civet (of which Tabu has oodles) and leather. This of course goes contrary to prior writings in French where he compared the upkeep of interest in smelling the dissonant top notes with musicians tuning up their string instruments before a concert. His apology and excuse?

 "My extenuating circumstance was that at the time (1985) I lived in Nice, where women can be toe-curlingly vulgar, and it was a big hit. [...] Now that the Niçoises have moved on, I see it for what it was all along: the sexiest fragrance since Cabochard”.

The construction of Paco Rabanne's La Nuit lies in the precarious juxtaposition of unassuming, fresh ingredients over "animalic" notes (those smells which recall real animals or rather our libidinous animal urges, as delineated by the discourse between Jung and Freud). The top of La Nuit is profuse in linalool, rather aromatic with a hint of spiciness like basil and myrtle, and a "bruised" citrusy note that results from the aging process in the vintage bottle. In the evolving process, golden hued plum and peach skin (the note made famous by undecalactone in Guerlain's Mitsouko) lend an old-school, rich saturation; compared to the graphic shrill effects that many contemporary fragrances go for in their search for "freshness", 1980s fragrance seem akin to canvases painted by the Great Masters. Of course this tells us more about the state of perfumery now than about La Nuit.
What transpires through this deep, pungent fragrance is an animalic, sweaty mantle (made slightly austere by a woody note of cedar) that engulfs a honeyed rose heart, the latter perhaps reminiscent of L'Arte de Gucci; the rose isn't what it's about nevertheless, but serves as a feminine counterpoint to the more unisex animal notes: Not only a huge dose of civet, but also the whole kit-and-caboodle of retro musks, intimate-smelling beeswax and bittersweet leather, almost urinous notes. The effect is a rich, individual leathery fragrance which can be quite alluring on the right type of defiant woman (or a discerning man); personally I can easily imagine it on Violetta Sanchez.

Extremely tenacious for an eau de toilette and even an eau de parfum (the latter slightly better nuanced) and very discernible sillage make this a vintage fragrance to use sparingly, especially if you "don't want to offend". (Then again, what are you doing playing with La Nuit?). The parfum (procured via a valued friend collector) is frankly exquisite.
I don't find it as debauched or decadent a scent as other hunters of the vintage scented gems (the term affectionately used is "skanky"), but rather edgy and quite French in its "je m'en foutisme" that French perfume wearers always had about their personal choice.
No wonder it's discontinued...

Notes for Paco Rabanne La Nuit:
Top Notes: Bergamot, Lemon, Tangerine, Myrtle, Cardamom, Artemesia (Armoise)
Heart Notes: Jasmine, Rose, Pepper, Peach
Base Notes: Cedarwood, Leather, Patchouli, Oakmoss, Animalic note, Civet

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: The Leather Series (leather scents directory with history info &fragrance reviews)

Photo of Arielle, Monte Carlo 1982, by Helmut Newton

Parfums Weil Zibeline: fragrance review & Weil house history

Parfums Weil is the most characteristic example of "parfums fourrure" (fur perfumes), being the perfumery offshoot of Parisien furrier, Les Fourrures Weil (Weil Furs), established in 1927. And Zibeline alongside Weil's Antilope are among their proudest creations.

The history of the House of Weil

Furriers since 1912, well before they became purveyors of fine fragrance, the venture of the founder Alfred -and his brothers Marcel and Jacques- into perfume resulted from the direct request of a client for a fragrance suitable to fur wearing. Weil obligingly capitulated to the request and produced scents that would guarantee not to harm the fur itself, yet mask the unwelcome musty tonality that fur coats can accumulate after a while. The names are quite literal: Zibeline (sable), Ermine (hermine), Chinchila, Une Fleur pour Fourrure (A Flower for Furs)...

The very first of those, Zibeline, was an expansive floral aldehydic veering into chypre tonalities, conveived as an evocation of the oak forests and steppes of imperial Russia and appropriately named after the animal there captured: Zibeline, the highest quality in furs for its legendary silky touch, its scarcity value and light weight. 

Zibeline belonged to the original fragrant trio line-up that launched the business of Perfumes Weil. Introduced in 1928, Zibeline was comissioned by Marcel Weil and composed by Claude Fraysse assisted by his perfumer daughter, Jacqueline. (The Fraysse clan is famous for working in perfumery: His two sons, André and Hybert were to work with Lanvin and Synarome respectively and the son of André, Richard, is today head perfumer at parfums Caron).

Scent, Versions & Vintages of Weil Zibeline perfume

Zibeline was released in Eau de Toilette in 1930 but the formulations came and went with subtle differences and their history is quite interesting. First there was Zibeline, then the company issued Secret de Venus bath and body oils product line which incorporated Zibeline among their other fragrances (a line most popular in the US) while later they reverted to plain Zibeline again. The Eau versions of Secret de Venus Zibeline are lighter, with less density while the bath/body oil form approximates the spicy-musky tonalities of the Zibeline extrait de parfum, with the latter being more animalistic.

The older versions of parfum were indeed buttery and very skanky, deliciously civet-laden with the fruit and floral elements more of an afterthought and around the 1950s the batches gained an incredible spicy touch to exalt that quality. It's interesting to note that as per Joan Juliet Buck, former editor of French VOGUE, men often wore Zibeline in the 1950s!

Later versions of Zibeline from the 70s and 80s attained a more powdery orange blossom honeyness, backed up by fruit coupled with the kiss of tonka bean and sandalwood, only hinting at the muskiness that was so prevalent in previous incarnations, thus resulting in a nostalgic memento of a bygone epoch that seems tamer than it had actually been. Zibeline is old school in the best possible sense and a parfum fourrure you will be proud to wear even if your vegan proclivities wouldn't allow you so much as think of touching a real sable coat.

The aftermath for Weil

Marcel Weil's death in 1933 did not stop expanding their perfumery endeavours; they added several other perfumes: Bambou, Cassandra and Noir. The Weil family was forced out of France by Hitler, so they re-established themselves in New York from where one of the first perfumes released was Zibeline with the quite different in character chypré Antilope being issued in 1945, upon return to Paris in 1946 when they also introduced Padisha. Sadly the multiple changing of hands resulted in the languishing of the firm by the 1980s and although the brand Weil has been in ownership of Interparfums (Aroli Aromes Ligeriens) since 2002 Parfums Weil is largely unsung and long due for a resurgence.

Notes for Weil Zibeline:
Top: aldehydes, coriander, tarragon, bergamot and lemon;
middle: orris, gardenia, jasmine, ylang-ylang, lily-of-the-valley and rose;
base: honey, sandalwood, tonka bean, amber, musk, civet and vetiver.

Perfumes that Attract Men and Smells which Turn Women On

Are there sure-fire ways to lure the opposite sex "by the nose", so to speak? Fragrances and colognes which produce that extraordinary feat of attracting a partner? No disclaimer should be necessary, but let's put it anyway: Sexual attraction is a complex process which relies on sublimilar as well as physical attributes and is -here's the catch- completely individualised. Even if one could argue that value or beauty have an objective facet to their basis, it's sexual attraction which escapes preconceptions, cultural lumpings together and the "golden rule", being the last individualistic frontier. Simply said, there is no golden rule in attraction. Everyone's different and not even the same person is attracted by the same thing constantly! If Tania Sanchez infamously quipped men are attracted to the smell of bacon (in order to make a point that there needs to be put an end to this "objectifying" perfume and regressing it to the status of voodoo talisman ), still it's enough to Google "perfume that..." in order to bumb into autocomplete options that heavily feature"perfume that attracts men, that men love on women, and that turns men on". But it isn't just the ladies who are doing the asking. There are also the popular autocomplete options to the phrase "what smells" which run the gamut from "what smells do guys like" and those that "turn guys on", to "what smells turn women on". Men are also searching for what women like to sniff on them. Like with words in languages, when there is a keen interest, there is a keen need for something. What is this need? A shortcut into a maze, most probably.



So let's take the suggestions by a popular webzine, YourTango.com and break them down one by one with our own comments and see if we can get out of that maze. They have nicely proposed lists for both the ladies and the gents. I suppose, if you're playing for the other team, you have to improvise a bit and expand your horizons on the perfume counter (Doesn't sound so bad!)

SMELLS WHICH TURN WOMEN ON

• Old Spice: From 1937 and with no signs of waning (witness the ingenious award-winning commercials), this is a dependable classic of lavender and citrus over spicy woodiness that even back in 1969 ads it was advertised with the tag line "Girls like it -Is there any better reason to wear Old Spice?" Careful though, lest it reminds her of her dad.

• Victoria's Secret Very Sexy for Him: I will have to take their word on it, as I haven't smelled this myself. Is it that sexy?

• Guy Laroche's Drakkar Noir: Named after a Viking ship, the definition of a chest-thumping masculine fougere, and still quit popular, decades after its release. Oddly enough it has characterised a generation of dykes who snatched it from the masculine cologne shelves in the late 1980s. Perfume and sex orientation can make for a fascinating thesis.

• Ralph Lauren Polo: There is something about this scent which smells both outdoorsy (that mossy background) and at the same time like one is doing their own laundry at home (that powdery fresh and coumarinic blast). Interestingly enough, the YourTango.com article mentions that "any Lauren scent fares well". I beg to differ.

• Aftershave: Nivea and Gillette. What do we see? The triumph of the familiar yet again. The classic aftershave "note" is one constructed on the deceptively simple axiom of the "aromatic fougere" fragrance family structure. Do I hear a stampede at the drugstore while doing the weekly shopping now?

• Laundry detergent/soap: Now you know why everything is being advertised as being "clean-smelling", like "just out of the shower" sexy etc. etc. I guess, if you're going to be doing any skin contact with any guy it's a relief to know he is at least hugienically approved. The rest of the problems are just waiting to raise their little head, but at least he's clean.

SCENTS WHICH ATTRACT & MAKE MEN DROOL

This list was inspired by the famous Smell & Taste Treatment and Research Foundation and the findings of dr.Hirsch and yes, you can imagine I'm wielding my fist at them, spawning as they did a myriad incarnations of the same sweet swirl laced with vanilla and juvenile foodie smells on Sephora shelves, making us all smell like little bakery girls eternally putting glaze on ourselves! But I digress...Supposedly, some of these smells produce alpha-brain waves, which produce a relaxed state of mind. Or others rouse penile flow. I don't know which is worse, having someone fall asleep on your neck from nuzzling thus denying you the continuation into a promising ~fireworks!~ night, or being chased around by a rabit erection and a not-so-subtle glint in the eye? Again, I digress...So let's get down and see which smells make the cut. Ahem...anyway...

• Vanilla: Guerlain could tell some tales on that score, as they have long held it's an aphrodisiac and put it in many of their sophisticated creations. Apparently, the somewhat less sophisticated readership of Askmen.com seems to agree. Dear reader, please, if you must go the vanilla route, pick up something rich, full-bodied and reminiscent of real vanilla pods (a very complex, almost boozy smell). Yourtango.com recommends Shalimar. Excellent choice, I'd add, unless it was his grandma's scent of choice. (Success lies in the details)

• Doughnut & Black Licorice: This depended on the appex of penile flow charted. Don't be so swayed and exhaust yourself trying to find that combo in a ready-made perfume, other brave souls went there before you and returned empty handed. Demeter makes a Licorice though reminiscent of candies and as to the doughnut, get your lazy bum in the kitchen missie and make him one, already! He will be thankful.

• Pumpkin Pie: Purely a cultural breed apart. This is specifically a fond association for American born & raised men, as the dish isn't popular in other parts of the world. It is thought to be particularly effective when combined with lavender (the spices suit it). It is thought to be particularly silly to be hunting for that combination at the perfume store. Yet Bath and Body Works makes a Cinnamon Pumpkin, which might be second best choice for that thing. Also a Pumpkin Pie Paradise body lotion...

• Orange: Humble fruit, a happy smell. Euphoria is, ahem, uplifting. There are hundreds of fragrances on the market which feature a distinct orange note, from orientals like the body products line of the classic Opium to the fruity smell of Marc Jacobs Splash and Boss Orange.

• Lily of the Valley: If you are a non gourmand fragrance lover and have been exasperating reading this list, rejoice. Lily of the valley may have a demure and chaste image but as we have focused on in our previous article, it's anything but; on the contrary it attracts male sperm! Who would have thought? The classic Diorissimo coupled with something white might run the thought of your white sheets through his head. Only he will be too apprehensive of that thought and feel a little guilty, fooled by the virginal quality of the flower. Prey on it, ladies!

And you, what do you recommend? Which fragrances have been men-magnets or women-attractants in your experience?

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Romancing the Scent part 1 and part 2

Paintings by Stella Im Hultberg and Sexy by Tatinan Escobar.

Top 5 Sexiest Fragrances

A BellaTV snippet (via PopSugar) featuring 5 picks from Scent Bar in Los Angeles (the brick & mortar store of Luckyscent). Basically a promo for Luckyscent, but oh well...it's a rather fun clip! Gotta love Zelena when she wrinkles her nose sniffing a bottle at 00:05. What bottle is that, by the way, anyone knows? Is it a Nanadebarry, Monocle Laurel or one of the Six Scents? And again when she first smells Molecule 01 (watch her expression, priceless micro-detail there) and proclaims it smelling very natural. I mean...Yeah, baby, yeah!

The five sexiest fragrances for men and women in the world according to Steven Gontarski, Scentbar expert (cute guy) are:

Lumière Noire pour Femme by Maison Francis Kurkdjian
Monyette Paris by Monyette Paris
Molecule 01 by Escentric Molecules
Costes 2 by Costes
CDG Red Series Sequoia

Agree? Disagree? Have your say! Which scents rate as sexiest to you?

Chrstina Hendricks Loves Some Manly Smell!

In the new issue of Esquire magazine, in a column devoted to 'Mad Men' beauty Christina Hendricks, the real-woman's-body champion dares to tell men what she really thinks about them: 'We love your body. If we're in love with you, we love your body. Your potbelly, everything,' Hendricks writes in 'A Letter to Men.'
'Speaking of your body, you don't understand the power of your own smell. Any woman who is currently with a man is with him partly because she loves the way he smells.'
We're hanging from your every word, dear Christina...

Serge Lutens Bois et Musc: Fragrance Review & a Draw

Among the four variations on the original Féminité du Bois, which in 1992 catapulted Les Salons business into the niche market (namely Bois de Violette, Bois et Fruits, Bois Oriental and Bois et Musc), this one is possibly the most polished, the most seamless, the most like natural skin scent and yet the lesser known. The latter possibly because it has never so far been issued in the export line, resolutely remaining a Parisian exclusive. Alongside Un Bois Sépia, Un Bois Vanille, Santal Blanc and Santal de Mysore, these woody fragrances form part of an informal family pegged as "Les Eaux Boisées" which cemented the Lutensian canon as we know it today.

Bois (pronounced "bwah") means of course woods and Bois et Musc is a fragrance which marries the two components of the name exactly as promised, in equal measure; first experienced in rapid succession (woods first, musk second), then in unison. The synergy of Moroccan cedar and smooth musk is at the core, while the usual Lutens accord of spice & dried fruits, with which he has invested his orientalised compositions for long, is subdued to the point of transparency. I seem to detect a creamy note of rosy sandalwood too, even though it is not officially mentioned, like those traditional incense beads fashioned in India and the Middle-East. The effect cannot be described as anything less than silky...
This is a fragrance which enters the scene like a shy guest who radiates the room with their quiet presence even though they don't utter a single word and are bespectacled. You'd be hard-pressed to find dainty features, or beauty writ large over them, but they just exude a positive energy that surrounds every living thing within a one-foot radius. Contemplative, sensuous, brainy with the kind of wits that don't show off. Compared with the other Bois variations on Féminité du Bois, it is closer to Bois de Violette, but without the shadowy ambery backdrop.

Bois et Musc is totally unisex, completely ageless and a superb skin-scent (i.e. smelling like human skin would if only angels and devils had cradled it), what the French call "à fleur de peau". Possibly, the idea which perfumer Christopher Sheldrake had in mind when describing a "sexy", attractive scent. And this is even more so the case than in Clair de Musc which misses by an inch via its opaline soapy florals that read as ethereal. In contrast this is nothing like a white musk: In fact it's closer to intimate and impolite, but it's so noble that it invests naughtiness with impecable manners. A sort of Fanny Ardant in a François Truffaut film, totally French.

Amidst subtle woody musks, this Lutens stands as a personal favourite ever since I had sampled it during a rather rushed visit (I had exited craddling a bell jar of La Myrrhe which had just been issued and which is also beautiful). Bois et Musc would make a wonderful musk choice for anyone who finds the concept of animalistic and outré Muscs Kublai Khan ~which I love, love, love~ quite attractive, but is leery of wearing such a potent musk outside the bedroom.

Bois et Musc is a Paris exclusive, sold at Les Salons du Palais Royal only, in the beautiful bell-jars of the exclusive line 75ml Eau de Parfum for 110 euros.

For our readers: One lucky reader will receive a big-sized decant of this exceptional, Paris exclusive fragrance. Comment if you want to be eligible. Draw will be open till Sunday midnight.



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


Photo from the film La femme d'à côté (Woman next door) by François Truffaut, 1981.

The Perfume Wars: Old Lady vs Older Woman

Among perfume lovers' circles there are no other two words more despised than "old lady" perfume. Is it because often the people who love ~but also have the economic means to indulge in their passion~ are of more mature years? Is it because it connotates the worst ageism possible, an invisible one? Is it because in the en masse swiping out of "old lady" perfumes one is thus disregarding all the classics and the vintage treasures which evolving trends made obsolete? Possibly it's a combination of all of the above. And why are men left out, as usual? Are there no "old men" fragrances? And if they exist, why isn't the world paying any attention? Considering the subtextual content of language in reference to scents isn't an easy task, probably exactly because olfaction is a function that addresses the brain's limbic system rather than the rational centre of speech. Therefore a correlation between feeling produced by smell and language used to express it is hard to establish.

Some people defend the term "old lady" by saying it's vague, so it could be construed positively. And originally it was. For instance, a beloved grandmother who has a loyalty to a specific fragrance of her youth might be an old lady to emulate. I can think of at least two. After all fragrance vogues come and go: When My Sin by Lanvin launched in 1925 it was the bee's knees (it still is, if we need to be objective), a subversive scent for an emancipated woman. Miss Dior (1947) was aimed at the debutantes of the first years after WWII, hence the "miss" denomination. Now the young ones wear Miss Dior Cherie, a sweet fragrance that bears no olfactory relation to the predecessor and turn up their noses at the original. L'Eau d'Issey (1992) marked a whole generation now in their early forties; in the eyes of a modern teenager, it's terribly passé. The cyclical course of fashions accounts for the unavoidable reversion of norms and perceptions, in regards to scents as with everything else.
It could be a lack of vocabulary and imagination only: The derogatory term is easy to say and to blurb forth, without trying to come up with a phrase that describes our feelings in more precise terms that could convey nuanced meaning. Obviously the mystique of fragrance is terra incognita for many, but I am wondering whether this is an excuse for terminology laziness.

On the other hand, so very often the term "old lady smell" is used in reference not simply to obsolete or old-fashioned aromata, but rather displeasing or even repelling ones: Smells of incontinence, of "dead" hormones (very seldom detractors consider "old lady" perfumes as sexy or attractive), of lacking hygiene due to physical disabilities, smells of medicine and disease...The feeling is almost one of foreboding, a bad omen that has the evil ability to stick around and influence everyone around. "Chela Gonzalez and her friend Nora are looking forward to sixth grade in their El Paso school. They have finally been placed in the A-class, the “smart class,” which is for students who only speak English. Then Chela’s father has a stroke on the first day of school, her grandmother comes to help out, and “the air became thick with the smell of old lady perfume, of dying flowers and alcohol…. It was the smell of bad things.” Thus is constructed the central plot in Claudia Guadalupe Martinez’s debut novel for young adults "The Smell of Old Lady Perfume". No baking cookies, cuddling and fragrant kisses goodnight for this grandma and grandaughter.
A blogger further writes remarking the scent of a woman he passes by: "Perhaps this isn't a smell that old people spray themselves with. Maybe when you get past the menopause, you instantly start emitting it. Old women try to mask it with stronger fragrances, but the old lady smell keeps coming out. As they get older, the smell fades, and is replaced by the smell of old mothballs." There is even a Banning Old Lady Perfume on Facebook! And the pursuit of youth at all costs knows no (commercial) boundaries: there's a magic smell for everything!
Surely it must be a hard-wired mechanism in humans that averts us from anything that reminds us of our own mortality seeing a woman of advanced years as discarded material, an old hag. Before you pppfft it as sheer rubbish though read this: "A researcher at Shiseido Laboratories has traced the problem to a fatty acid known as palmitoleic acid. He has also learned that the body of a person up to about the age of 30 does not secrete a noticeable amount of this substance, but that once a person--whether male or female--hits 40, the volume rises sharply. The volume of palmitoleic acid released by the human body is 10 times as great among people in their seventies as in their forties."
Still, aging is a privilege; the alternative isn't as good. We might as well be a little more accepting and lenient and grow up already!

Spirited discussions ensue whenever the subject is brought up nevertheless: One perplexed 25-year old says she was told by her boyfriend "his favourite perfume is White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor" and asks for opinions on whether it's too mature for her. Before anyone playfully suggests she ditches the boyfriend, she is told instead to "try it on skin first", "its old lady, try smelling Paris hilton, Gwen Stefani, Baby phat, J-Lo, these are just a few in my collection that smell oh so good", that "it’s a little mature but it smells alright. I wouldn’t wear it until I’m like 45+", "I didn’t know they had perfume for young folks and old folks" and yes, finally that "it is marketed to an older more mature woman". Ah...the magic word: "marketed"!

But let's see the world of difference a small substitution does to the term: What if instead of "old lady" we had "older woman"? The image of a prim, conservative little commuter, grey hair in a bun and structured purse in her lap, sensible shoes and no thoughts of enjoying anything naughty is looming whenever the derogatory term is used. Is it the "little" lady in there that is so distasteful to the detractors? One of them even mentions it out of the blue as smelling like "Eau de little old lady" when talking about retro perfumes , so there must be some truth in my theory! In contrast, consider being youngish and being told you smell "like an older woman", especially if this comes from a man. Instantly the characterisation is not negative; far from it. It's "older", not old. It's "woman", a more sensuously rich term than "lady". It's all French (or Italian) films and summers spent as an exchange student someplace where a knowing woman had taught you the secrets and exasperations of adult life Mrs. Robinson-style. Who wouldn't want to be as alluring as Jacqueline Bisset? Still, the ringing-of-some-humiliation term of "cougar" has been concocted against older women going after younger men, so I'm seriously considering whether "old lady" isn't a feminist issue to begin with. It probably is.

A suitable alternative term for "old lady" perfume nevertheless hasn't been universally accepted yet. Would "retro fragrances" be a positive term to replace the "old lady" one when referring to classics & old-fashioned scents? Would "old-fashioned" do when we're talking about something that is not necessarily within our comprehension or taste? Would "displeasing" be an umbrella subjective term for the scents we don't like, forgetting the ageist tentacles which are spreading and engulfing us whenever we use the term "old lady" in a negative light?
We're taking submissions for vocabulary expansion right here as we speak: Offer your own!

pics via shadyoldlady.com and cinematicpassions.com

Penhaligon's Amaranthine: fragrance review

I had included Amaranthine by Penhaligon's in my Top 10 Scents that Sing Spring for 2010 a while ago with the following words: "Its name denotes the eternally beautiful and unfading. The perfume, just like the name (from the Greek αμάραντος), evokes a deep purple red, a "corrupted" floral oriental with plenty of "dirty" aspects combining spiced (clovey) ylang-ylang and jasmine on a milky sandalwood and musky base. Fetish-phobics should better shy away, but those worth their salt in immersing themselves head-long into intimate scents (ooops!) will rejoice that the meadows and the flowers do not only smell of the sterile florist's or Alpine tops. As shocking ~coming from such an upper-stiff-lip British brand~ as discovering that our favourite nanny, Julie Andrews, has a va jay jay ~and a wee hole~ after all!"

So why am I back reviewing this? Probably because I have been pondering these past few weeks on how it came as an utter shock into the Miss Charm school of the Penhaligon's line-up, smiling like characters out of a Jane Austen novel with no success in hiding this Edna Pontellier amongst them! Like other outspoken feminine florals, like Passion or Grand Amour by Annick Goutal, DelRae's Amoureuse and Vero Profumo Rubj, this is a case of not being afraid to shout off the rooftops its deliciously carnal intent. An intent that is rendered like it's the most natural thing in the world!
Penhaligon’s website says “Amaranthine [part of the new Anthology series] is a corrupted floral oriental for those private moments when everything is anticipation” and by that line alone one would surmiss they're up to no good: Which they're not, in the best possible sense. Yet it was March at Perfume Posse who put the apocalyptical size of the shock value in proper terms: "Immediately and humorously nicknamed Amaranthigh by perfumistas, Amaranthine was a shot across the bow in terms of our expectations from staid Penhaligon’s. Bertrand Duchaufour’s bizarre, refulgent twist on a boudoir scent would have been about the last thing I expected from the house, and I wasn’t alone there".

Like a modern time Léonce, a callous patriach who is unshakable in his views, I was eternally stuck on how Penhaligon's as a fragrance house amounted to instant Victoriana with doilles put under the TV-set and little floral mats on the arm-rests of the couches, in a house that smelled of crushed lavender and butter-foiled scones for tea, always a little stale. Pretty as a picture and nostalgic possibly, but would I live there? No if I had any hopes of saving my jaw muscles from overexertion from the smile that would plague my face translating its ecumenical acceptance and patience.
I had only managed to be interested in Malabah, Hammam Bouquet and Castile from the house's classics previously and in Lily & Spice from the newer range; my itinerary (stopping at the outskirts of Coventry and never intending to go all the way up to Leeds) was cut short: The train was abtruptly stopped at junction "Eyes Glazing Over Victorian Posy" with a disastrous detour via "Bluebell" which had nothing to do with blue and plenty to do with Bells of Hell going ting-a-ling-a-ling.

Perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour has managed to shake this ~in hindsight~ passé notion and thrust it out of the window of that very same train. (Actually he also did a complete redecoration of that English cottage above, ushering a little French deco amidst all that plaid and floral. One can have too much of a picturtesque thing, after all). Amaranthine is travelling from station to station between fruity-ladden vines that sprout banana-bubblegum tones of quality jasmine (and lush ylang ylang) and a gently green but spicy blend of cardamom and coriander recalling not yet fully fermented tea aromatized the Middle Eastern way. And when it stops, it takes you to someplace where proper good buttery English toffee is still made (creamy sandalwood, warm musk, milky caramel tones), so not everything British is lost. Two beauties, one English, one French, are having a tryst. Simply spectacular!

Notes for Penhaligon's Amaranthine: green tea, freesia, banana leaf, coriander, cardamom, rose, carnation, clove, orange blossom, ylang ylang, Egyptian jasmine, musk, vanilla, sandalwood, condensed milk, tonka bean.

Availability and Limited editions on this link.

A special thanks to Joe for introducing me to this gem.

Photo of a nude Brigitte Bardot and an equally nude Jane Birkin via The Moly Doily blog. Claudya photo by Bettina Rheims from the Female Troubles Series