Emanuel Ungaro Diva: fragrance review & reminiscences

People sometimes say things are not what they used to be, and in the case of fragrances, they're unequivocally right. Despite a certain glamorization of the past, which usually indicates dissatisfaction with the present, the fragrance game has changed radically in the past 20 years. Not necessarily for the worse overall, but the bite and edge of fragrances in the mainstream sector has suffered indeed. Some of them, nevertheless, show a predisposition for resisting. Diva by Ungaro seems to be one of them, apparently surviving relatively unscathed. It's still a glorious chypre with an indestructible "hear me roar" bawl that can be heard from the rooftops

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I was offered a bottle of Emanuel Ungaro's Diva when I was 19. By my young boyfriend, no less. In today's standards, that would be the equivalent of being offered a petal dress in organza silk, combined with diamond-encrusted earrings to match, to wear to a black-tie ball. Talk about a glamazon! Those were different times, though; we weren't afraid to be adventurous with fragrance or over-apply occasionally. 

Jacques Polge, the legendary perfumer who is the father of the current in-house perfumer at Chanel, Olivier Polge, made sure to include everything and the kitchen sink while composing the byzantine formula of Diva back in the early 1980s. There is the standard big, voluminous, and arguably synthetic rose of the1980s, immortalized in creations such as L'Arte di Gucci, Knowing, and Paris (YSL). It's balanced with a big dollop of patchouli and oakmoss, which give a very distinct aloof quality to the flower, eschewing the prim and romantic allusions of those blossoms and instilling a glamorous and somewhat demanding vibe. You can definitely see how it was an offer of supplication from a boyfriend to one's mistress...

 This wonderful and classic chord is then cleverly wrapped in a honey note, which only sweetens it just so, and a string of animalic notes, from civet to musk (it's almost YSL Kouros-like in its intimacy of warm naughty notes under the clean starchness). It is these elements that help make Diva congenital even to warm ambery perfume lovers. People who like Paloma Piccaso Mon Parfum but find it a bit harsh might find the Ungaro fragrance more simpatico to their sensibilities; it's worth trying and comparing to see the common lineage at the very least.

There is warmth and plush in Diva, as well as a dollop of other flower essences than rose, which enhances its femininity, and it all makes it less of a boardroom fragrance, unlike the way Knowing can appear austere and buttoned-up, especially nowadays. This quality brings it effortlessly into the salon and the boudoir. It's ladylike but still naughty; in the case of Diva, the lady is a tramp. And hey, even Lady Gaga reworked the classic song, so fragrance lovers should probably seek out Diva and give it a spin. It's worth exploring anew.

Diptyque Fleur de Peau: fragrance review

The Diptyque story began in 1961 Paris at 34 Boulevard Saint-Germain with, at its heart, three friends driven by the same creative passion, who chose a Greek word which means a dual panel painting. Illustration was the very core of the founders, as Christiane Gautrot was an interior designer, Desmond Knox-Leet, a painter, and Yves Coueslant, a theater director and set designer. From then on, inspired by their Hellenic treks along the Greek peninsula and its mountainous terrain, and from their country cottage on the picturesque Mount Pelion, buried amidst thick fig trees all the way down the sea front, they launched several classics, from Virgilio to Philosykos. 

But the brand also presents a later day constellation of contemporary stars, like Eau Duelle and 34 Boulevard St.Germain. Picking just one is an Herculean task. The most sensual in the current rotation however is an easy choice. None other than Fleur de Peau. 

 Fleur de Peau relies on that rarity of the "musky idea": it harnesses the vegetal musks from angelica archangelica and ambrette seed oil, flanking them with ambrettolide, a macrocyclic musk which shares properties with ambrette seed and aids diffusion and lasting power. Thus the somewhat nutty, with a hint of berry, slightly sweaty and oddly metallic fusion of the properties in those fine musks gains the upper hand and makes Fleur de Peau very sensuous. 

Backed up with classic starchy iris, and carrot seed, which aids the earthy, starchy effect, it creates a cocoon of scent on the skin; it's as if the Platonic idea of sensuality has landed on our shores. The delicacy of vegetal musk with the central chord of pink pepper and rose recalls the refinement of Les Exclusifs de Chanel No 18 Chanel, and Musc Nomade Annick Goutal, two other fragrances with ambrette seed oil tucked into their heart of hearts. A quiet sensuality that does not plunge its décolleté low.

 

Fleur de Peau is soft, tenacious, with a discreet but perceptible sillage, radiant and glorious indeed. One of the better launches by Diptyque in recent years.

Frederic Malle Portrait of a Lady: fragrance review

 Portrait of a Lady in the line Editions des Parfums Frederic Malle is named after the homonymous novel by Henry James from 1881; a romantic detail which never fails to stir the imagination as related to fragrance. The novel tells the story of Isabel Archer, a young American heiress who "affronts her destiny". Dealing with one of James' recurrent themes, an American in Europe (as in Wings of the Dove), and the differences between the two cultures, The Portrait of a Lady is a tale of the conspiracy to separate Isabel from her fortune, and subsequently  the value of autonomy and accountability.

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The olfactory inspiration however has little to do with ladies, and lots to do with the burgeoning trend, set years before with Serge Lutens opening Les Salons de Palais Royal (find the perfume addresses of Paris here), of Arabian-inspired perfumery. Portrait of a Lady, by perfumer Dominique Ropion, deals with a rose note and spices in a new, contemporary way that varies between the oriental and chypre theme with patchouli, natural and intense, dominating the heart of the composition.

It is interesting to compare and contrast two rose-centric fragrances in the Malle collection, Portrait of a Lady and Une Rose. The Damascus rose makes itself felt in the former, while Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle Une Rose, created by Edouard Flechier, contains a record 1% of the expensive absolute of the Rose de Mai, a more crystalline, more citrusy variant, which is hereby allied to a chord smelling like truffles to give it an earthy, fleshy quality.

Rose and patchouli is a classic combination, memorized by every amateur perfumer like a mantra, and used by every professional one, revered for the ability of the latter essence to make the former seemingly bloom out in all eternity; keeping it moist, green, fresh, and yet at the same time dark, thorny and dangerous. L'Artisan Parfumeur's Voleur de Roses is a great example of the synergy of the two, with a minty, camphoraceous patchouli creating something totally unexpected for a rose fragrance, which is so often left to smell prim and proper like bath products.

The damascones present in rose, also make up a significant part as the component of the smell of raspberries, as well as tobacco. The tying of Turkish rose with raspberry in Portrait of a Lady, and underscoring it with honeyed facets and smoky incense, creates ooomph. Volume, projection, a flaming red tongue wagging to everyone in the vicinity commanding respect. 

This is no shy lady. Beware! Her skin is ivory, the rose is blood red, her person is on the cusp of hot and cold. Like in the song Herrin de Fueurs, she has "hair of copper, like a chestnut tree in flames" and "name and blood from the innermost of the earth."

 

Fragrant notes for Portrait of a Lady:  Turkish rose, raspberry, black currant, cinnamon, clove, patchouli, sandalwood, incense, ambroxan, benzoin and white musk

Britney Spears Fantasy the Naughty Remix: fragrance review

Britney had told us quite a while ago, in her lyrics, "I used to think I had the answers to everything, but now I know that life doesn't always go my way. Feels like I'm caught in the middle, that's when I realize I'm not a girl not yet a woman. All I need is time, a moment that is mine while I'm in between."  We chose not to listen, dismissing her line as a vanity project... what a misfortune. And that's probably our snobbism which saw her fragrant offerings with contempt in our quest for the pearl beyond compare, and it was our loss in the end. In this case, Fantasy The Naughty Remix went unsung for far too long. Like the two faces of Janus, it launched as the "dark" variation, while Fantasy The Nice Remix was supposed to be the tamer one.

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Thankfully one can see in the end, even when temporarily blinded. And what I can now see is a buttery, softly musky, fluffy moment suspended in time amidst shredded white chocolate while gazing in the mirror of my early youth's remembrance. A curvy figure dancing with pink pom-pom kitten-eared slippers in front of the whole body length mirror, holding a brush as a makeshift microphone. Suspended between the teenager vanilla expectations and the powdery halo of becoming a fully fledged young woman out to stride in the world with confidence. Not a girl, not yet a woman.

 A wonderful cheapie gourmand that holds the sugar in check to reveal a coziness that one nostalgizes about plentifully when older. And the fragrance lasts much more satisfactorily than a simple teenager body spray, being a solid eau de parfum seeing me through a full work day. Those how loved Fantasy will find a small undercurrent of the original underneath this variation.

 Currently I see Fantasy The Naughty Remix sold as a gift set of 30ml eau de parfum with complimentary body lotion and rollerball for around 25 Euros or less on Ebay.

Men's Fragrances to Capture (This) Woman's Heart

Evaluating a masculine fragrance is always harder than evaluating a fragrance that is divested of its loaded semiotics of gender, or which appeals to my own femininity heads on. At least I can asses femininity first hand and dismiss the hyperbolic claims of modern advertising with a wave of a well-manicured hand. But what happens when the claims to "assured masculinity" (surely that has a genetic component, so it's not much of a choice most of the time) and "assertive fragility" (or any such oxymoron) are brandished in advertorials? Do they make sense, do they reflect themselves into the scents in question, do they influence my own response on them? The fact is that masculine fragrances, especially in the designer segmentation, are getting sweeter and sweeter by the minute, no doubt following modern ladies' launches which have familiarized modern women with an excessive amount of sugar. 

This, in and of itself, clashes violently with the butch, macho images that sometimes accompany these fragrant launches and confuse me. Other times they're tongue in cheek, and when sprinkled with a good dosage of spices, I get intrigued and in rapt attention despite the sweetness. They're literally tens of fragrances aimed at the more assertive (so the stereotype goes...) sex which I love and would jump the bones of...from Santos de Cartier Cartier (vintage), L'Instant de Guerlain pour Homme Guerlain, Habit Rouge Eau de Toilette Guerlain, and the classic freshness of Vetiver Guerlain, to the subtlety and finesse of Eau de Monsieur Annick Goutal, Equipage Geranium Hermès, all the way to Encre Noire Lalique and the powdery orientalist of Noir eau de parfum (for men) by Tom Ford.
But in general I find myself revering to more retro fragrances when opting to embrace a masculine side. Oddly enough, these are also the ones which make me want to wear them on myself too, with few exceptions. 

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Givenchy Gentleman (1974) by Givenchy 

One of the best examples of this is the vintage edition of  Gentleman (1974) Givenchy, a fragrance so seismically changed in the reformulation of the new edition, that it is an entirely different fragrance bearing the same name., i.e. Gentleman (2017) Givenchy. The former is patchouli heaven for those who appreciate that hippie note in their scented grooming, but it is the coalescence with the Cuir de Russie leathery, tarry aspects (bitter facets with sharp citric nuances, and a smattering of earthy civet) and with trickled honey that makes it truly irresistible. Gentleman by Givenchy blooms and blooms on my own skin, and it's even more ravishing and irresistible, if you can believe it, on masculine skin thanks to its generally higher surface temperature. It's one of those retro fragrances that makes me wonder "What were they thinking?" when the news of the change reached me. If you have a bottle of this vintage in your arsenal, consider yourselves lucky indeed. Just don't over-spray, it's a man of few words. 

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Antaeus by Chanel 

Everyone mentions Egoiste Chanel when women and masculine fragrances are uttered in the same breath, but I find that the under-rated Antaeus Chanel is the better example. Thankfully Antaeus is among the releases in current production, and although it's a bit thinned out compared with its glorious past, it's still very good, tremendously sexy, and assertively powerful. Its trail of animalic warmth, thanks to a generous helping of castoreum with a subtle vanillic undercurrent, which matches exceptionally well with the labdanum resin, almost makes it moan with pleasure. In fact in blind tests when fragrance consulting with women it never fails to raise that "oh my" reaction with the ladies fanning themselves...

There is an important component of aromatics in the mid-section which temper the animalic oomph and make it escape the modern hysteria for bodily odors. It might be this which makes me comfortable in wearing it myself, to high compliments, I might add. This 1981 creation by Jacques Polge is among the very best in the Chanel portfolio and that's saying something. 

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Dior Homme for men by Christian Dior

Never mind that Dior Homme is everywhere, that it is one of the most interesting masculine releases of the last decade, and its flanker fragrances are also excellent, because the formula brings a most unusual iris root note, halfway between face powder or retro lipstick and dusty dried flowers, into an otherwise masculine formula. It doesn't surprise me that many women love it and love wearing it themselves; it's the most approachable from the lot. The iris in Dior Homme alternatively takes on facets of soft skin powder, like the one used in hipster barbershops, of powdered cocoa, and of ambery starch. It's a soft, soft, sooooft fragrance but it retains a hint of freshness, which I consider a very enticing and key component in fragrance in general. You don't want to be totally smothered into a cotton cocoon, after all, when in a social rendez-vous, you want to be able to breathe and appreciate the (hopefully handsome) view.