Thierry Mugler Angel: fragrance review

It's hard to bypass Angel by Thierry Mugler in the greater scheme of perfumery's historical progress, as it is truly seminal, a footprint on the path of perfumery as large as the Yeti's.
Olivier Cresp, its perfumer, is as much to credit with its innovation, as is its artistic director at Clarins (the Group that holds the licence for parfums Mugler) Vera Strubi, who envisioned the fragrance as a cult modern classic, and Jacques Courtin, president at Clarins, who insisted on developing the product first and only then seeing to its marketing plan; clearly an anomaly in contemporary perfume launching.

For Angel, Olivier Cresp and Vera Strubi sought into the identity of Thierry Mugler as a fashion brand and they came up with a fusion of childlike playfulness and iconic, haute couture boldness. On the one hand, the cotton candy and sawdust of the fun fair. On the other, the patchouli darkness of a handsome man in drag. The note of ethylmaltol which makes the cotton candy note in Angel, and which spawned like crazy, to the effect of saturating contemporary best-sellers with bucketfuls of it, was until 1992 fairly unused. Historically speaking it had been introduced in Vanilia by L'Artisan Parfumeur back when Jean Laporte directed the niche brand he founded in 1978, but its ice-cream cone girlishness was deemed too cute for proper perfumes; this was the time when perfumes roared with the bombastic spiciness of things like YSL Opium perfume and Estee Lauder Cinnabar.

Olivier Cresp took this discarded idea and flanked it with red berries, a dubious whiff of blackcurrant on top (recalling the success of The Body Shop's Dewberry) and the caramel softness of vanilla bringing out a sort of praline in the facets of natural patchouli oil.

The effect was stunning; warm and cuddly but also chocolate-y and dark, and the formula was painted blue, in mocking defiance of every possible evocation of feminine perfume, which until then was always some shade of hay or gold. Angel became le monstre sacré to dethrone Chanel No.5 in France and the rest is, as they say, history.

Monsieur Cresp, your place in the Pantheon is reserved, thank you very much.

Prada Candy: fragrance review

It's been called "Werther's Original in a bottle". It's been called "Infusion de benjoin". It's been called "a vat of Polish fudge made of condensed milk" or "cajeta". To my mind, it's neither, though I can see where the assessments are coming from. Prada Candy is simply the most unexpected launch of this autumn coming from the most blasé designer brand. I defy anyone to smell it and come up with a definitive verdict in less than a week's testing. It just keeps you guessing, is this for real? 

There's something inherently sophisticated about the Prada fragrance line (the apotheosis being L'Eau Ambrée; in contrast some of the Infusions are limp-wristed to me) and though at first glance ~or rather, sniff~ that's not apparent in Candy, in the end you realize that it could have been Pink Sugar, but it's not. It resembles the best-selling Aquolina scent in some respects; the strawberry-flavoured caramel being melted in a hot plastic cup, at some intergalaxial fun fair where waitresses are clad in A-line skirts embossed with lip prints in pastel hues. That doesn't mean that Candy is not a departure for the brand; something by  that name in a pop canister resembling a pink-edged coffee press is meant to be sweet and teeny-bopper and not coming out of the mind of Miuccia with her Communism background, right? Is catering to lower instincts like hunger and lust an opium for the people?

But there's thankfully a certain comfort factor about the new Prada fragrance instead of just dessert sweet, thanks to the deft of hand of perfumer Daniela Andrier; it's a complex gourmand oriental with a balsamic, drizzling, sexy background that holds it from becoming a total "teenagers-don't-know-any-better" mess. I'm not entirely convinced it's the best fit the brand could come up with (and it's not "me", which might be influencing me), but it's got a certain pull-in factor despite the identity crisis (Watching the commercial with Léa Seydoux I don't know if I'm supposed to laugh or hide my eyes out of shame on the protagonists' behalf). In short, Prada Candy is that confusing phenomenon: a fragrance that doesn't fit with Prada's image (much like L'Artisan's original Vanilia with its "simplistic" ice-cream cone scent was incongruous with the hippy, boho style of the rest of the brand), but somehow manages to appeal all the same.Of course one could argue that Prada might slap their label over a bottle of water and it would still sell like hot bread. True.

The composition features elegant musks up top with the intense flavour of milky, creamy caramel mixed in, some of the caramelic accents reminding me of the upper edges of lavender's spectrum. That caramelic note takes almost licorice & tonka facets, complex, abstract, like a passing kinship with the original Lolita Lempicka perfume. There is benzoin resin in the lower range of notes (much like in their best-selling Infusion d'Iris scent), purported to be as much as 12% of the formula -which I find hard to totally believe as benzoin is a known sensitizer- that creates a moiré effect between cozy and powdery. Benzoin naturally possesses facets like copal, a smell between medicinal and sweet, with earthier components (Smell Guerlain Bois d'Arménie which is full of it) . This characterises the drydown (i.e.the final phase of persistence) of Prada Candy on the skin after the first half hour following spritzing. The musky "dirty diapers" note, like baby urine, creates a background of soft suede and darkness reminiscent of a lot of vintage fragrances (it's the sexy note in Shalimar). A sneaky wink. And this is exactly why Candy is not dumping the brand or just aiming at a younger demographic, as one would be quick to cauterize at first "reading" of this launch.
The sillage is nice and cozy and the lasting power very satisfactory, after a while it becomes a skin scent.
I don't think I will be buying a full bottle, but I will tuck in  many samples in my bag for when I want to (contendedly) get down and silly. Nothing wrong with that!

Prada Candy is available at Eau de Parfum concentration at major department stores, starting from £40 for 30ml/1oz. and online (check the selection of discount fragrances for even better deals)
ETA: A new flanker, Candy L'Eau, a lighter interpretation, is introduced in spring 2013. 





Photo of dulce de leche via pinterest.com