Leather Series 7: The Garçonne Leathers of the 1920s

by guest writer Denyse Beaulieu

“She is a strong woman. Excuse – strength is not the word I am after. Women, pretty women at least, are never ‘strong”. I need a word that expresses energy, the quality that makes a man who speaks of ‘frail Eve’ – referring to the female sex – look like a fool!
Her neck is arched and tense. Tense also her features, her whole carriage indeed! Her demeanour is that of a duellist awaiting the attack!
Attack from whom!
From you, sir, and from me… from man, in general.”

“The Flapper – A New Type”, by Alfredo Panzini, Vanity Fair, September 1921
(from oldmagazinearticles.com)

As the “lost generation” returned from the trenches of World War I to civilian life, they faced a new kind of war: the war of the sexes.
It’s hard to realize nowadays the utter shock it must’ve been, for men who grew up alongside women in corsets and bustles, with huge flowered hats teetering on their long upswept tresses, to see them mutating into the cocktail-swigging, cigarette-smoking, car-driving, bob-haired, short-skirted breed Americans called “flappers” and the French, “garçonnes”. This second, much more telling designation (a feminization of the word for “boy” in French, “garcon”), was popularized by the eponymous 1922 best-seller (700 000 copies) by the French author Victor Margueritte. With its liberated heroine’s sexual escapades (including a lesbian affair), La Garçonne was deemed so scandalous that Margueritte was stripped of his Légion d’Honneur…

The Bohemian classes of the Belle Époque had already engaged in some gender-bending ~ the term “garçonne” was actually coined by the decadent late 19th century novelist Huysmans ~ but what occurred in the 1920s was an out-an-out, highly symbolic raid on masculine closets. Led on by Gabrielle Chanel, garçonnes shed the corset to adopt the more strict, practical and streamlined menswear styles, including the white shirt, suit and boater. Jean Patou provided them with sportswear to ski and play tennis; Dunhill and Hermès offered them leather motoring gear to match the luxurious interiors of their new, leather-upholstered cars; Hermès even produced flight suits for the fashion-conscious aviatrix.

And, of course, they began filching men’s eau de colognes – interestingly, Jean Patou’s 1929 Le Sien (“Hers”), shown at the Paris museum of fashion Palais Galliéra in the current “Années Folles” exhibition, is explicitly marketed as a fragrance men could wear, but produced for women. The same exhibition commissioned a (non-commercialized) perfume to embody the spirit of the Jazz Age, composed by IFF’s Antoine Maisondieu. It is, of course, a leather scent (for a review, click here).

The Cuir de Russie, as we’ve seen previously, had been around since the last quarter of the 19th century. But the 1920s and 30s would be the heyday of leathers from the spectacular 1924 double feature of Ernest Beaux’s Chanel Cuir de Russie and Vincent Roubert’s Knize Ten and Jacques Guerlain’s odd Djedi in 1927 to later renditions: Caron En Avion (1929), Lanvin Scandal by André Fraysse (1932), Lancôme Révolte by Armand Petitjean (1936) and Creed Cuir de Russie (1939), initially Errol Flynn’s bespoke fragrance, and LT Piver’s Cuir de Russie the same year. At least thirty houses launched their own versions of the Cuir de Russie from the late 19th century to the late 30s (the trend continued into the 50s), which bears witness to the enduring attraction of the note.

But the real turning point came about in 1919 with Ernest Daltroff’s epoch-making Caron Tabac Blond, the first leather scent to be directly marketed to women. Is it just by chance that the first perfumer to cross the gender boundaries of the “cuir de Russie” was himself a Russian?


To be continued.....


Pic of Marie Bell in Jean de Limur’s 1936 La Garçonne, courtesy of encyclocine.com

Leather Series 1: Definition and Classification

The aroma of leather in scent is akin to smelling a forest of silver birches in the cold ringing air for the first time, inhaling the insides of a pallisander humidor full of “Cohiba” accompanied with a good malt in a tumbler. It's the razor strap of an old-fashioned barbershop and the smell of saddle and leather-bound old books or savouring a post-coital cigarette. Much like the latter it is often hard to resist and a habit difficult to curb.

Whether one is familiar with perfume lingo or not, fragrances rich in the tannic essence of leather are bound to make an impression, be it one of rapture or one of abjection. It is no coincidence that either of those two sentiments usually ensues on people smelling leathery scents: there is seems to be no middle ground.

But let’s begin at the beginning. What is a leather fragrance? Why is it called thus? What does it smell like?

Leather scents pose a problem in taxonomy. Often appearing as a subdivision of the chypré family, leathery scents span the spectrum between feminine and masculine propositions often marrying other accords which might shift the focus into other families (fougère, oriental and chypré). Perhaps the answer to that is to allot them a separate family, as already properly classified (cuir) by the Société Française des Parfumeurs and from thereon subdivide into nuances. To be more specific, SFDP classify leather fragrances as category G, to be divided in true leathers (G1), floral leathers (G2 usually with notes of iris or violet) and tobacco leathers (G3, with smoky or woody notes and blond tobacco).
It is perhaos a great unjustice that leather/cuir has been a bastion of masculine perfumery. Feminine exempla do occur though and with wonderful results of refined taste.

It is worthy of note that leather is one of the oldest notes in perfumery, going back to the tradition of Gantiers et Parfumeurs; a Guild occupying itself with scenting the leather gloves of the aristocracy, in the 16th century, when pleasurably scented essences were used to mask the malodorous aura of newly tanned leather that had the lingering smell of the materials used in curing the hides, such as urine and dung. A profession out of which that of the perfumer arised. On this subject we will revert on a subsequent instalment. Nonetheless the notion of leathery scents stems from those times and is associated with those materials, trying to replicate the aroma of cured hides. Rendering an animalistic aroma that is redolent of Thanatos and inevitably Eros.

However leather perfumes can have several pitch variables, whether naturally or synthetically derived, making the perception of “leather” confusing and variable. From slightly sweet or with a smoked ambience, especially in specimens when the leather note is coupled with that of tobacco, to possessing a tar-like aroma that is especially simpatico with some idiosyncrasies, perfumes of this genre cater to different interpretations of leather. The matter is further complicated by the modern mention of “suede” note, a synthetic slightly salty accord that interprets the imaginary note of a soft, velvety pliable material we are all familiar with through fashion ~especially shoes. And lately fashion has been instrumental in bringing this forgotten family of scents back au courant.

It is often the association with clothing and accessories such as gloves, luxurious handbags and briefcases, chaps/breeches and battered motorcycle jackets that are most often at the back of people’s minds when thinking about a scent that smells of leather.

Upholstery of expensive cars and gentlemen’s clubs with leather Chesterfield sofas help ante up the luxury factor; while libraries with wall to wall shelves of leather-bound books fulfill the dream of every British-novel-loving acolyte admirably and I consider myself one of them. I can't imagine an afternoon more exquisitely spent than immersed in a big armchair leafing through old books on wizardry from Praha or a fat tome by Gibbon.
There is also the fetishist scene that adores leather for its rough/smooth aspect which is mirrored in the scent itself. This is played up into the evocation of several leathery scents that project an aura of the forbidden or the risqué. But liberty, freedom and individualism can also be viewed as expressions of leather, especially when conjuring up images of adventure, motorcycling, aviation and equestrian activities. The simple leather cord suspending a silver charm on the neck of a youth full of vigour is tantamount to a signal to the world at large of an emancipated identity.

The evocation seems to be conditioned though by frequent exposure to leather that has been treated with aromatic essences, taking into account that the whole aromatization business of hides rested exactly on the axis of people not liking the raw smell of leather per se. Perhaps the subconscious evocation of death and decay that is intrinsic to tanneries is at the heart of this aversion.

There is also the matter of differentiation between different animals procuring their hides: cowhide smells quite different than horsehide, for instance.
Many people also report gasoline or petrol impressions emanating from the bottle of a cuir scent: this has to do with methods of production and is not just their cranky nose, apparently, as you might have thought.

Whatever it might consist of, leather has its special magnetic pull: upon opening an Italian handbag of pedigree, you can’t resist burying your nose into the insides and inhaling the smooth, pungent smell of luxury. And that of nostalgia too: the longing of smelling a forgotten furry-trimmed glove on the back seat of a Rolls.


Next instalments on the series will focus on origins of leather scents and the production of leather notes.

Pic of Monica Bellucci courtesy of MonicaBelluccifan.com. Pic of library by queens.cam.ac.uk

Coromandel from Chanel Les Exclusifs: fragrance review

In the whole line of Les Exclusifs, one scent stands as trully lasting and sillage worthy. It's Coromandel, a dry ambery oriental advertised as "an oriental fragrance using a tree resin called benzoin, which has vanilla-like properties" inspired by the chinese lacquered panels that were abundant in Chanel's apartment, Coromandel denoting the company producing them and not the style of the panels.
The baroque appartment of Gabrielle/Coco Chanel on Rue Cambon, although not her place of actual abode (she used to stay at the homonymous suite at the Ritz in Paris), served as a background drop of her innermost luxury hedonist. And it was the basis of inspiration for another one of Jacques Polge's perfumes, Coco original, a spicy oriental, back in 1984. In it indeed a very opulent composition is evoking odalisques spread on leather sofas, weighted down by copious amounts of bronze and antique gold jewels.

Coromandel is described as "not innocent", as it is "weighted by frankincense" and "contains a hint of the heavier spices of the East".
Although I am a spicy oriental type, this sounded a bit like a rehash of Coco, of which for better or worse I a not a great fan and so before sampling I was almost certain that it would be too much for me, reserving instead my expectations for no.18. It soon proved that I was mistaken.
The initial impression is that of a citrusy, orange-like pipe tobacco mix rolled in powder, much like the one encountered upon meeting that vixen little scent called Fifi by lingerie designer Fifi Chachnil or a slightly less milky Fumerie Turque. In fact it could very well be a similar idea to that explored by the newer Burberry London for men.
Perhaps the orange impression derives from the inclusion of frankincense, a resin that sometimes gives off a sweet citric tang while burning.
A sweet lush note throughout is echoing subtly like vanilla pods immersed in fruity liquor and it opens up and expands on the wings of aged patchouli, mellow, soft, sweet and inviting. It would seem like the most glorious thing, if it were not for it being a little derivative of their Allure Sensuelle with a touch of Borneo by Serge Lutens and Prada thrown in for good measure. The influence Angel has had on the market in general is astounding to behold! Never mind that my favourite patchouli ever is Film Noir by Ayala Moriel.
Yet where Borneo is an inconoclastic dark patchouli laced with dark roasted coffee and Prada is an insolent single-minded young rebel that wants to shock her conservative environment in a relatively safe way, much like Muicia herself liked to do, Allure Sensuelle and consequently Coromandel do not dare push the envelope even in playful jest. They are not terribly innovative, although between the two Coromandel is much more complex and alluring.

Luckily, the pervading dryness along with just a touch of frankincense for a sense of mystery, not showcasing amber in any great degree all the while, provides a great balance to the sweeter vanilla elements and makes the whole not puff up in blue clouds of smoke, but stay the night on warm skin and well used sheets.
Sexy, yet not terribly imaginative. A cinnabar-hued brocade jacket, upper button undone with black camelia Chanel earrings. C'est ça!

Art photography by Chris Borgman courtesy of his site.