Thierry Mugler Alien Goddess: fragrance review

The Thierry Mugler news announcement for Alien Goddess, the latest fragrance in the Alien collection, was met with more eyebrows raised on the choice of Willow Smith, daughter of Hollywood actors Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith, than the anticipation for the next chapter in the beste-selling Alien saga by Thierry Mugler. The brand admitted they targeted Generation Z — a younger population yet to meet Mugler as a brand — with their choice. She was asked "to embody this new vision of femininity that is strong, powerful, inclusive, and edgy," as reported by the brand. Nevertheless, smelling the new fragrance and seeing the visuals, I see nothing strong (it's much weaker than usual Mugler fare, which are dynamite), nor powerful, nor edgy.

The expectation of a very impressive fragrance is rather lost on us, although the formula smells OK. I'm sure it will gather compliments; unlike Aura, Mugler's previous pillar launch, which is so divisive that people either love it with a passion or hate its oddly green, sweet tentacles. Alien is also met with opinionated detractors and fervent fans alike. 

The composition based on the ever popular "tropical, sunscreen lotion smelling perfume accord" is built on flowers like tiare gardenia (which contains esters giving a fruity nuance) and possibly a bit of frangipani/plumeria, with the crucial bit being a hint of lactonic perfume notes like coconut (γ-decalactone) or better yet, the effect of coconut milk (Guerlain's Coconut Fizz is spectacular in this one). And this whole notion bears as little relation to Mugler as possible. His Amazons do not sunbathe. They're in the desert of an alien planet.

Mugler's  Alien Goddess is faring better in that tropical department, as it's not at all stifling and stuffy, as some of its category are. It's actually pretty delicate, maybe too delicate, fresh like pineapple slices, and balanced in the sugary department, especially for a representative of Thierry's collection of mega-bombs. I suppose L'Oreal has been somewhat diluting the density, adjusting the standards with the rest of the market aimed at kids brought up on their mothers' fruity-florals during the 2000s.

It's really OK for a tropical composition, with a vanilla embrace that is immersed in clean, creamy musk. Soft really, and very inoffensive — airy, never too much, but in a way this negates the brand ethos. So there you have it: A bit not good in a rather predictable mix. If you awaited Lilith, she's not coming to dinner...

M.Micallef Royal Muska: fragrance review

Royal Muská is a relative newcomer in the game of musk fragrances, being issued by niche brand M.Micallef in as recently as 2008, yet it has gained something of a cult status already, thanks to its cloudy soft, warmish personality, with a gentle sheen like mother-of-pearl and a ray or two of the sun hidden in there.

Fragrantica describes it as "the fragrance of tanned skin, of hot days and sultry nights" and classifies it under "fruity floral". How can a musk be tropical, you ask? Well, with the suffusion of salicylates, molecules naturally present in ylang ylang essence, of which perfumer Martine Micallef made ample use. The effect is like a delectable whiff of baked skin, almost amber-ed over with a hint of Ambre Solaire suntan lotion, but only a little. It's also rather soapy (rosy aldehydic), especially when smelled at an arm's length rather than up close, yet without any harsh alcaline edges or lily-of-the-valley "clean" vibe. Yes, it's a clean, white musk, but not quite. The best way I could describe it is "hazy", puffy-pillowy and honeyed sweetish, a real skin-scent.
Then again you might heed Katie Puckrick's warning if you're averse to musks in general, who says "on paper it seems like the kind of thing I'd dig. But I don't. It bugs me. Seems a little rank, like the inside of my friend from 6th grade’s not-very-clean house". In fragrance parlance, this is often associated with "mature" scents and I guess it is, somewhat, although it certainly lacks the complexity of old blends which incorporated musk as a supporting actor rather than the protagonist.

Royal Muská comes as an Eau de Parfum and is usually referred to as Royal Muska, the accent omitted in oversimplification, so don't get alarmed if you find it with either spelling online. More feminine than unisex, although theoretically it could be carried by both sexes. And caveat emptor regarding possible musk anosmia just like with Musc Bleu by Il Profumo applies here as well. The rectangular bottle is impressive and luxurious, even better looking than the round Micallef ones.

Notes for M.Micallef Royal Muská:
Ylang ylang, rose, white musks, precious woods, fruit notes, crystal musk and benzoin.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: The Musk Series (ingredients & cultural history), Scented Musketeers: Musk fragrances reviews.


Photo from the Greek film Mantalena, 1960, starring Aliki Vougiouklaki and Dimitris Papamichael.

Ipanema and A la figue by Satellite: fragrance reviews

Sometimes one comes across some special people who are kind, generous, lovely. And on some rare occassions it so happens that those special people are also "perfume people", aromaphiles. I have known a few of those and they have sent me wonderful, rare things to try out, of which I am going to continue reporting in the future for your delectation.
One especially lovely lady known for her tremendous generosity gifted me with an assorted bag of goodies that included two of the new Satellites, I had talked about before: Ipanema and A la figue. She is deeply thanked for the sniffa experience.
So without further ado, my impressions of the two.

Ipanema named after the infamous brazilian beach between Leblon and Arpoador in Rio de Janeiro is imbued in Curacao shades of an endless turqouise, clear like a jewel made of blue topaz. The colour alone is making this enchanting to look at and enticing to put on. The official notes list ylang ylang, orange, grapefruit, freesia, sandalwood, coconut, white flowers, tonka bean, vanilla, sea accord and patchouli.
Now coconut has never been a very favourite perfume note of mine, because of the association I get with those dreaded pine-cardboard things dangling from the mirrors of derelict taxis, swaying their way across the national routes on your way from a rural airport to the point of your vacation destination on a white rock island. For some uncanny reason, most of my similar itineraries have been branded by this same memory, taxi driver always kind and offering tips and quips about the vacation spot to be visited, often also chain-smoking. Yet the permeating coconut scent of the pine decoration diverting my attention. Luckily, this all happened during the summer, when windows are rolled way down, when the nature is simmering under the hot brazing sun and the herbs of the field sing their own Pan-flute tune. The greek paysage smells nothing like coconut, to be sure. This pertains to far more tropical destinations, such as the one invoked by the mention of Brazil and Ipanema, of course. So I can see why the inclusion.
The coconut is quite pronounced which will satisfy people with a craving for the exotic and coupled with copious amounts of ylang ylang it takes the whole into a place of abandon to the sensuality of physical pleasures. You have to make sure that your wax is perfect and your bikini is brazilian-worthy-tiny, or at least cultivate that fantasy in your mind like the best of Heffner wannabes want you to do.
Regardless, the fragrance alone can get you to a place that looks like a technicolour movie of the 50s starring Elvis but underneath the dark mantle of earthy patchouli, as the scent progresses on skin, reminds you that this is the country of the favelas.(for a quick definition click here) A place of a wide divide: between the rich and the poor, the superficial and the meaningful, the facade and the core. Ipanema the fragrance, although not aiming for such meaningful elucidations, is adequatelly bringing the two into the fore.

A la figue, another Satellite new scent, also uses coconut as a fragrance note, although it is not officially mentioned. The playfull name that etches itself on both the figue(french for fig) and the fugue (depart, as in travel or daydreaming I like to imagine)caught my attention and the association of figs is very greek-like to me, as it is often the case that large fig trees are scattered across the fields and yards of properties imbuing the air with their dusty, creamy aroma that promises langorous days of summer, figs consumed after a dip in the big blue sea, washed and peeled under the tree and consumed with wild hunger after the swim, the dark red sticky juice marring hands, lips, caftans over bikins and assorted paraphernalia necessary for a day spent in the great ourdoors. It is no coincidence that L'artisan's Premier Figuier is one of my summer staples, as it evokes all those endearing associations in my mind of which I often partook as a child and even as a grown-up.

Figs have an interesting story behind them. As fig of the genus ficus is translated as "sūkon/syco" in greek, it was the proud export of the land of Attica, the broader land around the city state of Athens. In light of the trade significance of figs, which were prized all around the ancient world for their nourishing and medicinal properties, it was forbidden to pluck them out without licence or to trade them. However, human nature being what it is throughtout the millenia, there were still people who broke the law and took figs, especially from the holy fig trees beside temples, which bore a copious crop. Pretty soon there were people who took it as their task to report those violators, the informers or "sycophantes", deriving from sūkon phainein, to show a fig (sūkon, fig + phainein, to show). Of course, noble as the reporting was at the start, it soon transpired that it might bear a wonderful chance to carry out personal vendettas between enemies: if one hated someone else and had a grudge against them, what easier way to instill harm than to report them as stealing the figs from the trees? And this is where the whole "dicanic" tradition of ancient greece is based on, but this is perhaps the subject of another post.
In Latin times, the word lost its initial meaning, gaining the mantle of "a servile self-seeker who attempts to win favor by flattering influential people" according to Webster's. And thus it entered the english language. Ah, but the fig had its revenge here at last. And what an influential fruit it has been, being also mentioned in the Gospels (mentioned here in reference to Holy Monday) and the proverbial garb of the modest in Paradise.

The creaminess of the initial opening in A la Figue is redolent of the milky sap of actual fig fruit, the way they are a little unripe at first, sqeezed to produce a whitish milk juice that is a skin irritant (you have been warned!). Very soon, the greeness of notes that give an air of leaves and the bark enter, underscored all the while by the slightly vanillic coconut hint of the fruit peel and compliment the whole with their earthy aroma of wood and earth that reminds one of the might fig trees swaying in the wind. In this aspect it is quite close to Premier Figuier, perhaps a little more coconuty. It lasts on the skin sensually with an earthy quality that is classy and succulent and I can see it as great supplement to a summer wardrobe for people who love woody and creamy smells. A wonderful new addition!


Pic of coconut courtesy of oriflame.com, figs by DWSPL/T.Scott from dwpicture.com/au