Twin Peaks: Hermessence and Marc Jacobs

Hermessence Poivre Samarcande isn't discontinued like some of the other scents featured in the Twin Peaks articles; it enjoys pride of place in the Hermes canon and good commercial success in Southern European countries, from what I'm told. But the price asked is rather steep.

via

In the search for something similar I came upon Bang by Marc Jacobs, surely a less deep search into the pit of one's pockets, but just as good a fresh peppery goodness. Tip for the frugal: stockpile another bottle while the running is good.

Twin Peaks: Allesandro dell'Acqua and Korres

If you're a true musk lover such as myself then surely you recall Allesandro dell' Acqua by designer Allesandro dell'Acqua, a soapy but oddly sensual musk fragrance, which came and went without much noise and made us bang our head on the wall for not stockpiling.

via

Thankfully Korres has the filled the gap with Iris Lily of the Valley Cotton (admittedly a name too programmatic for its own good) which can be had for a mediocre sum of money and no great jumping through Ebay hoops to score a bottle. It smells of high count Egyptian cotton sheets somewhere posh with good company.

This is what I call a worthy discovery.

Twin Peaks: Korres Pure Cotton & Prada Infusion d'Iris

Do you associate iris the fragrance note with pure cotton? You should. Today's comparison involves two fragrances which share the same olfactory core in a language that has become Morse code for comfort, effortless elegance and sophisticated grooming.

Back in the 1970s and 1980s the scent of "groomed female" involved some floral aldehydic fragrance with the powerful blanched aspect of something termed White Linen (and we will revert to that) or First by Van Cleef & Arpels (or even Chanel No.5 for the purists), while still topping everything with the garland of sweet ladylike flowers. It probably involved matching ensembles, genuine supple kid skin leather goods and a 18K gold trinity ring by Cartier.
Our Millenial rotation has dispensed with the niceties and the romantic semiotics of flowers (especially since the metrosexual male partook in female ritual) and appreciates the "clean" "dry" feel minus the glamour and the hard cash. Enter the iris and white musk brigade that has been hammering down our collective nose door for a full on decade as the new code for "groomed".

via Korres Instagram

The "cotton" mention is thus explained; the former hot iron on a starched linen shirt coming from aldehydes is now smothered into the downy soft fabric softener feel of irones on freshly laundered cotton sheets (irones form the main constituent in the scent of iris/orris). You can casually stroll any super-market aisle and pick up any product in the body products range or even the laundry detergents/fabric softeners; "cotton" is code for lots of irones and white musks. Case in point? Carrefour's Cotton shower gel, for one.

Infusion d'Iris doesn't smell particularly iris-y. truth be told. That is, it's not the starchy pasta-and-sourdough feel one gets from orris, the dried rhizome "resinous" extraction coming after macerating the roots, even though the perfume's whole marketing standpoint stresses that technique ("infusion" etc. though if you notice, in the "list" of "ingredients" on the packaging iris/orris isn't mentioned). It's a powerfully woody resinous "clean" smelling entity with formidable attributes that do not proclaim their presence.  Benzoin, cedar notes and a hint of incense resin give warmth-coolness contrasts and copious tenacity and I suspect musk does too. This is also what I smell from the Korres Pure Cotton fragrance and the scratchy (but in a good way) lily of the valley aromachemical that signifies "I feel pretty, oh so pretty".

Beyond perfumery tropes, nevertheless, there is a very practical, tangible reason why Perfume Shrine's smell-alike perfumes articles, Twin Peaks, are so popular and this post is one such case. The full effect of the well-established best-seller by Prada comes at the fraction of the price in the newer incarnation by Korres! In fact Korres is probably playing on one of their older eaux de toilette, Iris Lily of the Valley Cotton. 

If you have been following our blog for years, you surely recall our dinosaur-worthy article of how much perfume actually costs. The internet has since erupted on similar breakdowns of cost vs. retail price, but beyond the pure logistics, any dedicated fan will tell you you're paying not for the raw materials but for the expertise, the know how, the tradition, the beautiful aesthetics...in the end for the sheer experience. (And that's why if you haven't read The Aesthetic Principle you really should). Price is irrelevant if you truly love what you get.

from the Wallpaper "Clean Slate" editorial featuring Korres products, via Korres Instagram

And yet, how do you explain two perfumes that are so close in scent that opting for one when having your eyes closed wouldn't produce a micro-grimace (lips falling down on one side, eyes rolling up) of distrustful apprehension?  Of course lots of other brands and companies have cottoned on (can't help the pun) to the success of the Prada Infusion d'Iris, not least Prada itself (mainly with their Infusion d'Homme). Chanel for one seems to have revitalized the No.19 perfume stable with Chanel No.19 Poudre, a scent which smells more like something from Prada (a soap devised by Prada) than traditional Chanel (a soap referencing Chanel)...and feel free to call me reductionist if you like, since I'm sorta sacrilegiously "reducing" both to soap. (Though soap is hard business to get right). And I'm coming round to the beginning of my parsing treatise; it's probably Dove and their classic soap scent which has inspired this whole genre. Something fluffy, soft, powdery and full of irones, lily of the valley, orange flower and white musks.

Fragrantica categorizes Korres Pure Cotton (part of the newly launched Eau de Cologne range) into the "aromatic spicy" fragrances and gives (the official) notes of mandarin orange (on top), iris (in the heart) and amber (in the base). It is an eau de cologne edition in a biggish bottle in the familiar elegant Korres aesthetics with a matte black rubber spraying mechanism. It smells and performs exactly the same as Prada's original Infusion d'Iris eau de parfum. Perfumephiles on a budget, rejoice!

Twin Peaks: L'Eau Froide by Lutens and Passage d'Enfer by L'Artisan Parfumeur

Monastic, cool, ethereal? In many ways L'Eau Froide is anti-Lutens, whereas Passage d'Enfer is L'Artisan Parfumeur down to the most minuscule detail. Though both brands are pioneers of niche, as Now Smell This notes they're a "study in contrasts". The Byzantine plot of a typical Serge Lutens is bringing the exotica of the Moroccan souk into a 19th century aesthete's dream sequence and from there into an urbanite's esoteric scent collection. L'Artisan on the other hand approaches perfumery via a luminous, refined, transparent approach as championed by founder Jean Laporte and perfumers Jean Claude Ellena, Olivia Giacobetti, Anne Flipo and Betrand Duchaufour. Even the ambers in the L'Artisan line are diaphanous instead of thick whereas their woody and "green" fragrances smell the way psithurism sounds.

via birdytg.blogspot.com

And yet...Inhale the icy ringing air coming from the thundra filling your lungs. Feel the chill of cold water in a silver-tiled pool where you anticipated warmth. Remember the surprising burning sensation on your tongue upon munching an ice cube against the hardness of adamantine. Feel the wet, clean feel of stones in a brook. And imagine a kiss from dead lips... If De Profundis aimed to capture the scent of death, the cold tentacles of a serene end to all can be felt in L'Eau Froide, from the pristine white-lined coffin to earth's cool embrace. I personally find this philosophical attitude to mortality very peaceful and cleasing to the mind. And not totally antithetical to the ethos of Lutens, come to think of it.

The terpenic, bright side of Somalian frankincense (reminiscent of crushed pine needles) is given prominence in Passage d'Enfer, much like in the Lutens 'eau' which unfolds the terpenes after a fresh mint start; this exhibits a hint of pepperiness (could it be elemi, another resin?) giving a trigeminal nerve twist. The effect is dry and very clean indeed (but unlike the screechy aldehydic soapiness & ironing starch of the first L'Eau), with a lemony, bitter orange rind note that projects as resinous rather than fruity and a projection and sillage that are surprising for something so ghostly, so ethereal, so evanescent. It's the scrubbing mitt of a monastery in the southern coastline, rather than the standard aquatic full of synthetic molecules dihydromyrcenol and Calone coming out of the cubicle in an urban farm. 

Still this aesthetic is something with which the average perfumista hasn't come to terms with yet; it will probably take a whole generation to reconcile perfumephiles with "clean" after the horros that have befallen them in the vogue for non-perfume-perfumes in the last 20 years. I'm hopeful. After all being a perfumista means challenging your horizons, right?

Notes for L'Eau Froide (2012): olibanum, sea water, musk, vetiver, mint, incense, pepper and ginger
Notes for Passage d'Enfer (1999): lily, incense, woodsy notes and musk.

Both are available through niche distributors at more or less comparative price-points.

Twin Peaks: Ormonde Jayne Champaca & Calvin Klein Truth

Usually the purpose of a Twin Peaks smell-alikes article is to highlight affinities between a higher end fragrance and one which is offered at a comparative price. However it's not solely that. A discontinued or catastrophically reformulated perfume that could be "relived" through experiencing a decent substitute, no matter its provenience, is also worth mentioning. To the latter case I present a comparison between Champaca by British niche brand Ormonde Jayne, which is currently in production, and Truth by Calvin Klein, which has been discontinued a few years already.

via lucacambiaso.deviantart.com

The reason CK Truth for women was discontinued is lost on me. It had everything going for it when it launched back in 2000; from the subtle yet lingering aroma of green bamboo shoots and comforting woody-musky notes to the sensuous advertising and the aesthetically pleasing contours of the packaging, it looked like a much better bet for the Calvin Klein brand than many others in the overpopulated line. The evocation of a woman's skin was sensuous and done with an interesting twist to eschew too obvious a musk note by Alberto Morillas, Jacques Cavallier and Thierry Wasser. It even had its own "blending kit" of 6 key essences (one of which I distinctly recall was a lilac "accord", to my confirmation of the intimacy of this innocent looking flower) to custom mix so as to produce your individual scent combination, a Truth Lush flanker in 2002 and a "sensual bedtime fragrance" flanker -smelling exactly as it name suggests- launched in 2003.

With that in mind it's safe to say CK Truth could be classified under "undeserved commercial flops" as a marketing case study that includes other honorary mentions such as Feu d'Issey and Kenzo L'Elephant. Perhaps the fault was one of timing: By 2003 the advent of "gourmands", i.e. a subcategory of oriental fragrances heavy on the vanilla which mimicked popular desserts smells, was inescapable and the clean, serene, aromatic woody bouquet of Truth was hors categorie.

Champaca by Ormonde Jayne on the other hand, coming from a niche firm, had a clear advantage. It is also "foody", but in the most unusual sense. In fact coming out in 2002 places it at that crossroads mentioned above. And yet, being "savory" rather than "sweet" (in the vanillic or ripe fruity sense), Champaca also pre-empts a trend that took wings by the end of the 2000s; the slightly salty, savory scents which do recall some dish or other, but less overtly than "cupcake" and "cake batter". The cult success of the perfume within the de iuoro limited perimeter of the niche fragrance market was due to its super comforting odor profile. The sweetly creamy, floral note of champaca, a yellow magnolia common in India, was married to the note of steamed basmati rice, itself a nurturing image, Earth Goddess and all.

The inspiration came from a couple who were neighbours to Linda Pilkington when at her first London appartment; whenever they steamed rice, the building smelled cozy and like home. I only found that info later, from Linda herself, but it justified my own impression that Champaca would work great as a room fragrance, one for a cozy restaurant in off-white colors with big sofas around to immerse oneself in like giant cocoons. As the scent progresses the floral element of Champaca is diminished and it turns somewhat "greener" and a tiny bit sour, while still very very soft and non-obtrusive with the low hum that perfumer Geza Schoen is known for.

The Ormonde Jayne seems less "skin scent" than the Klein one overall, the latter being a little tarter and with less of a foody element, but they're remarkably close. Some people notice a third simile with Fraicheur Vegetale Bamboo by Yves Rocher, but I haven't tried that one. If you have please discuss.

Notes for Calvin Klein Truth:
bamboo, wet woods, white peony, vanilla, white amber and sandalwood
Notes for Ormone Jayne Champaca:
Neroli, pink pepper, bamboo, Champaca, Basmati rice, green tea, myrrh, musk.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: More smell-alikes fragrances on this link.

Twin Peaks: Balecianga Florabotanica & Hermes Kelly Caleche (comparison & review)

I had always maintained that Hermès's Kelly Calèche perfume from 2007 was a sleeper classic: it has the ethereal, aristocratic quality of Grace Kelly with an atonal modernity built in to it, a herbal rose abstraction, the perfect introductory fragrance for young women ~brought up in Bath & Body Works body sprays~ into "proper" perfume. It didn't intimidate, it didn't cajole with false pretenses of sweetness, it didn't turn too masculine or too soapy, all thanks to its refinement and slightly disjoint character of herbs plus flowers. Strangely enough, it's no shame to admit Kelly Calèche commercially languishes. With no celebrity face endorsing it, no big advertising, a reference to an iconic bag ("the Kelly") that only the really really wealthy (and well connected) can acquire and a smell that doesn't propose seduction, it was meant to be.

via pinterest

Still the artistic idea by perfumer Jean Claude Ellena was a good one and several upstarts tried to re-do it with a different concept presentation to appeal to the exact same demographic. Gucci Flora for one. Balenciaga, a hipper brand than both, in Nicolas Ghesquière's tenure, tries once more and now employs the rock chic ~and cheat~ of Twilight saga star Kristen Stewart to promote it, wrapped in packaging of pure 1970s psychedelia and with a name to finally mean what it says: Florabotanica.Apparently the official ad speak talks about evoking "the 18th century botanical gardens in which the most exotic and rarest plant species were displayed". Yeah, all rightie.

“Flowers can be cruel, carnivorous or poisonous,"Ghesquière said upon Florabotanica's launch. "What would a perfume that contained this mystery be like?” I'll tell you what, it smells like Kelly Calèche, a perfume that is neuther cruel, nor carnivorous, least of all poisonous. Not too obviously floral either. We're not dealing with juggernaut. But the element of danger and the forbidden has to be brought into ad speak, axiomatically it seems, because perfume apparently cannot (or will not) extricate itself from the game of seduction, no matter how much fragrance yearns to be perceived as art! Therefore IFF perfumers Olivier Polge and Jean-Christophe Herault were brought to the task to reprise the green rosy aspect, the top note that recalls bittersweet tomato leaves, the cooling effect of green shoots, the lightly sensuous, close to the skin lingering human-like trace, and the linear perfume structure that smells the same from top to bottom. Florabotanica is suitable for the girl at college as it is for the professional working at an office, from morning to casual evenings, and might even have young girls' mothers (or brothers) borrowing it on occasion, it's that pliable and wearable, with a moderate projection and trail despite the initial faux "loudness".  Does it create ripples in the pond, though? Nah...

Those who give credence to perfume notes and what they mean won't believe just how different these two appear to be on paper. But hey, don't take my word for it, go smell them side by side! (And while you're at it, give a whirl to Eau de Pamplemousse Rose and Rose Ikebana, both Hermès, if you happen to be close to one of their boutiques, to see the same idea fleshed in small variations by the original artist).

Florabotanica notes: mint, carnation, hybrid rose, caladium leaves, amber and vetiver.
Kelly Calèche notes: jasmine, mimosa, narcissus, tuberose, iris, lily of the valley, benzoin and leather.

Florabotanica by Balenciaga is available at major department stores for $95 for 1.7 ounces/50ml of Eau de Parfum.
Kelly Calèche is still available on Hermès' counters and boutiques last I checked.

Twin Peaks: Calvin Klein Secret Obsession & Oriflame Chiffon

Usually the Twin Peaks series, an album comprised of smell-alike snapshots, springs from the demand for similar-smelling perfumes, either less expensive homologue scents, alternatives when a specific fragrance doesn't quite work but you know you like the effect or substitutes when one's favourite is ruined through reformulations. The case of Secret Obsession and Chiffon by Oriflame (a Swedish skincare & cosmetics company that distributes its products throughout the world BUT for the USA) is neither: The former just immediately sprang to mind upon happening to smell the latter. And it needed documenting for posterity's sake, especially now that Calvin Klein's Secret Obsession is getting axed and disappearing from fragrance counters. Who knows, it might be someone's favourite and they might be desperate to find a replica!

Though Chiffon is not an intentional replica (i.e. a dupe), being neither marketed nor created as such, the case with Oriflame perfumes is that often they reprise the formulae of successful brands with minimal twists. Anyone who has ever smelled their perfume portfolio has noticed that Volare for instance is Lancôme Trésor's "décolletage over a peach angora sweater" less flamboyant sister. That's nothing new in the perfumery market of course, when big companies unblushingly flat out copy other big companies, but I digress. The reason in this case is because Oriflame fragrances are developed by the same company that develops brand fragrances for designers (namely Givaudan). Like with many Twin Peaks articles, a good formula is carried on by perfumers from brief to brief (see L de Lolita Lempicka and Musc Ravageur, both by Maurice Roucel, or Azuree, Cabochard and Aramis, all by Bernand Chant).
Oriflame isn't reticent on putting impressive images into their presentation either: they hired mega-model Natalia Vodianova for their Midnight Pearl previously in a clip that was eerily reminiscent of the Dior Midnight Poison commercial in all its sweeping drama. So looking down on them isn't always a wise move is what I'm saying; they have a few things worthy of further exploration.

Secret Obsession is presented as a floriental, created by Givaudan perfumer Calice Becker and art-directed by Ann Gottlieb who is responsible for many Calvin Klein successful launches. To me however it registers as lightly fruity-spicy-woody, much like the Lancome feminine fragrance Magnifique, with which it shares many facets. Poised between Lauder's Sensuous and Magnifique, along with its congenial sisters, it's part of the new vogue in feminine fragrances: namely woody, duskier notes.

The initial impression of spraying Secret Obsession is rum-like boozy with an alcoholic hairspray blast petering out quickly, plummy and ripe but not overtly sweet (a good thing!), especially compared with the overall sweeter Magnifique.
In Secret Obsession there is a distinct phase in which the resinous, intense aroma of mace provides a welcome surprise as the fragrance opens up on the warmth of skin.
The overall effect is tanned skin, cocoa-buttyric musky, cedary-woody, much of it accountable to Cashmeran (a woody musk of synthetic origin) and is less loud than the oriental monochromatic amber of the original Obsession by Calvin Klein or the fruity megaphones of Euphoria, but perceptible. Secret Obsession has a linear development that doesn't change much as you wear it: the initial scent becomes warmer and duskier, but doesn't change significantly over time. I wouldn't necessarily deem it too sexy or provocative (despite the advertising) and would prefer to see it in a body oil concentration where its shady character would shine.

Chiffon has a lovely name, evocative of a sheer, expensive material with a soft tactile feel and reprises the softest elements in Secret Obsession to project as a woody-musky hum with indefinable "clean" notes that translate as soft, powdery, whispery. It's accompanied by sensual advertising that is short of the overt sexual innuendos in the Calvin Klein scent. It's just a classier image overall. Typically for an Oriflame fragrance Chiffon is light in volume and not tremendously lasting (invariably they're eaux de toilette), though decently pleasant and wearable. The bottle is overall more innocent, less weird and more conventionally pretty than the Klein vessel. Incidentally, Chiffon is Oriflame's local best-seller, alongside Elvie, and comprises a body cream and body spray deodorant in the same scent.I guess it hits upon the local desire for abstract smells (nobody desires a straight vanilla or a flat out  fruit scent) , manageable price points and a hint of sensuality in the mix.
Tuberose is almost non existent in Chiffon, it's so minimal, but then the same happens with Secret Obsession anyway. The given notes do not mention mace, though the note appears the same as it does in Secret Obsession and is indeed the individual twist which differentiates them from just any woody floriental on the shelves. In fact while comparing the notes for both perfumes what jumps up to the nose is -for once- corroborated from what appears in black on white. Proceed accordingly. Just hurry, if you want to grab a bottle for yourself, because Oriflame is also known for axing fragrances right & left.No one's perfect!

Notes for CK Secret Obsession:
Top: exotic plum, mace, rose Damascena
Heart: French orange blossom, Egyptian jasmine, tuberose, plum, woods
Base: cashmere woods (=Cashmeran, a soft, woody musk), burnt amber, Australian sandalwood

Notes for Oriflame Chiffon:
Top: plum, ylang-ylang , iris
Heart: orange blossom, tuberose, plum, cedar, patchouli
Base: white musk, sandalwood

Twin Peaks: Gres Cabochard, Aramis for Men and Lauder Azuree

It's been noted before that Aramis bears a distinct kinship with Cabochard (Grès) through the common perfumer behind both creations, namely the legendary Bernard Chant. But two other perfumes fall neatly somewhere between those two neighbouring meridians: Azurée by Estée Lauder and Bandit by Robert Piguet. Roughly, they can be likened to a family:

Aramis being the butch Godfather patriach, well behaved on the outside, dangerously brooding on the inside. Cabochard is the maternal force turning the neck (and therefore the head as well) in any which way she likes, while Azurée is the younger long-haired son driving fast without a licence and Bandit the rebel without a cause tomboy daughter who shuns panties in lieu of leather pants. They could have been The Sopranos, had the show been more stylish-oriented and retro glamorous. Or not. It doesn't matter, we can imagine.

Actually I'm cheating: Technically, the original sketch for Cabochard from 1959 was later deprived of its intensely opulent, romantic floral heart of India-reminiscing blossoms to serve as the core of the formula for Aramis (1965). For those who didn't know it, Azurée (1969) is also by Bernard Chant; a fresher interpretation of the Aramis idea given a luminous fruity topnote of refreshing bergamot, while still remaining resolutely herbal.

Chant was mad for chypres, skanky animalic or non; his Aromatics Elixir for Clinique is a seminal study on mossy herbal patchouli with a big rose lurking inside the bush. Azurée, albeit herbally green and chyprish, is softer than Bandit and lacks the acid green bite of the quinolines that compose the latter's leather note, thus making it more approachable of the four specimens, if largely unsung.

Comparing the two classic fragrances from Grès and Aramis, Cabochard and Aramis for Men respectively, I find myself contemplating how reformulation has changed perceptions: Cabochard has lost something of its intensely feminine mystery of floral chypre throughout the years (the ylang ylang and civet have been watered down), gaining a toughened, ballsy exterior which brings it even closer to the virile Aramis; the latter hasn't suffered major loses so far, although a reformulation in the mid-2000s altered a bit of its veneer.  
Aramis appears somewhat sweeter and mossier, underneath the male snagging quality with its pungent bitter leathery and artemisia green notes on top laced with cumin and a hint of ripeness emerging very soon ("body odour zone", "wild!", "unbelievable"). It has a more powdery-earthy vibe overall, with a sweet pleasing note in the drydown which lasts amazingly well. Cabochard is more screechy and strident nowadays with its synthetic castoreum and floral reconstitutions, yet still rather formidable compared to so many blah scents around. Both are abstract landscapes where everything is sophisticated, yet wild too; a cultural map of the sexual revolution unfolded through the span of a couple of decades.

Certainly not interchangeable, but similar enough to appeal to lovers of rough, fangly greens with mossy, leathery drydowns, this quartet of fragrances ~Aramis, Azurée, Bandit, Cabochard~ has a place in any perfume collector's arsenal. All fragrances are highly recommended as "shared" between both sexes irrespective of their advertising campaigns.

Notes for Aramis for Men:
Top: Artemisia, aldehydes, bergamot, gardenia, green note, cumin
Heart: Jasmine, patchouli, orris, vetiver, sandalwood
Base: Leather, oakmoss, castoreum, amber, musk

Notes for E.Lauder Azurée:
Top notes: Aldehydes, bergamot, artemesia, gardenia
Heart notes: Jasmine, geranium, cyclamen, orris, ylang-ylang
Base notes: Leather, patchouli, oakmoss, musk, amber

Notes for Piguet Bandit:
Top: galbanum, artemisia, neroli, orange
Heart: ylang ylang, jasmine, rose, tuberose, carnation
Base: leather, vetiver, oakmoss, musk, patchouli.

Notes for Gres Cabochard:
Top: aldehydes, bergamot, mandarin, galbanum, spice
Heart: jasmine, rosa damscena, geranium, ylang-ylang, iris
Base: patchouli, leather, vetiver, castoreum, oakmoss, tobacco, musk, labdanum, sandalwood.

Top photo Vogue US cover March 1969. Vintage ad from the 1980s for Aramis for Men.

Twin Peaks: Musc Ravageur & L de Lolita Lempicka

Tracing kindred spirits in perfumery is occasionally as uncomplicated as finding the common mastermind behind them. In the case of Musc Ravageur and L de Lempicka that one is none other than Maurice Roucel, celebrated perfumer and creator of some of the most delectable orientals and florientals in existence (and the occasional stellar chyprish floral, such as in K de Krizia). Although the fragrances are not 100% interchangeable, as evident in my review below, they bear a keen similarity that would have lovers of one eager to discover the other and those on a budget discovering a smell-alike that isn't a travesty.

In Musc Ravageur the explosive departure of bergamot, tangerine and cinnamon is set against a backdrop of vanilla, musk and amber. No flowers, just a refined skin scent. Yet contrary to name, Musc Ravageur isn't really about musk! Though it is rather "dirty". It's more of a spicy oriental, old-school-style and raw. And the reason I am including it in a section devoted to musks is mainly due to nomenclature and readers' expectation.
If you have been fearing (or loving, like myself) the reputation of Muscs Kublai Khan and Christopher Brosius I Hate Perfume Musk Reinvented, you will be puzzled by this one, recalling as it does the base of such classic orientals as Shalimar or even less classical, like Teatro alla Scala by Krizia.

Smelling Musc Ravageur on skin one cannot but form an opinion towards the latter. Musc Ravageur, just like the big paws of its creator, is more of a naughty & voracious home cat with a furry tongue giving you a bath, rather than a wild tiger in the jungle shredding its prey in pieces. A very sensual amber -rather than musk, compare with Kiehl's Original Musk oil for instance- is hiding in the core of the fragrance. A characteristic citrus-spice top note is there (I detect clove and lavender as well), which recalls the Gallified "oriental" mould, and a silky vanilla-amber dry down which isn't really sweet, but interplaying between warm & cool, almost a bit herbal. The artistry lies in having the amber perform like a Chinese gymnast: all over the place, but with an elasticity that creates the illusion of weightlessness!

The fashion designer with the borrowed names, Lolita Lempicka, came up with a wonderful vanillic scent in L de Lempicka, that has lured even me, who am not crazy about vanilla like -apparently- most of the rest of the female population at this particular moment in perfume history. L is no ordinary childish foody vanilla because it manages to combine an ambery depth with a salty kiss, like skin baked in the Mediterranean sun, under a cloudless azure sky. Featuring immortelle flower, the infamous note in Annick Goutal’s Sables and Christian Dior Eau Noire, it has a weird sense of hot summer images (immortelle is a very usual sight around the Mediterranean coast) despite vanilla’s traditional association with winter and homely smells. A cul de sac manicurist's existence in a crammed, abandonded apartment in the suburbs of some French town during the summer perhaps? More appealing, surely.
In Sables the impression is more of a wearable maple syrup, a very warm hug, a drier beach with no fish like that near a fossilised forest at the island of Lesbos. Sables is like seeing the earth’s history in a long gaze and a moment of eternity becoming yours.
L de Lempicka comparatively is much tamer than the Goutal and for that reason, above all, it will undoubtedly be more popular. It features also orange and cinnamon notes that contribute to the likeness I detect with Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur. However the effect is not as spicy-dense in L de Lempicka, while at the same time L comes off as more calorific and rounder, more ambery. L de Lempicka also lists almond , bergamot, precious woods (sandalwood) , tonka bean (coumarin notes)and solar musks. It comes in Parfum and eau de parfum and my review is based on the latter.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: see more smell-alikes on the Twin Peaks articles link

Photos of Catherine Deneuve,top via MademoiselleB, bottom film still from Roman Polanski's thriller Repulsion

Twin Peaks: Hermes Poivre Samarcande & Marc Jacobs Bang reviews

In the secrecy-laced world of perfumery it's not unusual to have the same idea colonise several brands. Sometimes it happens through the same "nose" (perfumer), such as Anne Flipo for Rykiel Woman and Barbara Bui Le Parfum or Maurice Roucel working for Musc Ravageur as well as L de Lempicka). Other times, because it's the direction dictated by a new material such as the ubiquitousness of oud (Rose Oud by Kilian, Oud Leather by Dior) or Ambroxan lately (Another 13 and Baie Rose 26, Not a Perfume by Juliette Has a Gun). Or it's a new technique; take the novel method of maceration of iris root for only a few weeks instead of three years resulting in a pleiad of niche iris scents 3-4 years ago. Added to that is also the reason of marketing: A new sector opened by a pioneer is exploited by other brands later on, even by home fragrances and functional products (this is called "trickle down" in industry speak). The point of Twin Peaks series on Perfume Shrine is exactly that: to pinpoint fragrances that are smell-alikes and delineate the reasons and hows of their resemblances.
Which brings us nicely to Poivre Samarcande by the exclusive boutique line of Hermès and Bang by Marc Jacobs which circulates in the department store circuit. Smell the two though and you can see there are less of six degrees of seperation between them.

Poivre Samarcande came at a time when Jean Claude Ellena was busy populating the -at the time- novel concept of boutique exclusive fragrances, the Hermessences (The original quartet which was sold in 2005 included also Rose Ikebana, Ambre Narguilé and Vétiver Tonka). It must have felt especially validating to have everyone follow, from Chanel down to Cartier and Dior La Collection and produce "exclusive" collections in a niche manner of presentation and concept (focus on raw materials, identical bottles, limited distribution, star perfumer working for them). Poivre Samarkande was in many ways a pioneer because it was incorporated into Jean Claude's experimentation with Iso E Super started with Déclaration, which he overdosed in the Hermès scent in order to boost the effect of an airy pepper accord, which although spicy is transliterated like a wood thanks to the boost of cedar, oak and patchouli notes. In actuality it's the Iso E Super which underpins the spices, making them shine and feel cool and silky, projecting in a linear manner. The unisex effect alongside its peculiar feel good, feel non-perfumey character has made it a soaring success. It was only natural the great idea would be perpetuated. Enter Marc Jacobs.


Bang is Marc Jacob's latest foray into perfume, coming out in July 2010. His line of scents is well thought out, but without presenting much of an excitement to the hearts of dedicated niche perfumery consumers. The scents simply read as a tad too "safe" to present the much coveted challenge we seek. However, their execution is usually very good, from the bright and happy Daisy to the snuggly but light powder of Amber Splash. Bang is no different: It takes its central leitmotif from someplace else, but the result isn't a total bore, probably because the original idea was an intelligent one to begin with and someone was wise enough not to muck with it too much. Bang was created for a “contemporary guy, who, even if he isn’t young, has a younger spirit.” Jacobs created the name first and development of the composition in cooperation with Coty followed. “I wanted to do something that I would love” said Jacobs. “I particularly like spice notes, especially pepper, so that became a starting place.”
Bang was art-directed by the revered veteran Ann Gottlieb who requested such notes as black, white and pink pepper, alongside masculine woody notes (Iso E Super and ambrox for you), while the base includes elemi resin (in itself having a peppery aroma), benzoin (a sweeter resin), vetiver, "white moss" (a patented IFF accord that was introduced in Jasmine White Moss in Estée Lauder's Private Collection line) and patchouli. The scent has a vibe of a metrosexual preening in front of a black-tiled bathroom mirror, so I would most enjoy smelling it on someone unexpected. Preferably a woman.

The two scents smell quite alike, Bang being a bit sweeter and with more pronounced vetiver and watered down in the lasting power stakes (to the point of annoying), but it's the optical differences which stuck in one's mind: On the one hand a refined and sparse representation of a leather-clad bottle, on the other a slicked-up Marc posing with the (impressively designed) bottle between his bare legs. Take your pick according to your aesthetics and wallet.

Twin Peaks: Zino by Davidoff, Chanel Coromandel, Lutens Borneo 1834

Comparing an uncompromisingly masculine fragrance such as Zino by Davidoff with a unisex offering from Chanel, daintely named (Coromandel) after Chinese laquered panels which might sooner decorate the apartment of a woman or a gay male than the chick-trap of an abode of a bachelor might seem like a exercise in futulity. Heck, there's even a makeup line at Chanel's bearing the very same name! Yet the two fragrances, winking both at yet another patchouli-ladden beauty, Borneo 1834 by Lutens, bear the proud insignia of hard partying and bohemian airs which a rich, decadent patchouli heart knows how to provide so well.

And for those on a budget or searching for an easier alternative to savour the allure of Coromandel, Zino is a choice that can be found easily on discounters and online stores, being utterly underrated for absolutely no sane reason at all. I hope after this review a couple of people will summon the courage to search for it, as it's totally worth it. But perhaps the greatest recommedation would be that it has been gracing the oh-so-fine body of Captain Jack Sparrow, né Johnny Depp for quite some years now (Fittingly as it was first issued in 1986). Who can resist his charms, his chiseled face and bohemian attitude? Personally, I could see it on someone like Vincent d'Onofrio as well. If you're fond of aquatics and/or a fan of a girly Robert-Patterson-like allure (of Twilight fame), you can stop reading right now, it will only get painful.

I had written on my Chanel Coromandel perfume review, when I compared the scent to a cinnabar-hued brocade jacket, upper button undone with black camelia Chanel earrings: "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. [..]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 [...]with a touch of Borneo by Serge Lutens and Prada thrown in for good measure. [...] 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".

Zino starts on a classic masculine accord of lavender, clary sage and bergamot, bracing, nose-tingling like the top notes of Jicky, almost recalling a fougère, but immediately we're drawn into the maze of oriental woods, where the dark green of patchouli hypnotizes the senses with its sweet, beckoning and a little overwhelming scent and a trompe l'oeil hinting at tobacco (A Davidoff fragrance without some allusion to it? Unthinkable). Zino's big rosy heart worn on its sleeve is the perfect accompaniment to the green leaves with moth-repelling properties, and serves to smoothen the former, alongside the other subtle floral elements. Every ingredient bursts into life on the skin and despite the potent opening the scent manages to appear as rather subdued in later stages. Once upon a time touted as the "fragrance of desire", I admit that for this woman on this day, it still seems good enough to eat and amazingly sexy while we're at it too.

Sheldrake’s handwriting is all over 2007's Coromandel, which would make the comparison with his previous Borneo 1834 for Serge Lutens (2005) a natural fit. The two fragrances share a pronounced similarity at the drydown, a fuzzy, synthesized woody-amber drydown like ambroxan (much more pronounced though in -say- Lolita Lempicka au Masculin). Zino also shares in the traditional ambery fade-out after its scultural masculine top, its darkness an ink-like blob on thick matte paper, but lacks the distinct coffee note that runs through the heart of Borneo, instead opting for extending the note of patchouli to its chocolate-like extremes. Borneo on the other hand is an intensely camphoraceous patchouli laced with dark-roasted coffee and cocoa notes and much dryer, while Coromandel, perhaps due to its eau de toilette concentration and axiom of "application with abandon" alluded to by the big, honking bottle, seems airier and less saturated than both. Airier for an oriental woody, mind you! Its kinship with the original Prada should give you an idea of the ballpark we're talking about. The sillage of every scent is delicious; a mysterious wake that will have people swerve to catch a whiff and ask you what it is.
Ultimately, between the three, Coromandel is the daytime, easier and more powdery version, Borneo more suitable for evenings and trend-setters, while Zino is the one reserved for sexy men and for women not afraid of five-o-clock shadows on them. If you're among the latter, do try Zino for yourself too, you'll see it acts like a fedora over long hair.

Notes for Zino by Davidoff:
Top: lavender, palisander, clary sage, bergamot
Heart: geranium, rose, lily-of-the-valley, jasmine
Base: patchouli, cedar wood, sandalwood, vanilla
Notes for Coromandel by Chanel
Benzoin, patchouli, woodsy notes

Notes for Borneo 1834 by Lutens
Patchouli, Camphor, Cardamom, Cistus, Galbanum, Cacao

pic of actor Vincent d'Onofrio via fanpop.com, Sarah Ranes portrait via indiepublic.com

Twin Peaks: Perfect Veil, Nude Musk and Opal

Sometimes the perfume lover is jaded after being entrapped into the midst of deep and meaningful perfumes which sing the praises of king Solomon and his court. Sometimes I just want to put on something that is cuddly and soft and doesn't smell like perfume as much, more like the perfected emanation of a gorgeous body pulsating with vigour and sensuality. This is especially sympatico to the hot summer weather of a southern region, when rich harmonies might risk wilting and becoming suffocating.
For those instances, I turn to light, clean musks. I intend to devote more time to musk and musky fragrances in general soon, but today's selection highlights that imperceptible aura that I described above perfectly.

"The concept behind this scent was to recreate the smell of clean, naked skin ... only better" and this is as good a definition of a skin-scent as any. The words belong to the ad copy for the cult favourite of celebrities, Perfect Veil by Creative Scentualization, a company founded by Sarah Horowitz-Thran. {Perhaps the most interesting part is that she custom-makes fragrances for clients, with her perfumer Marlene Stang. Prices range from $350 to $1,000. Call (888) 799-2060} How fragrances become the stuff of cult celebrity fandom is a matter which is rather complicated: there has to be some effective infiltration to the celebrity's PR or some word of mouth from another celebrity (that seems to work a lot more than you'd think!) or gifts to said person which prove welcome and thus sanctioned to be publicized and so on and so forth.
For what is worth, Perfect Veil is perfectly all right, with or without the famous entourage of young desirables who favour it. Its citrus piquancy at the beginning keeps it from becoming suffocatingly powdery or too sweet and the effect is not too much like laundry, which is always a risk when working with synthetic musks in the family of Galaxolide and such. The pairing of citrus and vanilla, after all, has the illustrious ancenstry of Shalimar, an impression that is gloriously modernised in the delicately powedery muskiness of Shalimar Light. But where the Shalimar fragrances wink seductively under heavily shadowed eyes and eventually grab you by the collar, these cleaner ones merely slip the spaghetti strap of an ivory microfiber teddy letting you the initiative.

Notes of Perfect Veil according to Luckyscent: lemon, bergamot, musk, vanilla and sandalwood.

For something that is composed by ingredients that do not run too expensive I find that Perfect Veil is on a par with two excellent alternatives, in line with this feature's mission: Nude Musk by Ava Luxe and Opal by Sonoma Scent Studio.

Ava Serena Franco of Ava Luxe is another artisanal perfumer with a stellar reputation of excellent customer service who has devoted lots of her time in creating different twists on musks among a diverse portfolio that includes the wonderful leathery Madame X. Her Nude Musk manages to be just perfect, almost a deadringer for Perfect Veil and yet endearing in its own right. Nude Musk is described as: "A clean and sexy skin musk with notes of sandalwood, bergamot, light musk, and vanilla. Light and slightly powdery. Long lasting". The description is stop-on and the powderiness is especially pleasant, like the most sensual talcum powder you have applied on your skin before gliding into freshly pressed cotton sheets of high thread-count.

Another beautiful skinscent in the musks family is Opal by Sonoma Scent Studio , a company run by perfumer Laurie Erickson in California. Laurie, no stranger to these pages, has been working on lots of interesting musky twists with an edge, some of which will be soon featured on Perfume Shrine, so I am just whetting your appetite today!
Opal in Eau de Parfum has amazing lasting power that will surround you with delicate whiffs of the smell of being desired all day long. A little sweetness is induced through the vanilla touch, never too much and the whole does not become soapy-like. I find it a little less powdery than Nude Musk, very pleasant and quite sensual. I can definitely see why it is a best-seller for Sonoma Scent Studio and I can't blame anyone for liking it. Like its gem-like name, it's silky soft, illuminated as if from within, caressing and smelling like the warm skin of a loved one. Upon testing it I received the most delicious compliments on how wonderful I smelled, not how nice my perfume was. And that's the whole difference with those fragrances: they're supposed to enhance your own presence instead of standing alone as a piece of artwork. Opal never wears you, you wear it!
It also comes in a concentrated perfume oil made with a natural pure fractionated coconut oil base; no alcohol, silicones, water, emulsifiers, sunscreen additives or colorants added. The fractionated coconut oil is light and non sticky, has no odour of its own, but a long shelf life, dries quickly, and is a light moisturizer on its own.

Notes for Opal: delicate musk, vanilla, ambrette, bergamot and sandalwood.

These are all playful and uncomplicated scents for when you want to let your hair down and enjoy being who you are. Don't burden them with pretentious ambitions and you will be having a wonderful time in a cheek-to-cheek slow dance with them.

Pic of 1920s bathing suit courtesy of Wikipedia

Twin Peaks: Un Lys and DK Gold

I had written that Un Lys by Serge Lutens represents the dying breath of an angel in heaven. Such is its poetic licence that you have to approach it with sacred awe.
Donna Karan strived for a comparative effect with her Gold fragrance for women in 2006. Its mix of vibrant lily with animalic profundity puts Gold on a pedestral of worship, that of a stony goddess who demands the coming of Choephoroi.

The fragrance necessitated no less than 3 perfumers of the caliber of Yann Vasnier, Calice Becker and Rodrigo-Flores Roux. Usually that would be a recipe for disaster (too many opinions and twinkering often lead to an incoherent vision), yet in Gold the result is none the worse for trying.
The main accord focuses on bright, trembling with life lily, suave woods plus musk, effecting a round and creamy composition accented with discernable jasmine adding its indolic glory.

The opening of Donna Karan Gold has the dewy freshness of green tonalities of muguet, vaguely reminiscent of the green overture of Annick Goutal's Des Lys (another floriental focusing on Casablanca lilies) and the sharper start of Lys Mediteranée by F.Malle. Although the floral phase is clearly discernible from the start, the more the scent dries down the more the sensuous aspects reveal themselves beneath the droplets of lucid coolness.
Underneath a camphoreous scent is peeking through, like a riddle on the edge of the screenshot in a Greenaway film: now you see it and now you don't.

The development of Gold in the Eau de Parfum adds a very alluring animalic submantle which hints at ductile leather and ambergris rather than the traditional resinous amber mentioned, yet it doesn't do so with too much rebelliousness, remaining a sensual touch warming the proceedings and adding gravitas. Perhaps Gold, although certainly not ground-breaking, is a knowing wink of Donna Karan to her first perfume, the long discontinued Donna Karan New York in the phallic black bottle, which utilized lily, amber and suede to great effect.

Compared to Serge Lutens Un Lys with its mellifluous vanilla merging flowers with a dancing cloud, cherubically ethereal and featherbed soft at the same time, Gold stands as a drier, less sweet composition; but for those with no access to the exclusive Lutens it's a good alternative.


Notes for Un Lys: lily, musk, vanilla.
For DK Gold: Casablanca Lily, Amber, Acacia, White Clove, Golden Balsam*, Gold Pollen and Patchouli.

*a mix of Peru tolu balsam, olibanum, benzoin, vanilla, and cistus


Please note that Donna Karan Gold comes in Eau de Parfum concentration, which is warmer and much more complex than the more aqueous and linear Eau de Toilette, as well as a Sparkling Eau de Toilette. Between those versions Eau de Parfum is highly recommended per above. Parfum amplifies the cistus and incense with more vanilla.
The elegant bottle is created by jewellery designer Robert Lee Morris.


Un Lys , being a non-export fragrance, is only sold at Les Salons du Palais Royal Shiseido, who ship across Europe, while a few remaining bottles of the limited edition in export oblong bottles can be found at select few Lutens sellers.

Pic of Gold bottles courtesy of Donna Karan Beauty

Twin Peaks: Indult Tihota and Vanille Noire du Mexique

According to the beautiful myth in Totonac mythology, the tropical vanilla orchid was born when Princess Xanat, forbidden by her father from marrying a mortal, fled to the forest with her lover. The lovers were captured and beheaded. Where their blood touched the ground, the vine of the tropical orchid grew. One can see how the aroma of vanilla recalls love: breast milk is known to smell of traces of vanillin, the chemical constituent of vanilla extract.
It is no wonder that it is such a popular note in perfumery that has inspired so many renditions and compositions centering on it; like a quintessential theme in art, such as a sunset or a female nude, making different generations of artists seeing it through their own eyes for our benefit.

And so, on to two vanilla-centered fragrances today, which share common traits. Share in terms of smell, because they're worlds apart in terms of cost, presentation and poise.

As we had reported in the past, "Indult" is an old french word from 1498 signifying the privileges given by the french King or the Pope to esteemed individuals. The Christian Latin "Indultum" meaning "concession, favor" is at the root. With the desire to launch something that has comparable exclusivity rights as those bestowed upon by a king, Indult the niche line is comprised by fragrances that are issued in only 999 bottles each, automatically entering you in the club able to order a refill if you have purchased a bottle. The fragrances have been developed by young talent Francis Kurkdjan, the man behind the satiny femininity of Narciso For Her, the curry-rich and individual immortelle wonder of Eau Noire by Dior, the smooth skin caressed by the sun of Aquasun by Lancaster, the sweet bestseller Le Male by Gaultier and the modern abstract rose interpretation of Rose Barbare among others.

Tihota (which means ‘sugar’ in Polynesian) is an exotic concoction of fresh vanilla pods and various musks. Like the incandescence of the sunrise that embraces the far horizon, the fragrance exudes the rich and warm sensuality of real vanilla pods, opened fresh with a knife to render their rich, darkish, bittersweet, almost loquat odour to a creme brûlée. Putting it on one can feel the skin breathe beneath: although sweet and tenacious it retains the magical touch of Kurkjdan which is to make truly modern fragrances that respect one's personal odour profile to emerge.

Comparing Tihota to other costly vanillas, such as Guerlain's Spiritueuse Double Vanille, provides a backdrop in which to appreciate its advantages and shortcomings. Although it highlights the aspects of the vanilla pod with amazing accuracy, it somwhow lacks the artistic interpretation beyond that: it acts the way those painters who paint from photographs are able to catch the finest detail and produce a total which is completely accurate in its representation, yet falls short of the defining aura that differentiates the living being from the imprint on the photographic paper. Spiritueuse Double Vanille has the genius addition of a smoky and lightly boozy veil of incense, as well as what seems like a delectable note of marjoram and oregano on my skin, which combined account for an intriguing denouement. In that regard, Spiritueuse Double Vanille defies the moniker of a vanilla scent, despite it being named after it, in contrast to Tihota which remains more simplistic.

For that reason, it was perhaps an interesting experiment to see which of the myriads of other vanilla fragrances in the market would come close to Tihota on a more approachable level. I am happy to report that although they might not be exact duplicates, Tihota and Vanille Noire du Mexique share several common threads in their stories unfolding on skin.

Vanille Noire du Mexique is forming part of the collection of vanillas from La Maison de la Vanille, a niche line with affordable prices of vanilla-laced fragrances in aluminum cans of eau de toilette.
The most arresting aspect of Vanille Noire is that despite its price it smells like real vanilla pods, succulent, rich, almost oily with a burnt sugar tinge. Vanilla orchids were initially indigenous to Mexico anyway (with the name deriving from the Spanish "vainilla", small pod), although today the majority of the world's Bourbon vanilla production is produced in Madagascar in the Indian Ocean and the Reunion (formerly Île Bourbon).
In its own way Vanille Noire is faithful to its name:Vanilla sold in tourist markets around Mexico is mixed with an extract of the tonka bean, which contains coumarin.
The other vanillas in the range are also interesting, but the darkness, the oiliness and slight earthy cocoa touch of this one elevates it to my favorite in the line.

Also very close (even closer) to Tihota comes L'Occitane Vanille, but it has been discontinued for more than 2 years now. If you can locate a bottle, it might be a worthy experiment to compare side by side.

Notes for Vanille Noire du Mexique: vanilla, roses, iris, tonka beans, opoponax, patchouli and bergamot.

Notes for Tihota: vanilla pods, various musks.

Shopping:
Initially sampling for Tihota was reserved to French Sephora and on the Indult site. They have since relaxed their sampling policy, with options available through Luckyscent and First in Fragrance.
Tihota comes at 50ml/1.7oz Eau de Parfum bottles at 160 euros/250 $.
The bottle of Tihota is an architectural rectangle with a black rounded cap, much like the classic Chanels and encased in a beautiful pallisander wood box designed by Etienne de Suza.
More information can be had the Indult site .

Vanille Noire du Mexique comes at 50ml/1.7oz Eau de Toilette bottles at 39 euros. Available at Beautyhabit and First in Fragrance.


One sample of Tihota will be given away to a reader: Comment if you want to be eligible.

Pic of Vanilla beans via Wikipedia. Pic of Tihota bottle through Luckyscent.

Twin Peaks: Chanel No.19 and Heure Exquise reviews & comparison

Two sisters cut from the same cloth, but parting ways in their pursuit of self-fulfilment is not an uncommon scenario in real life, but when it happens to fragrances the comparison warrants exploration. A beautiful icy queen in contrapuncto to a bohemian lady of pedigree is how these two seem.

In Chanel No.19 I find every bit of that confident self-assurance that few women project without appearing displeasingly haughty. Composed by Henri Robert in 1971 for Coco Chanel herself, who supposedly overlook its creation from start to finish and first commissioned it for herself while in her 80s, it's one of the compelling masterpieces of perfumery and I personally love it dearly.
A very cool and powdery iris sings in soprano voice above the greenest vetiver and crunchiest galbanum this side of pre-reformulation Vent Vert; green jasmine vine dew and a little wood and leather give it aloof sophistication. It wears equally well on a hot day or a cool rainy one and this is an admirable trait, making it a perfect spring choice. Poised between green floral and green chypre, to me it definitely leans to the latter, a very elegant and confident one at that, that does not demand dressy clothes but could be just as fetching with something more casual. I picture it with a crisp white shirt on and silver bangles on a warm day, hair down; carefree and free-spirited and a little audacious to contrast with its primness of character. It would be a grave mistake to pair it with twin sets and pearls, all the paraphernalia of prim and proper, subtracting from its strict-boss sexiness.

The three concentrations are quite different from one another and thus worth comparing.
The Eau de Toilette comes in a refillable spray bottle, same as the classic No.5 but in silvery brushed aluminum instead of black; or a flat oblong spray bottle with a rectangular black or silver cap. The Eau de Parfum comes in the classic flat Chanel bottle with curved edges, with a spraying mechanism, just like No.5 in Eau de Parfum. Parfum is of course encased in the loveliest flacon of the three, with the excellent craftmanship reserved for the top products of the line.
Each of them hides a different aromatic secret: Eau de Toilette is the sharpest, dewiest and startingly greenest of the three, an affair of iris and vetiver in a naughty tryst after the executive power breakfast.
On the other hand Eau de Parfum, a creation of the 80s, highlights the crystalline Rose de Mai, along with jasmine, appearing more amply floral and curvaceously richer, justifying the green floral categorisation. Parfum is closer to Eau de Toilette, with a subtler projection however, the green whisper of violet leaves and vetiver embracing the coolness and powderiness of iris. The hint of undergrowth via oakmoss is also a bit more pronounced, which might signal the toll of death for the precious formula in light of IFRA and EU restrictions in the near future (let's hope not!)

Myself I have a preference for the translucent, icy clarity of the Eau de Toilette. In fact I am perfectly satisfied with it to the point I don't feel the need for parfum in this one, unless one is concerned with sharpness and projection.
The Eau de Parfum has a tendency towards turning sour on me, adding to my frustration with rosy accents that I am forever trying to come to terms with. But for rose lovers, this is the concentration to go after.
There are also two distinct formulae on this one, as attested by two differently hued bottles in the same store, which were of slightly different batches: one more emerald green, another more yellowish. Light or time deterioration could not be the culprit for the difference, as the first pigments to deteriorate are blue-toned ones, then red, then yellow, much like it happens with wines (a purple or green hue in red and white wine respectively -both shades containing a bit of blue in them- is a sure sign of a fresh batch and not an aged vintage).
There is discussion of reformulation, which is especially poignant regarding parfum, if so. The Parfum flacons I have come across do not present shade differences (yet) and are uniformely an ambery colour juice, but this is not to indicate that it will not follow the other concentrations in the future.

Notes for Chanel No.19:
Top: lemon, galbanum, bergamot
Heart: violet Leaf, rose de Mai, jasmine Grandiflorum from Grasse, ylang ylang, orris Root, lily of the valley
Base: vetiver, leather, sandalwood, oakmoss


Heure Exquise by Annick Goutal means "exquisite hour" and refers of course to what Guerlain poetically called l'heure bleue: the moment when the sun has set, but the night sky has not yet found its stars.
There is a wonderful poem by Paul Verlaine titled "La lune blanche"/"White Moon" which uses the very phrase in the end and it would be magnificent to think that it might have served as an inspiration:

"The white moon shines in the woods.
From each branch springs a voice
beneath the arbor.
Oh my beloved...

Like a deep mirror, the pond reflects
the silhouette of the black willow
where the wind weeps.
Let us dream! It is the hour...

A vast and tender calm seems to descend
from a sky made iridescent by the moon.
It is the exquisite hour!"

~Translation from the French by Grant A. Lewis (indiana.edu), referenced through this link with a comparison with the French text.

According to Michael Edwards, if you like Hermès Hiris or Chanel No.19 (both boasting a hefty amount of iris and in fact sharing a similar skeleton of perfume structure with Heure) you will like Heure Exquise. And in this case the correlation is eminently apparent!
Composed by Annick Goutal and Henri Sorsana (her perfumery mentor) in 1984, at a time when such cool and shady compositions were not the norm, it departs with its soapy iris note.
Goutal pegs it as:

"A sophisticated trail of Turkish rose, a gentle powdery base of iris from Florence and Mysore sandalwood. This fragrance recreates the atmosphere of a rose garden that blossoms with the passing of each exquisite hour."

Heure Exquise is a gentler, less astrigent sister of Chanel No.19, drier even and more powdery, with a more romantic, presque bohème streak due to its animalic submantle. Despite it being a newer creation than the Chanel it posseses an Art Deco vibe that is more old-fashioned than No.19.
Ravishing green pepperiness of galbanum provides the arresting first impression while the mysterious mists of iris with its powdery note enforces the similarity. Rose blossoms emitting their aroma in a dusky garden peak through in true feminine form.
However on closer inspection there is an almost incense-like feel of woody resiny aroma which contributes to the sui generis character of the whole. A subtle vanillic hint plays hide and seek in the woody base, never sweet. The progression does not change much on a blotter or on the skin and the tenacity and sillage are a bit more subdued than No.19. It is less cooly composed, less correct in its demeanour, with hair slightly out of place perhaps and clothes that might defy the rules of ineffable chic, but more spontaneous and passionate as a result.

The comparison between the two fragrances reminds me of the two sisters in the film The Heart of Me, based on the novel by Rosamond Lehmann. Set in 1930s London, it features two sisters - Madeleine and Dinah, played by Olivia Williams and Helena Bonham Carter respectively - and their contrasting characters: one marries Rickie (Paul Bettany), a debonair City businessman; the other falls in love with him. He begins an affair which is to have repercussions throughout their lives.
To feel the differences between the two sisters, you can watch the trailer, clicking here.

Heure Exquise like Dinah "might not be the most elegant creature, but it has passion". If No.19 becomes seriously compromised it is an excellent alternative and a wonderful stand alone perfume in any case.

Notes for Heure Exquise:
Top: Turkish rose
Middle: Orris
Base: Mysore sandalwood

Pic of Chanel No.19 ad courtesy of Parfum de Pub, pic of Goutal bottles courtesy of Annick Goutal official site.