Guerlain Shalimar Parfum Initial: fragrance review

Much as I was predisposed to at least enjoy the unashamedly girly Idylle Duet and dislike the sanctimonious (I thought) Shalimar Parfum Initial, both new releases by the historic house of Guerlain, the perfume gods tipped the scales off and landed me into a case of reverse hubris: I found myself being quite lukewarm on the former, while enjoying very much the latter! How's that for irony?

Indeed Shalimar Parfum Initial, credited to perfumer Thierry Wasser as well, is in almost an unrecognisable style to the other feminine release of this year: rich, satisfying, with a smoothly polished texture like silk moiré, it bears little relation to the anaemic and maudlin composition of Idylle Duet. A sufficient dose of healthy scepticism had struck me like a ton of bricks upon setting eyes on the press release images of the new flanker to the iconic Shalimar: a pink Shalimar, for Christ's sake? Isn't anything sacred? My eyebrows were reaching the roots of my hair in exasperation! But upon testing the actual jus on my skin and letting the blotters, lavishly soaked with it,  on my desk for some days I realised that, corny as it might sound, we're not to judge a book by its cover. Shalimar Parfum Initial is the brave, valiant and well-crafted effort of Wasser and Guerlain to present the house with their own Eau Première, much like Chanel did with their own numeric monstre. After all, much of Guerlain's prestige resides indeed with such venerable classics as Mitsouko and Shalimar.So, what's wrong with "Mon Premier Shalimar", the tagline for this flanker fragrance, assuming the juice is good? Absolutely nothing, that's what.

From a marketing angle, everything is set for success with Shalimar Parfum Initial, aiming at the target Guerlain is so keen on attracting, the fashionable 20-something to 30-something woman with money to spare: The warm pink-fleshy tint of the liquid is familiar to consumers of fruity and gourmand perfumes, attracting them by the token that the colour of the juice is indicative of something more than just a pretty shade. The boosting of citrusy notes up top (the synthetic bergamot is not wildly different than the one used in the reformulated classic, yet it smells more vivid and more vibrant here) give the necessary "freshness" that is a sine qua non for modern audiences. The lush vanilla and tonka ensure that the trademark sultriness of the seductive original is not lost nevertheless.
The beautiful bottle (much sleeker in real life than in images) is tactile, friendly, yet imposing too; its deep blue cap with a tiny ribbon attached an homage to the classic design but also a pretty object that presents itself as something novel. Naked Natalia Vodianova posing in the advertisements of the perfume, shot by Paolo Roversi, is testament to the fact that both men and women stop to stare (and occasionally ogle) at a beautiful supermodel who promises sex at the wink of an otherwise nubile eye.All boxes checked for the marketing team, thank you very much!

The composition of Shalimar Parfum Initial focuses on a precarious balance: the standard oriental accord of bergamot and vanilla is fused with zesty orangeyand light notes which "lift" the base up much like Shalimar Light did with its lemon cupcake opening modernising the old standby admired on grandmas and mamas, but shyed away from my the daughters. Still, what would Shalimar be without the come hither? Guerlain quotes rose petals and jasmine for the floral elements, but it's essential to note that should you be searching for florals, you should look elsewhere: this is a wonderful and wonderfully oriental specimen with little flowery prose; all heaving, all sighing, with the seductive warmth of tonka beans (rich in the cut grass and hay note of coumarin) and of rich, caramelic vanilla pods on woods and what seems like the resinous opoponax. The addition of fresh, warm and sweetish white musk is something that would be polarising for the standard perfumista in search of more complex, "dirtier" musk, but the growling part is transmitted through the low hum of the smoky base that is as animalistically seductive as a rutting beast, just hiding beneath the subtle eroticism promised by the top notes. If I were to find a fault with Shalimar Parfum Initial it is that in essence it is no less than the 4th re-twinkinling of the tried & true Shalimar Light Eau Legere recipe in search of a frontman presenting it to the public now that Jean Paul Guerlain is exiled from his own house...

Shalimar Parfum Initial is available as 40ml, 60ml and 100ml of Eau de Parfum concentration, available from major department stores.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain fragrance reviews, Oriental fragrance reviews

Flankers/derivative versions of Shalimar by Guerlain (with linked reviews & comparison with original):

Shalimar Eau Legere/Shalimar Light

Eau de Shalimar

Shalimar Ode a la Vanille

Shalimar Parfum Initial

Shalimar Parfum Initial L'Eau

Limited editions of Shalimar (without change in the perfume formula itself):

Eau de Shalimar Flower

Shalimar Charms edition & Eau de Shalimar Charms edition

Shalimar Fourreau du Soir

Shalimar extrait de parfum in Bacarrat quadrilobe flacon 2011 edition

The music in the commercial clip is Initials BB by Serge Gainsbourg.

Creed Vanisia: fragrance review

Vanisia by Creed does not smell like pure unadulterated vanilla as the name would lead you to believe, thank heavens. It reminds me more of a lighter Égoïste by Chanel if that one put the sandalwood into the boudoir and puffed it and puffed it with lots of ambery rose-jasmine powder that gives a golden shimmer over mounty breasts. T

The resinous depths of its core, a complex and satisfyingly rich amber accord, recall the play between light and darkness in the paintings of the Spanish masters; dramatic expanses of vivid motion, shadowy corners that hide small details with significance that doesn't pass unnoticed. The double whammy of a misleading name and the wrong company (few houses are more derisive!) just conspired it to make it a very under the radar fragrance. Which is exactly why I decided to get the scalpel and start surgery on this page.

The "barbershop" effect makes its presence known in Vanisia via a faint lavender note (a classic combination, best appreciated in Pour Un Homme by Caron which is almost solely lavender and vanilla) as well as what smells like cedar, which makes it wearable for men as well.

Women will naturally gravitate to it for its sexy factor, best appreciated in the depths of the base notes, although I need to stress that you need to be a lover of ambers to appreciate it. It's quite powdery in a mature, retro way, with hints of soap as well, an oxymoron amidst the sultry tonalities that remind classic references with more than a hint of ambery"skank" such as Bal a Versailles and Tabu. Lovers of Guerlain Samsara might also find a complex beast to like and claim as their own. But they should be warned that it smells unashamedly mature, probably best reserved for those who already have other youth-ammunition under their belt; this is not a "spritz me with grapefruit and let me fool you into believing I'm 7 years younger" gimmicky. It's said by Creed that Cher likes this one and wears it: figures...

I am personally a little bit at odds with Vanisia: On the one hand I like the tempered amber character that doesn't imbue everything with a sticky candy floss note and includes that familiar ambergris Creed base. On the other hand I find there is some incongruence between the after-shave accord on top and the floral oriental core. Lately I have been unlucky into coming across bottles that seemed to be a little off, metallic and more "masculine" than I recall the scent to be. I am not sure if we're facing a reformulation or not (the tester bottles didn't look pristine brand new) or if there is fake stock circulating, which is surely the case for other Creeds. It would be interesting to hear from you in the comments if you have other experiences with that matter.

Vanisia was launched in 1987, supposedly for a Spanish queen, and is mostly unknown/unacknowledged till this day, although one of their more rounded fragrances.

Notes for Creed Vanisia:
Top: bergamot
Heart: jasmine and Bulgarian rose
Base: sandalwood, amber and vanilla

Painting The Parasol by Francisco de Goya.

Cacharel Loulou: fragrance review

When Cacharel Loulou first came out in 1987, there was a wonderful TV ad set to the romantic Pavane, Opus 50 by Gabriel Fauré and veiled in the mysterious bluish tones of the print ad. It featured a slip of a girl in a classic 20’s bob haircut dressed in a dark stretch dress (so Parisian at the time, very Azzedine Alaia!), swaying hurriedly through space on what seemed a film set, and when a voice called out “Loulou”, she turned to us –the viewers- replying “Oui, c’est moi” (i.e.yes, that’s me). It transported the Cacharel-trademark hazy contours and grainy shots of photographer Sarah Moon to the next level: a Lolitesque seduction. It has haunted me ever since...

The inspiration of Loulou by Cacharel: Loulou was meant to evoke the great film actress Louise Brooks and her Lulu role in the silent 1928 Pabst film Pandora’s Box (tamer than its title would hint at, but not by much considering). Louise Brooks has captured the imagination of discerning cinephiles ever since. Her trademark haircut (that actually recalls Cleopatra herself) has inspired many women and men alike. In fact Guido Crepax, the Italian sketch artist of “Valentina”, fashioned his notorious heroine of a vivid imagination and lush posterior attributes on her. The comic book had been turned into a RAI miniseries back in the late 80’s starring Demetra Hampton. The erotic TV-series was heavy in cultural referencing; indeed one episode was called ..."Lulu", reprising the Brooks character.

Loulou the Cacharel fragrance is almost forgotten today, although slightly less than those episodes, although it hasn’t been discontinued. In an age that pushes celebrity scents to an apotheosis, the natural urge of the perfume fanatic would be to turn to niche scents and/or classics from the distant past. Indeed this has been the case with many, as current literature on the subject indicates. That leaves many lovely perfumes of a more recent crop to the shade. Pity if you think about it. I had used the perfume for a while back, enjoying the wink in the eye it provided, the naiveté, the pure élan. It was perfection for those times!

The formula was composed by perfumer Jean Guichard, who is also responsible for Obsession (another 80’s hit), Eden (another forgotten Cacharel), and Deci Dela ( the delectable light chypre by Nina Ricci). Loulou bears the mark of the decade’s excess : lush and rich, it would seem completely out of place up until ten years ago when gourmands entered the scene. Somewhere between floral and oriental and with a similar feel to both Oscar de la Renta and Poison, Cacharel Loulou can also be viewed as a distant cousin of Guerlain's L’Heure Bleue. The sweet and a little melancholic heliotrope plus anise ties them together. The Cacharel fragrance opens on the characteristic note of cassis, a synthetically recreated berry base, quite sweet. This may become overwhelming on some, but the assistance of bergamot and aniseed manage to soften the blow of the top notes. Violet, mace and plum add their smooth nuances along with an armful of ylang-ylang, jasmine, marigold and a smidgen of tiare (that tropical flower of Tahiti), although one would be hard pressed to locate any of those individually, except for heliotrope perhaps which has a soft almondy scent, imparting a powdery aura along with the earthy orris: The feeling is almost retro, much like the whole ambience of the scent is after all. The fragrance lasts and lasts on the skin, suffused with musks and woods, with the insistence of tonka bean, a hay-like vanillic seed of a West African tree.

The bottle of Loulou looks best in the parfum or splash version (as depicted in the ad): a turquoise polygonal opaline that continues the house’s love affair with opaline (later to be reprised in green for Eden) topped with a dark red pointy stopper and garlanded with a burgundy red tassel : the contrast of colours is daring and unique, the concept vaguely inspired by Poison according to Michael Edwards. The Eau de parfum sprayer is sadly not as pretty.
To me Loulou will always remain the smell to match the young girl that had first caught my eye in the TV ads and myself back then : insouciant , oblivious to her own seductiveness. A wonderful fragrance, if rather sweet for everyday.



The commercial still produces a sigh of delightful and wistful reminiscence in me, like a dog who is sighing, her paws tucked in and her ears down at the completion of a tender, sad patting as if to part forever.

Photo of Demetra Hampton as Valentina via facebook. Loulou ad via Parfum de Pub. Louis Brooks in Pandora's Box via seraphicpress.com

Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille: fragrance review

As the cooler months draw to an end I have a faint pang of nostalgia on fragrances which will be rather difficult to bring out in the heat of summer due to either their density that feels like a warm blanket that obscures light when playing on the bed as a kid, or due to their characteristic warm bouquet that feels at home only beside curduroy jackets and black & tan riding boots. Tom Ford's Private Blend Tobacco Vanille checks both boxes in question and, if the female reception of this rather unisex vanilla fragrance is any indication, some more figurative boxes as well. With my anticipation for Lavender Palm building, I returned to this deep and sweet scent for a re-introduction now that woolens are slowly coming off.

Part of the luxurious Private Blend by Tom Ford line which comprises 12 fragrances (like Champaca Absolute, Noir de Noir, Tuscan Leather, Japon Noir, Arabian Wood, Bois Marocain, Italian Cypress, Azure Lime, Neroli Portofino, Oud Wood, and the now discontinued Velvet Gardenia etc), Tobacco Vanille as its name suggests is an oriental; suave, smoldering and quite smooth. Its salient characteristic is the unguous fall of a rich tobacco bouquet into the creamy, cocoa butter-like vanilla with unexpected accents of dried fruits. The sweetness is not accountable to the vanilla though, but to the honey note that good pipe tobacco often displays.

Indeed for a while one loses the tobacco pouch for the honeyed-drenched cream pudding being served. But the two do co-exist and the dried fruits accents is reminiscent of the Lutensian school of thought, easily. Or of Coco by Chanel, the original spicy one, with its inclusion of a cocoa note amidst it all; perhaps of the mood of Dior's Hypnotic Poison (the poison scaled down considerably in Tom's version, like in the Hypnotic Poison Eau Sensuelle), or, if one is being mean, of rootbeer float. I seem to detect an almond note too, which is a classic but delicious pairing with vanillas. Indeed Tobacco Vanille takes on gourmand aspects that go beyond a simple cookie vanilla, built on complex notes that end up smelling like two voices singing in musical thirds; harmony... Up close, sniffing on the wrist, Tobacco Vanille can take an ash-tray note, while a little space between it and one's nose reveals a more sultry sillage that is rich and tempting. This is one reason why this is a perfume that I do not recommend spraying on one's clothes; I suspect the result by the end of the day might get a little stale.

Nevertheless, I can't seem to personally enthuse on Tobacco Vanille too much, for what is worth, due to its rather excessive sweetness. I prefer my vanillas drier, somewhat more powdery, and my tobacco given a palm-on-sweaty-thigh-rolling-it vibe reminiscent of Havana and Habanita. But that's just me, don't let it stop you. Tobacco Vanille is one of Tom Ford's most popular fragrances and a must-try for vanilla or tobacco lovers everywhere. Plus, it's marketed as a unisex (you have to enjoy sweet scents on men, though, to appreciate it) and it lasts very long.

Notes for Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille:
Spicy note, aromatic note, tobacco, tonka bean, tobacco flower, tobacco leaf, dried fruit, vanilla, cocoa, tree sap.

Private Blend Tobacco Vanille by Tom Ford comes as Eau de Parfum (1.7oz, 3.4oz and 8.3oz sizes), available at select points of sale such as Harrods, Neiman Marcus, Nordstorm.

Picture of Demi Moore smoking a cigar, originally printed on Cigar Aficionado Magazine.

Annick Goutal Songes: fragrance review

There is nothing as captivating the imagination as the promise of what one doesn't have: The lure of tropical paradises amidst the harshest snowfall makes us forget that by summer we will be missing those white flakes and long for taking the cashmere and mohair down from the attic. Songes by Annick Goutal comes with the unctuous step of an intoxicating promise of sunshine and the warmth of a summery golden afternoon, right when winter paves its path onto spring, to make us dream and lose ourselves. Because Songes means exactly...dreams: the dreams of a newlywed, looking on life through the eyes of a girl becoming a woman who embarks on a new adventure in her life; perhaps the more rewarding of them all, the miracle of keeping love alive through it all.


An intense opera of white florals set in a tropical tone climate like "Les Pecheurs des Perles", Songes was inspired by an evening walk in a garden on the exotic island of Mauritius by Camille Goutal, Annick's daughter, while she was on her honeymoon. Camille lovingly collaborated with tried & trusted tenured Goutal perfumer Isabelle Doyen, on the creation of the fragrance in 2006. Interestingly, even though the inspiration is classically exotic-tropical, Camille revealed that the middle and base notes of Songes are also reflecting John William Waterhouse's painting aesthetic, especially as presented in the famous painting of Ophelia. Somehow the two are hard to reconcile and I'm not sure that this Goutal fragrance truly captures the balance, as it tilts more to the former part than the latter. Still, it's quite stunning.

Opening a bottle of Songes I'm struck by its diva-esque mien, all heady, entrance-making material, almost heaving, but also its inherent modesty and classy sensuality; as if the facade is flamboyant because it just can't help it, a bit of a Marilyn Monroe persona if you will: Glamorous but sensitive at heart. Frangipani (with a tiny peachy facet here, less than on the fresh bush) and potent ylang ylang immediately hit my nose, complicated into webs of indolic jasmine, sweet, yet with a slightly bitter element in the background which keeps it from saccharine overload. The frangipani is less fruity than in Ormonde Jayne's rendition of Frangipane Absolute, while the jasmine is the sambac variety which can have an ever higher pitch than the European and Middle Eastern grandiflora variety. There is a tuberose-like effect too, creamy and mollified instead of eucalyptus-green (a la Carnal Flower) or rubbery (a la Gardenia Passion); more like the tropical tiare gardenia than real tuberose. This stage with the small incensey-resinous hint resembles the velours of Noix de Tubereuse and shouldn't have tuberose-phobics all up in arms. The drydown of Songes consists of a woody-ambery accord (with creamier vanilla in the higher concentration) that revolves around pencil shavings and balsamic softeness/soapiness; a very delightful coda to an aria that has been bold and flamboyant as befits a Grand White Floral.


Altghough Annick Goutal fragrances often fall victims to criticism from hard-core aficionados on their scent being light and transparent, resulting in delicate sillage, Songes is one fragrance in the stable (alongside a few others such as Eau de Fier, Sables and Gardénia Passion) which does not follow that rule. In fact the Eau de Parfum version of Songes seems dense and a little opaque, creating an effect that could be considered engulfing for those who are more sensitive to their own scent trail; its vanilla creaminess however should please those who are seeking a sweeter edition of this sultry scent. In Songes Eau de Toilette concentration the proportion of space between the notes creates an aerated effect; like the perfect petit financier bite it has just the right sponginess without detracting from the satisfaction that it leaves on the palate. Both concentrations are especially lasting and sillage monsters, necessitating very steady hands and homeopathetical dosage in order to remain desirable and not cloying.
Over time, Songes can change colour in the bottle: The regular shade is golden-ambery but the inclusion of natural jasmine extracts in the formula conspires to give an orange tint to the Eau de Toilette and even a reddish hue to the Eau de Parfum!
A limited edition bottle in Baccarat crystal is available for Songes, the traditional boule topped by a romantic half moon.

Notes for Annick Goutal Songes:
frangipani, tiare, jasmine, incense, vanilla, copahu balm, pepper, ylang-ylang, vetiver, sandalwood, amber, styrax.

Painting Dreams on the Beach 1934 by Salvador Dali.

Photo of Camille Goutal & Isabelle Doyen by Antoine de Perceval 2007 via Swell City Guide

Erik Kormann Eau de Froehliche: fragrance review

It was just the other day when we were discussing the merits of a vanilla laced with other ingredients to cut down on the sweetness, the stickiness and all around juvenile factor. Today I'm happy to review a scent that pairs incense with vanilla and balsams, materials which bring out a wonderful oriental "gourmand" character that is mouthwatering, yet not cloying at all: Eau de Fröhliche by Erik Kormann of 1000 & 1 Siefe.

If you haven't heard of the artisan behind it, we need to reproach you. We had covered his delightful citrusy August cologne some seasons back. His newest niche creation is an incense water inspired by the old German carol O Du Fröhliche, translating as "Oh how Joyfully"! You might be thinking by now how can an incense be joyful and not mysterious or moody (one look at the vial is enough to answer that) and how can an oriental featuring vanilla no less be fit for the transitioning of the seasons we're experiencing. And yet! Fear not: Like Erik's previous cologne, this Eau de Parfum is long lasting but behaves extremely well.

The fragrance takes on a very individual take on incense (forget the CDG Incense Series and other scents featured in our Incense Series here) , as it invests it with materials which are pliable, soft, enveloping, lending it their inherent joy and warmth like hot breath on a cool, misty window pane:
Tolu balsam, tonka beans full of coumarin and vanilla absolute create a creamy aspect, while the cocoa nuance of iris finds its perfect partner in crime in chocolate-faceted natural patchouli with its inviting, sweet and alluring smell. Other notes include rosewood and cardamom as accent pieces. The incense thus smiles like the brass of an orchestra playing classically-rounded tunes in a wood-panelled auditorium where nothing could ever go wrong.

If winter is still bothering you and you need a little comfort, clothed in a cuddly, embracing composition, Eau de Fröhliche can't but address that need. Available in Eau de Parfum from Erik's 1000&1 Seife or via mail.

For those reading German, take a look at Erik's blog post about his options.
You can contact Erik for availability/details at his E-Mail: kontakt@aromatisches-blog.de



In the interests of disclosure I was sent a sample by the perfumer himself. Pics of vial and sketch via http://perfume.twoday.net/ and aromatiches.blog.de

Atelier Cologne Vanille Insensee: fragrance review & draw

“He wove through the crowd when suddenly his heart quickened. That scent. It was hers. He had worn it first until she stole it for herself. Now, there she was before him and the magic of years past came flooding back in a moment.”

These little snippets like stories out of a collection of romantic prose accompany the launch of Atelier Cologne niche scents and account for much of the brand's piquancy. Vanilla with its aprodisiac reputation seemed like the prime suspect into infusing a memorable, erotic perfume. And so Vanille Insensee arrived onto my desk. A vanilla...oh well, I thought at first!


Do you, like me, think vanilla fragrances are often juvenille and pedestrian, haunted by drugstore images of tooth-aching stuff that recalls more a bakery's back room than proper perfume? Or are you a vanilla aficionado always in the search out for the one perfect oriental which captures that elusive middle-ground between comforting and silky polish? A slew of niche brands are catering to your needs, it seems.

The comparison of Atelier Cologne's newest take on vanilla, Vanille Insensée, with others in the niche circuit, recalls both Diptyque Eau Duelle and Le Labo Vanille 44, but the effect is different enough to warrant its own exploration. For vanilla lovers (and they're legion) every little twist has the potential to make them want to sample and exhaust their repertoire. While Eau Duelle is more "clean musk" than promised woods and Vanille 44 is richer, like a sophisticated crème brûlée rather than dipping your nose into cake batter made with vanillin, Vanille Insensée brings on the freshness of vanilla to the fore. You heard that right: it's a crazy, fresh vanilla!

Atelier Cologne, founded last year by Sylvie Ganter (formerly of Hermès and FRESH fame) and Christophe Cervasel (founder of Selective Beauty, responsible for creating scents for John Galliano, Zac Posen, and Agent Provocateur to name but a few), they debuted "Petites" (30mls), soaps and candles last autumn and for spring 2011 they launched Vanille Insensée. Careful: That's not Incensée and it has nothing to do with incense! In French Vanille Insensée literally means vanilla out of its senses, vanilla in the most unexpected, profound, insane way!


Vanille Insensée was composed by perfumer Ralf Schwieger and in it the vanilla ~although front and central~ is given a diaphanous (yet lasting) treatment which seems lighter than what one would expect from the creator of waxy and intense Lipstick Rose (for F.Malle). Although advertised as "woody", I don't find Atelier's Vanille especially so. The citrusy touches on top (lime and cedrat, which is French for citron; but also spicy-orangey coriander) are classic allies in most orientals and here they lift the vanilla into the clouds, while clean notes of jasmine, white musk and mossy underpinnings (vetiver and oaky tannin smells) conspire to make the pod fluffy and "fresh" ~mind you, fresh and fluffy the way a meringue is just out of the oven, we're still on culinary grounds here. But away from choux à la crème land all the same...

If you want your vanilla intense, darkish and calorific, like Indult Tihota or Spirituelle Double Vanille (Guerlain) or rather smoky with layers of tobacco or cotton-candy & ice-cream cone, like, respectively, Havana Vanille and the discontoninued Vanilia by L'Artisan, then the Atelier Cologne version won't please. The same could be said if you're spoiled by the tropics treatment by the Comptoir Sud Pacifique line. If on the other hand you have always envisioned a vanilla to bring forth into spring and summer, with just the right amount of a sweet tooth that doesn't ruin the waistline, I think this one might do the trick.

A sample will be given to a lucky reader: What's your take on vanilla and vanilla fragrances? Say in the comments and I will pick a lucky winner. Draw is open till Friday midnight.

Notes for Vanille Insensée: lime, cedrat, coriander, jasmine, oak, vetiver, Madagascar vanilla, oakmoss and amber.

Atelier Cologne Vanille Insensée is vailable in 30 ($60) or 200 ml ($170) Cologne Absolue (15% concentration), carried by Bergdorf Goodman, Neiman Marcus and Steven Alan as well as the newly curated e-commerce website www.ateliercologne.com


In the interests of disclosure I was able to sample the fragrance assisted by the company who handles the brand.
Photo of vanilla sky via nettevivante

Dior Hypnotic Poison Eau Sensuelle: fragrance review

Doing the Lutenesque visuals for Hypnotic Poison Eau Sensuelle is not enough. Although purple hues and mysteriously shut eyelids with a sophisticated maquillage on them (by Tyen, no less) have a way of drawing a perfumista's attention, the juice has to be really original in a galaxy of flankers adorning Sephora shelves to equally capture devotion. And it's not circulating on American perfumery countertops, you say?


The original Hypnotic Poison by Annick Menardo, with its trippy bitter almond and caraway opening, managed to jolt sniffers into a "love or hate" mnemonic sense (much like all her other perfumes do too, like for instance Black by Bulgari or Lolita Lempicka by Lolita Lempicka). There's simply no way to be indifferent to it! Of course even within the same fragrance spectrum there are the ultraviolet and the infrared ends: The Eau de Parfum concentration of the original Hypnotic Poison is the former; intensely bitter and fluorescent at the beginning like underground dance clubs with "black lights" over you and with a pythonesque grip on its audience. While the Eau de Toilette shares the latter's nightime vision ability, permeating a place and its wearer in a warm incadescence; almost a homing device.
To take the light analogy on spot, Hypnotic Poison Eau Sensuelle seems like long-wave infrared or "thermal imaging": a completely passive picture of the objects in question based on their own thermal emissions only, rather than any external light or thermal source. Basically, if you got it, it will not oppose it, but it can't "work for you" otherwise.

The latest Christian Dior flanker in the Poison series, Hypnotic Poison Eau Sensuelle, is essentially a vanilla orchid floral fantasy composed by François Demachy, a more floral variation on the best-selling 1998 Hypnotic Poison minus the frightful originality.
Hypnotic Poison Eau Sensuelle opens with the slightly medicinal facets of dominant ylang ylang, soon mollified by rosa Damascena with its feminine, velvet character, almost cancelling out the medicinal. Although tuberose is listed in the notes, the effect is nowhere near the strange, cubist renditions of tuberose soliflores of niche perfumery, instead boosting a faceless rendition rather than the sex beast on steroids. The vanillic-ambery facets (plus a hint of cumin) are played in favour of the previous woody notes which conspired to make the 1998 Hypnotic Poison the non-sweet, powdery gourmand it is. Eau Sensuelle feels more floral and more "acceptable" standard vanillic, the same way that No.5 Eau Premiere is a lighter, more vanillic but less musky version of the original Chanel No.5. Only Dior's does not have as silky an effect as the Chanel's.

Still, those who didn't really like Hypnotic Poison or just couldn't "tame the beast" (it's no coincidence it's advertised with a python encircling Bellucci's voluptuous body menacingly!), will find this essentially watered down version to their liking. And this probably explains the reasoning behind its concept by LVMH in the first place. Is it a bad fragrance, then? No, but it won't make it into the next 50 years like the original Hypnotic Poison will, most probably.

The bottle reprises the shape of Hypnotic Poison’s in deep-red, subtly translucent glass, topped with a cabochon cap that looks purple, red or mauve, depending on the light. Really great work. Be aware that the outer box is VERY similar to the original Hypnotic Poison with only the Eau Sensuelle in small typeface below the name: therefore attention is required when buying so as not to confuse the two!
Available from major department stores in Europe in 50ml/1.7oz, 100ml/3.4oz and 100ml/3.4oz spray deodorant.

Notes for Dior Hypnotic Poison Eau Sensuelle:
Top: ylang ylang, rose, orange blossom
Heart: orchid, tuberose, green notes
Base: sandalwood, vanilla, woods, musk.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: The differences between all the Dior Poison fragrances (the original 80s Poison, Tendre, Hypnotic, Pure, Midnight and their Elixir versions)

photos via sunshinereiki.ca, blog.hola.com, brusselsisburning

L'Artisan Parfumeur Havana Vanille/Vanille Absolument: fragrance review

Appraising my impressions on the upcoming L'Artisan Havana Vanille (later changed to Vanille Absolument) I can't help but think that it is more like a sagacious study in black & white rather than a journey to exotic locales respendent with colourful fabrics or outlandish fruit. Its boozy tonalities on the other hand recall to mind the Payard Vanilla Rum Truffles as if they had been painted by Monet, an aspect which will place this release under the aegis of gourmando-philiacs the world over.

Havana Vanille/Vanille Absolument, the latest instalment in L'Artisan's Travel scents after Bois Farine (by Jean Claude Ellena), Timbuktu, Dzongha and Fleur de Liane (all by Duchaufour), was supposed to take us to Cuba. The allusion to the Caribbean island brings to mind tobacco of course and those beautiful chickas rolling the leaves on their sweaty thighs (I have shades of Marisa Tomey in The Perez Family in mind). The practice is not without merit, as the humidity from their tan skin makes for cigars that preserve their precious bouquet well into the aftertaste and do not become dried-out when properly stored in a humidor. Composed by in-house L'Artisan perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour, Vanille Absolument (Havana Vanille) showcases his typical monastic style of diaphanous, orientalised compositions recalling a mystical haze or vapours rising, like his beloved incense which he has explored in every nook and crany thought possible for both his L'Artisan and Eau d'Italie offerings.

Comparison with another Tobaco Vanilla, the one in Tom Ford's Private Line, reveals the L'Artisan endeavour as much lighter and less sweet (the Tom Ford one is much heavier on the tobacco overall, but highlighting the sweeter and whiskey aspects of its leaves, to the point where it is achingly sweet for me; in contrast the L'Artisan has the impression of nuanced tobacco with a passing pomander overtone). It might also nod slyly at the direction of that minx of a scent, Fifi (by lingerie maven Fifi Chachnil), who is climbing into her hot pink lacy undergarments and bringing the silk scarfs at bed for a frisky light bondage romp. Yet somehow Vanille Absolument (Havana Vanille) isn't as naughtily bawdy and seems more introverted, the bookish type who wears Alain Mikli glasses and looks you up quizzically over them when you make a compliment. This would not intimidate men who could opt for this one easily. Of course the pairing of tobacco with vanilla is a natural, as both materials have interlapping facets, much like a Reisling wine would pair with Ibores cheese perfectly and Tolu balsam is also complimenting the mix. Havana the city has been a reference for years due to its exotic locale and contraband allusions (fragrant examples by Aramis and Tuscany, both Lauder brands, which would make you think of a linen-suited Robert Redford gambling away in Havana, the film, while rescuing beautiful political objectors in the shape of Lena Olin).

The boozier aspects of Vanille Absolument/Havana Vanille (discernible rum, the "aged rum and sweet air of Cuba") recall to mind the decadent and rather debauched Spiritueuse Double Vanille by Guerlain (also referenced by NST), a fragrance that has lured many with its dense cloud of smokey vanilla-pod aspects highlighting the darker elements of the husks. This thick, succulent trend has been played for a while now and doesn't seem like fading yet. Indult went for broke with their intensely darkish-vanilla-rich Tihota (great-smelling stuff, yet for those prices you're set with some Vanille Noire du Mexique which resembles it); in Vanille Absolument (Havana Vanille) you get the feeling that the perfumer was trying to preserve a Cold War policy of equal distance from all those references: a little bit of everything but not exactly of the same mind.
What caught my attention about the new L'Artisan creation mainly is the underlying notes of dried fruits with their Lutensian tonality (treated the Coke Zero way, mind you!) and the caramelised maple-like immortelle note that peaks through ~the way it did subtly in the forgotten opus of Annick Goutal Eau de Monsieur by Isabelle Doyen or the more modern vanilla-laced Cuir Béluga by Olivier Polge. The (synthetic) moss doesn't blurr the overall composition into too dangerous territories to my nose and the terrain remains terra ferma with only a leathery hint that doesn't derive from bitter quinolines, but instead the narcissus absolute.
The longevity of Vanille Absolument (Havana Vanille) is average and the sillage is discreet, melding into a skin scent on me within the hour. Like The Non Blonde says it's "understated,without being low brow".

Vanilla seems all the rage again with everyone in the niche sector issuing one, falling into different stratagems: starting with the uber-luxurious, air-spun ~and floral really~ Vanille Galante by Hermès and the correspondingly diaphanous, citrusy Vanilla & Anise by Jo Malone which we reviewed the other day, on to the upcoming Patricia de Nicolai Vanille Intense and the upcoming Creed Vanille. Rumour has it that the groundbreaking (at its time) Vanilia by L'Artisan, which caused ripples with its brightly and kitchily artificial ethylmaltol note of cotton-candy (popularised much later by Angel and its clones in patchouli-laced compositions), will be replaced by the newest Vanille Absolument (Havana Vanille) in the L'Artisan portfolio. The reason could be the upcoming IFRA restrictions, although those wouldn't affect ethylmaltol I believe. It could also be latent style concerns, since the older one issued 31 years ago reflects a direction no longer en vogue. If this is news that has your wallet vibrating with worrisome anxiousness, better stock up before it is too late. On the other hand, if that fluorescent vanilla ice-cone of a scent isn't your cup of tea (and I admit although I admire it intellectually I can very rarely wear it), then you will be probably overjoyous with the newest Vanille Absolument (Havana Vanille).
I predict it will be much better received commercially than many of the latest L'Artisan scents exactly because of its "easy" reading that doesn't require coinnoisseurship. If you're searching for a more economical "twin" to Spiritueuse Double Vanille without the $220 tag attached, then you're all set. Personally, having cornered the vanilla issue in a precious few, select choices and prefering the oddly cuddly cardboard-and-soft animals'-underside of L'Artisan's Dzing! I am not so sure whether I'd rush to buy a full bottle of Vanille Absolument (Havana Vanille); probably not. But I am almost certain many will.

Notes for L'Artisan Vanille Absolument/Havana Vanille:
Top : Rum, mandarin, orange, clove
Heart : Dried fruits, narcissus absolute, rose, tobacco leaf, helichrysum/immortelle (everlasting flower)
Base : Madagascar and Mexican vanilla absolutes, tonka bean, benjoin, tolu balsam, vetiver, moss, musks, leather

Vanille Absolument (formerly Havana Vanille) comes in 50ml/1.7oz and 100ml/3.4oz bottles of Eau de Parfum. The scent is officially launching in October and testers are already appearing here and there.
L'Artisan is planning to surprise us delightfully with another launch later this year!

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: L'Artisan reviews and news,Vanillaand Gourmand fragrances

Photo by Walker Evans Parquet Central III via thephil.org

Jo Malone Vanilla & Anise: fragrance review

In contemplating the newest Jo Malone fragrance, Vanilla & Anise, one reverts to an overview of the brand, originally founded by one resourceful English woman and now owned by the gigantic Lauder group.

One of the ~superficial, you might judge~ attractions of the Jo Malone brand for me personally has always been that delicious waffle-toned packaging with the black, scented tissue paper and the matching ribbon-tied rectangular boxes: pure class and understated luxury at the drop of (the exactly right) panama hat. No big logos on the carrier bag, no glaring exhibits of glitz. The stacked-up bottles in the boutiques (like the one I had visited in London) make for the deeply satisfying feeling one gets when they manage to uniformly bind a collection of books in personally initialized leather: arguably my own library needs some work towards that end, as only a fraction has received that treatment yet, but I live in hope! Still Jo Malone's library of fragrances presents the same expectations: classy exteriors with contents to be savouringly explored.

The line has so far presented a division of sorts in its pleiad of offerings: there are the Jane Austens, full of sunlight, social banter and light character studies (French Lime Blossom, Lime Basil and Mandarin, Jasmine & Honeysuckle); and there are the Dostoyevsky-wannabes (Pomegranate Noir, 154, Wild Fig & Cassis, Nutmeg & Ginger). Unfortunately sometimes the latter resemble The Gambler, a dare of the Russian master to write up a novella in a month while simultaneously immersed in his famous masterpiece: they take place in Roulettenberg! Vanilla & Anise is placed someplace between the two: its intentions and onoma allude to the latter while the scent itself to the former.

Vanilla as a note seems to be experiencing a revival in niche and upscale brands with the innovative and ultra-luxurious Vanille Galante by Hermès {review link}, along with the newest Havana Vanille by L'Artisan {info here}, a reworking on their vanilla notion, many years after the candy-cotton ethylmaltol innovation of their ice-cream cone hologram Vanilia. I am saying a revival in the niche and upscale brands specifically, because the mainstream sector never abandonded their romantic notions of vanilla being an aphrodisiac; a snowballing concept to be brought to its rightful source: Guerlain and their great classics. The rewoking of vanilla in modern creations is a fresh approach of cleverly interwoven cool and warm facets, resembling changeant fabrics and eschewing the simplistic ice-cream flavourings that have occupied the lower end of the market for more than a decade now.

Per Jo Malone Vanilla & Anise is intended to “transport you to the floral valleys of Madagascar the moment that vanilla orchids bloom at day-break” since regardless of the fact that the vanilla orchid originated in Mexico, it is Madagascar which is today’s largest producer of vanilla. Curiously enough the scent isn't dominated by either vanilla or (star) anise, no matter the gourmand allusions these two might insinuate by their culinary proclivities. The surprise hiding under one of Malone's most successful creations, Lime Basil and Mandarin, has always been the peeking of an unexpected edginess under the greeting familiarity and this element has sneaked its way in Vanilla & Anise as well. In this case it is the bittersweet effect of the oleander note (and perhaps coumarinic accents) alongside the intense citrus touches (bergamot, neroli) clearly discernible, giving a decidedly summer feeling of vacationing at a resort someplace warm. If Hermès hadn't already issued the magnificent Vanille Galante one season ago with its predominatly lily-esque petal softness, I would have been marvelling at the new approach and applauding the delicate, meringue treatment rendered here, all crispy exteriors and airy insides. Nevertheless, given the fact that they already have in a most successful way artistically, I am less impressed the second time around.
Still, Vanilla & Anise should please those hankering after a luminous, air-spun lightly sweet fragrance with discreet floral touches, especially if they nostalgise about summery pleasures in the heart of winter. Those who prefer their vanillas folded into Dr.Oetker baking mixes or alternatively those who want them smokey-eyed and showing some hint of tushie beneath black see-through should go look for something else.

Notes for Jo Malone Vanilla & Anise:
Top Notes: Sicilian Bergamot, Tunisian Neroli, Wild Fennel Flower, Star Anise
Middle Notes: Oleander, Tuberose, Frangipani, Purple Vanilla Orchid
Base Notes: Madagascar Clove, White Amber, Vetiver Bourbon, Vanilla Bourbon Absolute, Tonka.

International launch for Vanilla & Anise is expected in September, but the scent has already reached Nordstorm, the 100ml costs £64, 30ml is £32. Visit the official Jo Malone site here.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Anise, wormwood and absinthe series

Painting by Colette Calascione via formfiftyfive.com

Guerlain Habit Rouge Sport: fragrance review

~by Mike Perez

There was a time when I hated any scent that smelled like powder. Powder smelled ‘cheap’ to me, which may seem odd since I love mint in fragrances and many people associate that with store bought toothpaste. Guerlain changed everything.

The first time I tried Habit Rouge (the Eau de Cologne) a couple years ago, I found myself for the first time in love with a powdery fragrance. Also slightly dusty; antiquated and gentle, like those photographic effects where an image has a soft, hazy glow all around the subject in the picture. I liked the effect (maybe it was the ‘Guerlainade’) and instantly thereafter found it easy to love Shalimar, Vol de Nuit, and Jicky - other wonderful powdery scents which are an acquired taste. I’m aware that many men (of differing ages) don’t agree with me and dislike Habit Rouge. Nonetheless, wearing a popular fragrance has never been essential to me. Therefore, you might say, Habit Rouge is an important fragrance to me.

This year (March 2009) Guerlain released Habit Rouge Sport, the 2nd flanker to the 1965 fragrance (the first was 2005’s Habit Rouge Light/Légère) which joined the many formulations of the original: Eau de Cologne, Eau de Cologne Dry, Eau de Toilette, Eau de Parfum, After Shave and Extrait/Parfum. I instantly disliked the name: Habit Rouge Sport. Why not just call it Habit Rouge Arctic Rush? Still, I was excited to smell how Guerlain would interpret Habit Rouge, into a ‘sport’ fragrance.

Oddly, the way Habit Rouge Sport opens up on skin, in the top notes, has absolutely nothing in common with the original. A very sturdy and synthetic fresh note both sharp (aldehydes?) and bright, is the first thing you’ll smell – not citrus, which when it arrives later isn’t very lemon prominent at all. The smell is piercing and I strongly advise you carefully sniff your skin closely upon application. Based on first impressions, I was initially instantly dissatisfied. Subsequent wearings have perhaps made it less shocking, but no less disappointed with the cheap-room-freshener sharpness.

The jasmine floral accord in HRS arrives after the fragrance warms on skin. A very transparent jasmine, similar to those used in designer feminines (Blush by Marc Jacobs, 24 Faubourg Eau Délicate by Hermès). Simple florals that lie on top of the aforementioned fresh and synthetic top notes, giving the scent a varnished surface effect. The plastic floral effect (Nappe Rouge [Red Tablecloth] Sport?) is probably due to the leather notes (a nod to the original scent) but which in Habit Rouge Sport has no solid citrus / oriental structure to blend with.

Saddened, I hoped it might progress in a pleasing way – Guerlain fragrances are appreciated for their intricate and satisfying dry downs. But no. It evolves into a synthetic woody / vanilla musk (annoyingly safe and conservative and miles away from Guerlainade) that extends the sturdy fresh notes for 4-5 hours before it disappears.

I’ve smelled synthetic notes, used unskillfully here-and-there is a few select Guerlain scents (Heritage (the EdT); Aqua Allegoria Laurier-Reglisse) and I’ve smelled shampoo-underarm-deodorant-esque fresh accords also (Guerlain Homme) – but I’ve never smelled the combination of both effects in a Guerlain masculine.

I wore it several times before writing this review – each time I patiently awaited the scent to evolve differently on me. It never happened. I have the strong feeling this scent was not created for Habit Rouge fans like me, but rather for those who have never smelled or are unfamiliar with the original. If so, how sad? Kind of like a cocktail party I’ve attended: I am the unpopular bookworm kind-of- guy, over in the corner all by myself and no one paying attention to me - while on the other side of the room everyone is crowded around the new-in-town, handsome, popular jock in his tight red shirt.
Habit Rouge Sport is available at select Guerlain boutiques and Bergdorf Goodman. A 100 ml atomizer bottle (red glass, with a silver cap) is $92.

The notes for Guerlain Habit Rouge Sport are: citron vert, bitter orange, pink pepper, bamboo, jasmine, leather, vanilla and patchouli.

Images via M.Perez

Hermessence Vanille Galante by Hermes: fragrance review

"Days begin and end in the dead of night. They are not shaped long, in the manner of things which lead to ends – arrow, road, man's life on earth. They are shaped round, in the manner of things eternal and stable – sun, world, God". ~Jean Giono

Jean Claude Ellena's ~resident perfumer of la maison Hermès~ favourite author sums up the mise en scène that the newest Hermessence radiates quietly: roundness, grace and a nostalgic lapsarian intimation of the eternal upon gazing beauty.
Revisiting my musings on how Jean Claude Ellena would interpret a note that is quite taken for granted, that of vanilla, I am reminded of what I had said: "Vanilla is exactly the cliché note that begs for Jean Claude Ellena's modus operandi: chastizing it by food deprivation would be beneficial pedagogically, I feel". It is with some suprise and delight, now I have obtained my own bottle of Vanille Galante, that I realise he doesn't focus so much on the bean flavour as much as on the fluffy, almost cloudy, cotton-feathery aspect it reproduces as a memento of certain flowers' inner core: lily, ylang ylang, and what I sense as the innermost pollen of lilac and wisteria, flowers which exude the most intoxicating, spicy and a little "dirty" underside. I have long felt that Jean Claude is an extremely sensual man with a keen intelligence that makes him exhibit a subtle eroticism in his creations and the language of flowers is by its nature supremely erotic. (After all flowers are the reproductive organs of plants and their aim is to attract pollinators). Let's not forget therefore that vanilla itself is a flower ~an exotic orchid of aphrodisiac properties with which Jean Claude has occupied himself even as an co-author in "Vanilles et Orchidées". And for those who believe in his transparent trajectory through le corps du métier he never produced a foody vanilla, there is proof to the contrary in his woody-edible Sublime Vanille (2001) for Lily Prune!

The French adjective "galant" (or "galante" for feminine nouns) has an intriguing background: In the romans de cour/courtly literature, that is the medieval novels of nobility (for example "Le Roman de la Rose" from 1420-30), "galant" signifies the quality of courteous, gentlemanly and often amorous. The phrase "en galante companie" thus signified the company of a representative of the opposite sex. An attracting vanilla then, but also idealised, exalted, romanticized in an almost Platonic ideal. In musical terms, "galant" refers to the European style of classical simplicity after the complexity of the late Baroque era in the third quarter of the 18th century with pre-eminent representatives the rhythmical composers François Couperin, Jean-Philippe Rameau, Georg Philipp Telemann and Antonio Vivaldi . Their cyclical forma ties in with the theme of La Reverdie (the return) in literary roman: that of eternal return of spring, a theme of pagan connotations . The common trait would be the lyrical approach of solidly thematic subjects, which could sneak into the treatment of vanilla in Vanille Galante, or what I will from now on affectionaly call "péripéties de vanilla". Thus Jean Claude ambitiously set out to produce an « insolent, complex et paradoxical» blossom that would shatter all preconceptions of how a vanilla fragrance would smell, aiming not at a photorealistic figurative imprint but an almost narrative play at personal impressions devoid of cheap sentimentalities. We reference Jean Giono again ~he says in "Voyage en Italie" that "Describing a painting in sentiments might seem better [than describing it in colours] but it only serves to shuffle the cards". Thus Ellena finds the core of his artistic philosophy anew: He reads "le sentiment" (the sentiment), but he hears "le-sens-qui-ment" (the sense that lies).

Eschewing the typical synthesized vanillin used in gourmand compositions as an easy trompe nez, Jean Claude went for a segment of authentic vanilla extract's olfactory facet; that of the slightly powdery and ethereal, producing a lithe, delicate composition like a swan's feather, like the whitest cotton balls, that truly breathes sensuously only on skin with the achingly poignant timbre of beauty destined to be ephemeral. Using a technique à rebours, Ellena doesn't use vanilla as an anchor of more volatile components nor does he render it dark, boozy and sinfully calorific à la Guerlain (Spiritueuse Double Vanille but also Shalimar and Shalimar Light ;and let's not forget Ylang et Vanille). He diffuses his vision into the clouds with adroitness and a playful sense of optimism, much like he did with L'Eau d'Hiver, when he was playing with the cassie, anisaledhyde and the warm savoury aspects of Apres L'Ondée.
The secret of Vanille Galante is kept by the great master in his favourite conjuring bag of tricks, to be partially revealed at his discretion. He had expresssed similar magical resourcefulness in Bois Farine and in the adumbration of saddlery hinted behind the florals in Kelly Calèche. In Vanille Galante the intriguing touch is the merest whiff of salty, of savoury, upon opening ~a facet that is used in haute patisserie to enhance the flavour and balance the sweeter aspects~ foiled into a lightly spicy one (comparable to how the innnermost stemons of white lilies smell) taking flight onto a mist of salicylates for diffusion (ylang ylang naturally encompasses benzyl salicylate and eugenol). The play is between spicy flowers, yellow flowers and anisic ones. The slight greeness, almost filled with watery liquid, note of jasmine vine is soon engulfed by a finespun suntan, powdery musky* and smoky balletic move.
*{Ellena likes to use Musc T, Muscone and Muscenone, which are rather powdery , expensive, non-laundry musks}.
In whole, there is no mistaking the European pedigree and atmosphere of Vanille Galante! There is no heaviness of languid exoticism despite the mental connotation of Marie Galante, the island of the Caribbean located in the Guadeloupean archipelago. Nor is there the escapism of endless summers under the cruel sun of the Tropics of Atuana. Urban sophistication and modernity prevail: The sense of the perfume is not diaphanous, nor opaque, but somewhere in-between, a little carnal, a little "dirty" underneath it all, forming a new direction in the mold of an airy floral gourmand that will have everyone copying it soon enough.

Lovers of Serge Lutens' Un Lys and Donna Karan's Gold would find a kindred spirit in Vanille Galante; nevertheless, the waxier aspects of the former are here rendered in a language of less oily interplay and the disposition is more in the Pantone scale of yellow than monumental marble white.
Vanille Galante is not only graceful, but terrifically gracious as well, offering a glimpse of warm sun and fleshy, smooth shoulders in the heart of winter. J'aime bien!

Vanille Galante forms part of the Hermessences collection and is accordingly available exclusively at Hermès boutiques around the world in a 100ml/3.4oz bottle or as a travel set of 4 smaller flacons of 15ml/0.5oz each.

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: Jean Claude Ellena scents review and opinions, the Hermessences, Hermes news and reviews.

Other reviews: Perfume Posse,Grain de Musc, 1000fragrances, auparfum, Peredepierre

Bottle pic © by Helg/Perfumeshrine
"A ride in the country" by H.Toulouse-Lautrec
Swan feather caught in foliage, via ngsprints.co.uk

Le Labo Poivre 23 (London Exclusive): fragrance review

The 16th century dock workers required by law to wear a no-pockets-and-no-cuffs uniform are but a small testament to the power of pepper: they often risked their lives trying to sneak peppercorns by stuffing their clothing! As pepper was worth its weight in gold ~by representing a steadier currency (coins were often counterfeited with other alloys) and one of the ways to keep foodstuff for long in a time before refrigerators~ the necessity of perilous, long voyages to exotic lands of the East had seamen reach India to break through the Venice and Genoa monopoly of the Spice Route during the Middle Ages and rulers intent on keeping the spice road clear for caravans to safely bring pepper westwards.
Hippocrates recommended pepper in medicine while the Romans used it so much that the road of spice trading was called Via Piperatica (Pepper Street). It’s no coincidence that both Attila the Hun and Alaric I the Visigoth demanded part of Rome’s ransom in pepper (recalling the comparable custom of paying Roman legionnaires part of their wages in salt). In a time when bribes of prospective voters were circulating in the form of the spice, dowries included pepper, and suitors who tried to marry upwards were literally forced by aristocrats to gurgle on pepper; there were men who were the salt of the earth but who were not worth their pepper, alas! The latest Le Labo, Poivre 23, is redolent of the demonic yet much desired aura of pepper, the King of Spices: after all Bourbon pepper is named after the Bourbon dynasty of French kings (Which makes one wonder why this is the London and not the Paris exclusive!)

Le Labo being loyal to the self-pronounced name on the bottle? If you’re still questioning your nose while smelling the tarry, smoky facets of birch tar rendering oily, leather-like notes in Patchouli 24 (and less so in Ciste 18), you know what I am talking about. And yet, contrary to the criticism received, the name is only meant to apply to the top note (the initial impression, might we say more accurately) and the number of ingredients.

My own criticism of the brand lies elsewhere and I have resisted voicing it for long. Since they believe“Writing about perfume is like dancing about architecture” there isn’t much of a chance they’re checking online publications anyway, so I might as well get it off my chest.
Fabrice and Eddie, the owners of the “perfumery lab” at 233 Elizabeth Street in New York are two fragrance industry veterans who aimed to apply their noses in an unconventional project. The concept of lab-robbed technicians pouring the juice that very minute into your own name-tagged bottle, bearing the date of mixing and an “expiry” date in typewriter font (clinic chic!) is repelling to me in anastrophe, making me view the contents as pasteurized milk rather than a great vintage of dry red wine. Le Labo says a propos: “The last-minute formulation allows the composition to stay “fresh” and retain the fullness of its fragrance, in particular its delicate top notes, and to preserve the intensity required to shock. Made-to-order means that the essential oil concentrates in the perfume remain separate from the alcohol right up to the moment of purchase. Only then do our lab technicians proceed to the final formulation of the perfume, then bottle and label it with your name and the date of fabrication”. Actually the maturation of the jus is an integral part of the creation process and not necessarily the first step into decay. The personalized touch was originally meant to denote a custom-made feel but I sense that it is more of a marketing drivel for the “aware” customer. The reluctance of handing out physical samples because "All natural fragrances are not meant to be sampled; if you try them from a sample they aren't as good» (the frag “was better in the original bottle”)left me doubting my ears.
Secondly, and adjacent to the erroneous “all natural” lapse above, their claim of ingredients coming from Grasse is somehow making perfumephiles think they are of some superior quality to others. People who have been in Grasse can attest that ingredients manipulated there are sourced all over the place, so it is not like this element alone provides credentials of excellence. I am willing to accept that it is all a matter of confusion and misquoting nevertheless (in which case, dear Le Labo, please mail me for discussion) These points aside Poivre 23 is good. Let me elaborate.

Poivre 23 London follows City Scents previously created by Le Labo for New York (Tubereuse 40), Los Angeles (Musc 25), Dallas (Aldehyde 44) , Paris (Vanille 44) and Tokyo (Gaiac 10) in what is no doubt an exasperating, old but brilliant move towards providing a coveted luxury item: that which cannot be had easily! Poivre (pepper) refers to the Piper genus in the Piperacae family and not the Capsicum one of the Solanaceae family (which includes green, red, chili and generally an assortment of edible peppers).

The nose behind Le Labo Poivre 23 is Nathalie Lorson, a perfumer currently at Firmenich, Paris (formely at IFF), who was raised in Grasse, the traditional perfume capital of France. She is responsible for a diverse portfolio that encompasses the almost universally pleasing Bulgari pour Femme, the modern classic aldehydic floriental Dolce & Gabbana Femme, the recent re-issues of Lancôme Peut- Être and Aqua di Parma Profumo, as well as several Adidas fragrances and the one for Kate Moss. She has also signed the three latest fragrances by Lalique: the pre-empting Perles with its peppery musky background, the disturbingly appealing earthy vetiver of Encre Noire and the blackberry muskiness of Amethyst. As she confided: “I try first and foremost to serve the project, which can lead me to explore unfamiliar territory… and to rein in my ego!” Yet the familiar suppleness of her compositions is definitely there.

Nathalie’s spicy-woody personal totem is Déclaration for Cartier, so it’s no wonder she harnessed the untamed demon into supplication so suavely. I am a self-admitted spice lover and pepper is one of my favourite notes, heavily used in perfumery to elevate compositions into something simultaneously hot and cold (Opium by Yves Saint Laurent), or to bestow its brilliance, such as in Piper Negrum by Lorenzo Villoresi. Poivre 23 goes for an orientalized take on the prized material fusing subtle citrus elements with exotic woody notes such as a whiff of patchouli, some gaiac and Australian sandalwood (different than the Indian variety). The whole is suffused into a warm, radiating, rather sweet (I am tempted to say liqueur-tinged) aura with inviting tobacco undertones; smoke rising in slow rings over the canopy of an opium den.
The pepper note vanishes soon; essentially true to its “short” nature (“short” spices give an intial jolting impression but do not last, as opposed to “long” ones which are retained into the aftertaste). In that regard Poivre Piquant by L’artisan is more of a true pepper, with the longevity issues of what that entails as well. What are left from Poivre 23 are sweet nothings spoken in a contralto sostenuto for hours. That would have amber and darkish vanilla lovers, as well as fans of the perversely un-foodie vanilla of Shalimar, enraptured. Compared to their Paris exclusive Vanille 44, Poivre 23 is spicier, a tad less ambery and woodier with echoes of the less complex Gaiac 10 (the Tokyo Exclusive); something that leads me to believe it would be a good hit with men perfume lovers compared to that one, without alienating women fans.

I don’t especially condone the practice of super-exclusive perfumes for the heck of it through my retail shopping, nor do I think that the price asked for such a huge amount of extrait de parfum (the only concentration available) is completely justified. Therefore I left empty-handed. However I asked if there is the option available to some of their other scents in other cities of creating a silicone-based roll-on product fit for the purse. The kind sales assistant informed me that she would ask and a relative is instructed to go back and pick it up if it materializes. I will keep you posted if so!

Notes for Le Labo Poivre 23 (London exclusive):
Bourbon pepper, citrus, incense, cistus labdanum, Australian sandalwood, patchouli, vanilla, gaiacwood, styrax.

Le Labo Poivre 23 is exclusive to Liberty, London, available in Extrait de Parfum (pure parfum) in sizes of 50ml, 100ml and 500ml. (£120 for 50ml, 240.00 for 100ml; I didn’t dare find out the price for 500ml of pure parfum).
The official site (http://www.lelabofragrances.com/) is seriously appealing from an artistic point of view.

Pic of peppercorns via greekfood.about.com. Asian woman smoking originally uploaded on MUA