Thierry Mugler Alien Essence Absolue: fragrance review

The fragrance lurking inside the intensely yellow container of Alien Essence Absolue, that weird-looking bottle that looks like a pear mutated via the pollination of gold giant insects from outer space, is stimulating and totally unexpected with a softness, deepness and sexiness I didn't think possible.
Or did I?

The best attributes of the original, jasmine-typhoon Alien are kept. Faithfully. The intense longevity on skin, the radiance (minus the projection that extends to a 4-mile radius—this one is a little closer to the skin), the heart of surreal white flowers that seem as they're syphoned through a Space Age desert tent full of all the trappings of Arabia...

And yet Alien Essence Absolue brings on a warm embrace of amber, vanilla and incense that mollify the hard edge of that bright high-tech jasmine core. This newer version highlights the vanilla and bittersweet incense note over the rather more licorice-rich facets of the original Alien bouquet. The vanilla comes as a mysterious inclusion that is removed from the foodie varieties that recall cake batter and cookies; there are all sort of treacly and sticky off notes that resemble booze and tarmac-like gaiacwood. The almost suede-like softness is caressing, soft, a bit medicinal too, like a shaman's kit; the lure of a snake's tongue, dangerous and at the same time mesmerizing, poison and cure at the same time. The animalistic scent in the background has a honeyed facet, musky and lightly powdery, sweet and intimate. There is a precarious balance in this flanker scent that makes it good; you feel as if one tilt given and it might collapse, but oh, it doesn't.

In short, Alien Essence Absolue comes on the foot of Alien as one of the better examples in the Thierry Mugler line-up, which is quite a feat unto itself, bearing in mind Mugler has one of the most eclectic and intriguing fragrance lines within the mainstream sector.

Alien Essence Absolue was developed by (artistic olfactory director of Mugler parfums) Pierre Aulas with official fragrance notes of white jasmine flowers, orris root, black vanilla pod, incense, myrrh, white amber and cashmere wood.
Alien Essence Absolue is available as 30 and 60 ml Eau de Parfum Intense and a refill of 60 ml.

M.Micallef Ylang in Gold: fragrance review

Does the mental association of airheads frying on the beach to attain a lizard-worthy tan, replete with tons of sweet oily stuff smeared within an inch of their lives come into your mind when you hear the word "coconut scent"?. Or is the scent of artificial "tropics" enacted via those atrocious derelict-cab-dangling "deo" yellowish pine-trees that are enough to only get a glimpse of for one's stomach to turn? Coconut-laced tropical floral scents are a risky affair lest they end up smelling vulgar. Luckily for all, Ylang in Gold by niche French brand M.Micallef not only isn't so, but passes muster on projecting as totally refined, golden, gorgeous and genuinely pretty.

Source: 500px.com via Weathergram on Pinterest

The hints of boozy richness in Ylang in Gold recall saturated hues of rust and copper, done in a heavy silk drape, subtly changing with the play of the light upon the threads. I can feel—rather than see—the soft shimmer, like the trompe l'oeil of beige eyeshadow edged in taupe with a champagne highlighter gives the illusion of deeper, larger and more alluring eyes. This is a luxurious fragrance that is as delicious as a lemon-tinged vanilla pudding, taking a page off Casmir by Chopard, focused on the lusciousness of ylang in the floral heart.

The golden incandescence of Ylang in Gold lives up to the name, being a salicylate-rich floral (salicylate is that tropical floral element that is so prominent in the Ambre Solaire sunscreens) with a delicious floral tenacity that mysteriously intensifies the longer the perfume stays on skin. That treatment of ylang reminds me of the lily facets revealed by the subtle vanilla-salicylate accord of Vanille Galante by Hermes. Whereas there the vanilla thus emerged smelling like lily, here the vanillic tonality is a cross between milky sandalwood, suntan lotion and coconut water. Here the brûlée nuance is more "gourmand," a little thick, but done with elegance and restraint nevertheless. Without aiming to technically innovate or open new artistic pathways, the perfumer created a very pretty, very fetching fragrance to enjoy all year long. Its Orientalism is doe-eyed and contemporary enough to pull it through.

Source: perfume.org via Will on Pinterest

Notes for Ylang in Gold by M. Micallef:
Top notes: Tangerine orange, geranium, artemisia
Heart notes: Ylang-ylang, rose, sandalwood, lily-of-the-valley, magnolia
Base notes: Coconut, vanilla, musk.

Caron Bellodgia: fragrance review & history

Much like Caron's Pour un Homme is a study in lavender, done in a simple equation style giving so much more in perceived value, so Bellodgia is Caron's study of carnations, but in all their rich depth. I am not surprised many perfume lovers like Bellodgia, even floral haters. Unlike its reputation for a soliflore (the fragrance that reproduces the scent of a single flower, carnation in this case) it's really complex and not simplistic. Loving carnations sincerely, I had to have this perfume in my collection. Carnations have a scent that is not really floral, but definitely spicy and richly intimate. Who in their right mind deemed them "humble" for offering is beyond me. That spiciness is the reason I like storks also; another not quite so chic flower with its intense skatole quota (Skatole is the predominant molecule in excrement, its name deriving from the Greek word for shit; oh well, nothing is as it appears.)

Bellodgia seems the definitive carnation scent exactly because of its spiciness and complexity of its quality essences (allegedly its top note alone comprises 100 essences, a claim I find rather hard to believe); yet it is really a somewhat orientalized spicy perfume, rich in peppery notes that give a jangling quality to begin with, then segue into carnation richness with nuances of vanilla and woods warmth, which lasts incredibly well. The current eau de toilette opens with a note of incense comparable to Caron's Nuit de Noel and Parfum Sacre. The clove tint is a living remnant of retro perfumery of the turn of the 20th century, when carnations were recreated with flower notes (ylang ylang and rose) and cloves. At the time the buoyancy of the combination that resulted in a soapy, inedible impression signified perfume, a sign of wealth and status.

 The heady, not so innocent kick of carnation is baroque-like in Bellodgia, like the sheen of brocade cloth, where every change of the light brings out hidden reflections in the fabric. Similarly, the longer this Caron perfume stays on, the more it gains in creaminess and powder facets, prone to be deemed "old lady smelling" by those consumers who dismiss by that derogative term anything that isn't reminiscent of cake batter or linen drawers. The classical turn can smell a bit dated, a fact that shouldn't deter the male of the species grabbing it in an effort to turn what can be predictable and ageing for one gender into an unexpected burst of good news for the other, if they dare. The vintage formulation of Bellodgia is perhaps guiltier in the rich powderiness and the floral impact (aka more ladylike), while the modern versions are sheeting everything in the envelope of warm skin-scent musks, but more so in eau de toilette than in eau de parfum, the latter more floral and denser overall and more lasting. It's easy to spot the difference: the latest bottles have a purple label (or are encased in the shagreen tubes that the whole line has progressed onto, this time in purple), the older ones sport a white one.
The extrait de parfum is smoother than both but the problems with sandalwood supply in later years have subtly changed its base note over the last decade.

 Created in 1927, Bellodgia was the result of the collaboration of Caron founder Ernest Daltroff and one-time dress maker Felicie Vanpouille, who lent her fashion expertise to the company's scents. Specifically it was inspired by Italy and its countryside of wild carnation fields, particularly the picturesque town of Bellagio, perched high above the incredibly beautiful Lake Como, it smells sunny yet deep. Full of classical drama? Indeed. It is perhaps its assertion and its projection that accounts with its popularity over past decades with American customers. Bellodgia is a masterful blend of floral essences, so it needs some time to be blocked and some repeated exposure for it to be really appreciated, much like a good Bordeaux. And for those who sorta like Bellodgia, but want a smooth spices carnation without the powdery floralcy? Try Caron's Tabac Blond. You'll thank me later...

  Notes for Caron Bellodgia: lily of the valley, rose, carnation, violet, jasmine, clove, musk, vanilla and sandalwood.

Worthy of a read: One woman's love affair with Bellodgia.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Caron news & fragrance reviews.
vintage ads via polyvore and  the non blonde

Ramon Monegal Mon Patchouly: fragrance review

Mon Patchouly, part of the impressive new Ramón Monegal perfume collection from the former owner & perfumer of Spanish Myrurgia (since swallowed by Puig), straddles the line between woody oriental fragrance and oriental "gourmand", intended for people of either sex persuasion who love soft, rich, deep scents that invite you closer with a delicious Jon Hamm hum rather than proclaim their aggressive intentions with mock bravado. It's patchouli reinvented; traditional, yet new; an overdone fragrance note of the 2000s which here gains a precious, quietly exciting patina.

via http://nowandthan.tumblr.com/post/19390848880

The association with the suave Midwestern actor is reinforced by the subtly retro "masculine cologne" hint ~with its herbal indefinable rosy touch under the musk and woods~ that Mon Patchouly exhibits, further enhanced by the rum & whiskey tonality it gains as it unfolds its dry cocoa powder opening on the skin. It's enough to induce daydreaming of more elegant times, when men were virile and women were femmes. Aside from the phenomenal lasting power of the fragrance on my wrists ~withstanding an entire extended weekend that involved 2 showers, one prolonged sea dip (!) and several hand washings, obviously~ Mon Patchouly is also distinguished by its variability according to the skin it performs on.

On my own feminine skin, this RM perfume sweetens, mollifying the intense gourmand dryness of French roast coffee dregs & cocoa of Borneo 1834 by Serge Lutens. Fans of Montale Boisée Vanille and L'Artisan Havana Vanille/Absolument Vanille might find a similar boozy, darkish, real vanilla pods note hiding; rich and resonant, full of complexity and sub-plots, sometimes the latter even slightly repelling but always compelling. On my significant other's male skin Mon Patchouly dried down more resinous ambery, though not quite the thick, beer-belly-amber we know from elsewhere; I detect a hint of raisin and smoke too which provide contrast, probably revealed by skin Ph magic. The fragrance has the right balance and artistry not to fall into the over-familiarized (Just think, how many sweet amber patchoulis can you name at gun point? This isn't one of them).

The mossier, greener, woodier elements come forth from the back like dark secrets of a life behind closed doors, trysts during lunch break and hushed phone-calls, while still retaining the cigar box elegance and connoisseur complexity. I'm absolutely sure that come autumn and winter, Mon Patchouly will be delegated on the very front of my perfume closet (alongside the more panseasonal marvel Mon Cuir of the RM line which I sport as I write and on which I will write a separate review), its snuggly warmth a comfort for hectic days when its escapist fantasy will consume my commute and daily chores. I just can't fathom how bind-blowing Ramon Monegal's Mon Patchouly will be on a mohair scarf shared between lovers...you'll have to wait for me to divulge in due time!

Bottom line: scrumptious! I'd love to get one of those beautiful inkwell bottles for myself.

Notes for Ramon Monegal Mon Patchouly: Patchouli, olibanum, oakmoss, geranium, jasmine, amber

Available at Luckyscent in eau de parfum concentration.

In the interests of full disclosure, I was sent a sample from the manufacturer.

M.Micallef Art Collection Vanille: Vanille Marine, Vanille Orient, Vanille Cuir, Vanille Fleur (new fragrances)

Vanilla lovers rejoice! The attentive to detail niche brand M.Micallef, which has previously spoiled us with its Notes Gourmandes line, is issuing a new line of fragrances based on the perennial favorite: vanilla, coming from the Bourbon variety growing as a tropical orchid in Madagascar.
The Art Collection Vanille is artistically themed, unisex in its appeal and with handcrafted labels by Martine Micallef herself. Four interpretations of vanilla, in as predictable (oriental) or unpredictable (marine) or more intriguing versions (leathery or floral) to cater to every whim and every mood! 

VANILLE MARINE (marine vanilla)- the Water-themed scent of the collection opens with fresh and vitalizing notes of lemon and black currant on a heart of white flowers and vanilla. Benzoin, musk and wood provide a solid base for this fragrance that evokes vanilla covered with sea spray.

 VANILLE ORIENT (oriental vanilla)- classic Oriental notes of amber, musk and sandalwood are combined with vanilla and vanilla flower for a subtle and mysterious scent.

 VANILLE CUIR (leathery vanilla) - aromatic mint and lavender, with a touch of begamot, open this Leather-themed fragrance, whose spicy floral heart of cinnamon, cumin and orange blossom yields to a deep base featuring tonka bean, vanilla, cedar and sandalwood.

 VANILLE FLEUR (floral vanilla)- the collection's Floral fragrance opens with juicy peach atop a harmonious blend of feminine rose and sensual vanilla.

The fragrances are available in 50ml/1.7oz bottles. International launch is set for July 2012 (First in Fragrance already has samples available) with several U.S. retailers starting stocking the new fragrances on July 16th.

Jean Paul Gaultier Classique: fragrance review & history

Uncanningly similar to the dressmaker's dummy bottle of Shocking by Schiaparelli (1935), a powerful and iconic animalic oriental of a long lost era, fashion's enfant terrible Jean Paul Gaultier began his career in perfumes with his own -originally eponymous (1993), later renamed Classique- Schocking copy bottle, that hid a floriental of intense sweetness and powderiness. The inspiration for Gaultier was his beloved and -we surmiss- glamorous grandmother's vanity with its vats of face powder and nail polish remover smelling of acetone. Interestingly the perfume however plays with this perception of femininity in nuanced ways which defy an accurate transliteration. Despite all that, it's a perfume I can't really stomach, but it deserves its own analysis.

Eye-Catching Looks for Classique
But it is the bottle and presentation that will go down in history, originally in a pink metal corset, later given a frosted glass costume over the smooth glass body of the bottle, so to speak; and then given all kind of variations in all the colours and patterns of the rainbow for limited editions and summer flankers. The box gives an avant-garde touch; like shipped cargo, functional and brown-beige, while the bottle is encased inside the box in a metal can, "like the ones for cat food at the supermarket", as Gaultier put it. Meow....
The commercials were equally eye-catching and memorable, with variations on the theme of femininity, conceived by master image creator Jean Baptiste Mondino to the soundtrack of Casta Diva from Bellini's Norma, as sung by Maria Callas.

Interestingly, if we're to examine the feminist and cultural subtext of the perfume visuals, the Jean Pauls Gaultier commercials themselves have become markedly tamer and tamer as the years went by, reflecting a more sedate "sexy" view of femininity, a conservative retake on the mistress which marks her man's memory with her perfume (alongside her corset and high heels; a panoply of restrictive femme gear that places woman on the pedestral of an object) Contrast with the eclectic bunch of sui generis characters sharing one common element: their love for JPG perfume from two decades ago. Or the apogee of quirkiness in a gay gender playing game in the combined commercials for Le Male and Classique from 2002.
Even the models were quirkier looking back then (Eve Salvail with her trademark shaved head, Kristen McMenamy with her irregular features...to the predictable beauty of Michelle Buswell) and we're just talking about nothing further than the 1990s.


Alice Classique commercial from 1995


Le Diner Classique commercial from 1997


Classique & Le Male commercial from 2002

Scent Description
The opening of Classique is rich in mandarin orange, peach, plum and cassis (a synthetic base that recaretes a berry/currant note), sherbety and sparkling-waxy thanks to the sheen provided by decanal (aldehyde C10), a characteristic element in the archetype No.5. The metaphor of nail polish is made through benzyl acetate, possessing jasmine-like and pear-drops notes. The heart is predictably rosy like the hue of the juice inside, with powerful cinnamic roses and damascones (synthesized molecules that give off intensely rosy-fruity tonalities) given an even fatter nuance by the inclusion of orange flower and ylang ylang, indolic and lushly sweet. A faint hint of spice is accounted by lily and ginger, but it's weak to really characterise the composition as a spicy floral; it resolutely stays within the sweet fruity floral with a wink to the floriental direction.
It is imperative that one loves powdery nuances in fragrances to like Classique, as the quite powdery base is built on a contrast of woody-amber Ambrox with vanillin, the two building to epic proportions of  intense diffusion. A little orris note opens an interesting discourse of dryness in the base, beneath the amber-vanilla there is a musky-earthy footnote with a hint of animal; perhaps an ironic meta-comment on Shocking itself by perfumer Jacques Cavallier? Not enough, hidden under the syrup...




Le Boudoir Classique commercial from 2007


L'Appartment Classique commercial from 2009

The Perfumer's References & the Zeitgeist
Cavallier did cite classics, such as Chanel No.5, within the formula but interjected modern elements as well resulting in what proved to be a contemporary commercial hit. You might be forgiven for thinking Classique is va-va-voom material, only it is so for those people who can't help being a bit too flamboyant. For all its intensity and almost cloying fruitiness, it escaped the seal of "powerhouse" that Dior's Poison or CK Obsession bore in the previous decade. The era was ripe for a disruptive aesthetic so  the blinding paleness of aquatics and the surypy element of "fruities" led this dance.

JPG's Classique consolidated its place by playing upon an idea that had already found its culmination in Lancome's Tresor in 1990: The peachy rosiness of Sophia Grosjman's modern classic had been the building block upon which a thousand beauty products from lotions and hair products to fine fragrance and fabric softener followed. Tresor's formula has plenty to admire in, but perhaps it's too ubiquitous to claim one's own. But whereas Tresor achieves the perilous balance of naturally lush bosom kept under decorum thanks to its solid perfume structure, Classique for all its rosy girlishness shows rather too much nipple for my taste.

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Lys Soleia: fragrance review

A warm, sandy beach...soaking up the rays, you rest sprawled in a deckchair, your hand hanging down in the shadowy spot beneath it, idly caressing the sugar-spun grain...kicked off sandals nearby...a faint hint of tropical flowers and suntan lotion in the breeze...and the world sits still for a while. This summer fantasy leads to soothing thoughts and sensual imaginings and it's all the fault of Guerlain's Lys Soleia, I'm convinced! An interplay between light and shadow, between heat and , basking in the afterglow.

Guerlain had the brilliant idea to offer something for casual wearing and younger dispositions around 1999, the Aqua Allegoria line. Incongruent, with agile, ambrosial specimens alongside undoubtably acrylic painting flops, the line has thankfully picked up in the last couple of seasons (for instance see Guerlain Jasminora ) and Lys Soleia, the latest fragrance in the collection, is among the clear winners.

As announced previously, Aqua Allegoria Lys Soleia is centered around a semi-fresh, semi-tropical floral composition, which reproduces the sensuous aroma of oriental yellow lilies and the regal white lily. The treatment is initially leaning into the delicious tannning lotion aroma of classic European favorite Ambre Solaire, with a tangy hint of citrus ling-a-ling (and Guerlain is no stranger to great citrus, just witness Shalimar Light), rich in salicylates and the tropical floral note of ylang ylang as well as the greener part of the tuberose plant, heady and sensual. Lys Soleia is taking a page off both Guerlain's own Terracotta Sous le Vent dry oil and the green-powdery-lily strewn Vanille Galante in the Hermessences series by Hermes with its delicate veil of vanilla. The spicy touch of lily is nicely peppered, biting gently, bridging the gap between lily and ylang ylang. This tender and very temperately sweet fragrance doesn't really lose its sensuous tropical flower feel upon drying down on the skin, but enhances the muskiness of warmed skin and light creamy vanillic nuances.

Perfume enthusiasts who like Nuxe Parfum Prodigieux, Cartier Baiser Vole, Serge Lutens Un Lys and Hermes Vanille Galante are advised to try it; it shares kindred DNA. But so are lovers of feminine tropical florals who don't want oppressive clobber-you-down tiare re-runs smelling cheap. Lys Soleia smells eerily familiar and at the same time freshly renewed, with a delicacy and balance of composition that denotes true Guerlain mastery. Perfumer Thierry Wasser proves he can carry the baton after all. Who would have thought he'd do it with an Aqua Allegoria?

Available at major department stores £37/€51 for 75ml

 pic via simplewishes.tumblr.com

Guerlain Shalimar Parfum Initial L'Eau: fragrance review

Guerlain gives us a vacant eye zombie. Like Natalia Vodianova's baby blues look empty and not quite there in sepia pictures, lacking the density , the pathos, the slicing through paper that darker eyes carry, yet those vacant blues carry their own strange allure, Shalimar Parfum Initial L'Eau is a very pretty thing posing in a company that it probably shouldn't be among. Taken individually, it is a soft, enveloping, delicate scent of fairies. Taken as a member in the Shalimar company, it's too baby-ish to be taken seriously.

The commercially successful experiment of Shalimar Parfum Initial (2011), an introductory Shalimar for those consumers who knew the brand through their cosmetics &  skincare or for the young clientele that always associated the classic Shalimar with older generations and longed for a version to claim their own (see also Shalimar Eau Legere/Shalimar Light and Eau de Shalimar for previous efforts into this arena), gave us hope. For 2012 Guerlain, as we had early on announced, was bent on launching a flanker to the modernised Shalimar Parfum Initial version (a flanker to a flanker, if you like) this spring, called Shalimar Initial L'Eau.  Now,  this is exactly why I usually tend to dislike the concept of flankers: it's so easy to lose track or confuse things, ending up discussing a completely different thing than your fellow partner in the discussion.

Shalimar Initial L'Eau is both a lighter and drier new formula on the previous experiment, not just a different concentration or a new bottle edition (Shalimar in general knows more limited editions than it can possibly count). The bottle is the exact same style as Shalimar Parfum Initial, only in a lighter hue with a baby pink ribbon on the neck (instead of a greyish blue one) bearing the familiar G medaillon. The similarity leads me to believe that they do intend to keep this version in the line as just a different concentration of the Parfum Initial, not only a one-time-thing limited edition. Especially if it proves a good seller.


Perfumer Thierry Wasser was put on record saying he chose a specific grade of bergamot from a Guerlain communelle (i.e. a special reserve that Guerlain keeps for each of their famous ingredients) which is a tad greener and zestier than usual. What is most distinguishable however, smelling the finished fragrance, is a premium grade neroli which gives a subtle, refreshing tonality, lightening the formula considerably and further making it fluffy and airy. If Shalimar Parfum Initial is a watercolour, this is a rinse. 
Despite the mentioned notes of "greenery" in the official press release, such as lily of the valley, freesia and hyacinth, the vividness of the bright citrus notes with a lightly sweet aspect is what stays with you.
The new spin doesn't really boost the green freshness (like that in Miss Dior Chérie L'Eau) but focuses on the neroli essence and a tart grapefruit top note to counterpoint the traditional carnality of the original base of Shalimar (built on opoponax resin, all powdery splendour, Peru balsam and benzoin with their rich, treackly aspect and quinolines with their leathery, sharp, disturbing bite).
Instead the leathery note in Shalimar Parfum Initial L'Eau has been further toned down than it was in the Initial (annihilated you could argue) substituted by an admittedly delicious crème brûlée note. Overall we're witnesses to the deliberate culling of the balsamic aspect that makes Shalimar so famous and recognisable.  This leaves us with a spectre; a fascinating apparition amidst the shadows, blink and you'll miss its ethereal form, but is it related to Shalimar of old? No, it's not.


What I find most surprising for a Shalimar version is the relative lack of tenacity and sufficient projection: three generous spritzes on my arm (catching my trench-coat sleeve too)  have lasted just 4 hours and no one but myself was aware of the fact that I was wearing perfume. For an eau de toilette concentration it's not totally unusual, but for Guerlain and for a flanker in that iconic oriental stable it is most peculiar. 


Notes for Guerlain Shalimar Parfum Initial L'Eau:
Top: bergamot, grapefruit, neroli
Heart: iris absolute, jasmine grandiflora, rose absolute
Base: tonka bean, vanilla. 


Shalimar Parfum Initial L'Eau is presented in Eau de Toilette concentration in 40ml (for 37GBP), 60ml (46GBP) and 100ml (64GBP) bottles. 

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

Etat Libre d'Orange Fils de Dieu du Riz et des Agrumes: fragrance review

Despite allusions to Messianic status and references to a Far Asian dish full of endemic ingredients, Fils de Dieu is neither incense-based, nor is it foody in smell. Instead it shoots clarity, modernity and prized complexity into an age-old structure, the classic oriental perfume, making it shed its abundant sunshine like a golden ray shimmering onto yellow butterflies flying over the spring blooms in the balcony. Forget the controversy factor and scare-the-horses impact of the niche brand's infamous Sécrétions Magnifiques. This one is instantly (and easily) likeable stuff you will get serious milleage off; which I'd think defeats the brand's "perfume is dead, long live perfume" manifesto, but there you have it: they need to make wearable stuff too I suppose. Fils de Dieu is among their most approachable. 

Biko rice cupcakes from the Philippines

Etat Libre d'Orange describes its latest fragrance Fils de Dieu du Riz et des Agrumes (its full name meaning “Son of God of rice and citrus”) as "the one who brings on the light, the sunshine", drawing from the Philippines lore (its alternative name was Philippine Houseboy). Perfumer Ralf Schwieger (of Lipstick Rose fame), set to task by the brand's head Etienne De Swardt, took the basic structure of a classical oriental built on tart citrus and creamy ambery and vanillic notes (see Shalimar or even better the more legible Shalimar Light) and renovated it into a modern creation that registers as totally urban, totally effarvescent, totally wearable. But that's not to mean it wears thin or minimalist: the projection of the mouilletes on my library is reaching me, diffusing with gusto, in the bedroom and the sillage trailing off my chiffon blouse is enough to entice the neighbour meeting me round the corner to ask what I am wearing. "It's Fils de Dieu", I reply rather self-consious. "Oooh, sounds like one of those delectable things only you carry around here!" she replies with a resigned sigh. I oblige and write the name down along with intrstructions on where to get some.

That is the effect the new Etat Libre d'Orange fragrance has: uplifting, inviting, alluring, radiant. Despite the lack of heft its vanilla background has (forget thick, "burnt" too foody vanillas, this is nuanced and sophisticated), the tenacity of musk, the crushed flower petals and the profusion of leathery castoreum (reminiscent of a FarEast massage parlour) accounts for a composition that will get you noticed throughout the day. If the equally inviting Etat Libre d'Orange Archives 69 and their universally liked Like This is any indication, the French brand is following a certain kind of compositions quite purposefully lately. 

But the interesting thing about Fils de Dieu is the masterful playing of contrast and the injection of herbal into the classic oriental motif: the ginger (in itself having a citrusy facet) pairs with other hesperidic notes, notably sharp lime, starting with bracing, mouthwatering freshness (not unlike the bergamot-rich head note of Cologne Bigarade in the F.Malle line). There's the subtle and brief fennel-like note of shiso and then the perfume swims confidently into plush comfort through the milky-rice note of coconut-milk steamed rice. The zen-like effect of savoury rice cooking on the stove was perhaps most famously explored by niche brand Ormonde Jayne in Champaca: there's something home-bound and soothing about that smell and Linda Pilkington had revealed to me in an interview that she had envisioned it inspired by her Chinese neighbours cooking rice at their appartment every evening. Etat Libre had injected a rice note as a hint in their previous Putain de Palaces. But in Fils de Dieu the progression melds effortlessly into an intimate, gourmand aftertaste with lots of coriander (orange-saffron like, almost), a metallic nuance and suede, sultry leathery notes which retain the fragrance deliciously on both skin and cloth.

Etat Libre d'Orange Fils de Dieu, du Riz et des Agrumes is available from Henri Bendels, MiN New York and online from Luckyscent and Les Senteurs.


Notes for Etat Libre d'Orange Fils de Dieu:
Ginger, coriander leaves, lime, shiso, bergamot, Jungle Essence coconut, rice note, Jungle Essence cardamom, jasmine, cinnamon, French May rose, tonka bean, vetiver, musk, amber, leather, castoreum.

photo via cupcakeproject.com

Oscar de la Renta Oscar Violet: fragrance review & draw

Violet is a limited edition "flanker"* of the signature Oscar fragrance, one of the group of limited summer editions by fashion designer Oscar de la Renta which launched through 2005 (Violet is from that season) and 2006: Soft Blossom, Soft Amber, Sweet Flower, Tropical Flower, Fresh Vanilla, Red Orchid, Pink Lily, Sheer Freesia, Citrus, Bamboo. [Wow they did a lot of them!] From this assorted progeny I always thought Violet was the best  and though by no means a masterpiece or a must-smell, it's an easy to wear desert-like, yet judiciously restrained, vanillic fragrance. By all accounts a no-brainer, no need to steel-yourself-for-it scent, for days when you can't be bothered by complicated things and just want some cosiness and comfort.

The subtle overture is fresh and a bit "sweet peppery" thanks to the cinnamon touch sprinkled on a short-lived, citrusy accord. This very soon opens into the main plot: a dark chocolate accord, powdery cocoa shifted for angel's cake and 70% cocoa solids chunks for glazing it. This is quite a sweet perfume, which is a precarious balance to do right, but without the sickly candy notes of many a modern fragrance fare. More a cocoa-vanilla blend than one resting on violets, it's ironic it got named the way it was. (Even if consciously searching for violets when smelling it, you're getting the Violettes de Toulouse confectionary kind, not the Parma violet, even less so the metallic violet leaf note). The base is quite persistent, with inclusions of musk and sandalwood (creamy, goose-down soft), but the generic vanilla blend tends to overshadow these subtler, more discreet notes. This is the main drawback of the Oscar Violet fragrance and why it doesn't get out of the cabinet more. The drydown is lackluster compared to what a delicious, sophisticated gourmand like Angel Innocent, or  Prada Candy can offer; and as to searching for a sweet violet or gourmand sandalwood combo I'll go with Bois de Violette, Santal Massoia and Praline de Santal. Still Oscar Violet is so cheap online it's worth grabbing for your curiosities cabinet or your little sister who likes "sweet stuff" and shouldn't be let to plunge too deeply into the vulgar end lest she never resurfaces again. 

If a few well-judged comparisons illustrate a point like a thousand pages, Oscar Violet is reminiscent of Hypnotic Poison Eau Sensuelle by Christian Dior and Deep Red by Hugo Boss (but sweeter, creamier than the latter) with similar notes of pear, mandarin orange, sandalwood, vanilla and musk.
Discontinued, but still found discounted on etailers and Ebay.

For our readers, a bottle of this discontinued fragrance up for draw, for those commenting. Draw is open internationally till Sunday midnight.

*flanker is industry speak for a new, different fragrance coat-tailing on the success of an established one by the same brand, exhibiting some twist on the name & packaging to differentiate it from the original.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Floral Gourmand Fragrances 

Rochas Man: fragrance review

Few are the males ~and the masculine fragrances to accompany them~ that indulge into tipping their long toes (with a few stray hairs on them) into the gourmand pool where vanilla reigns supreme like a giant mother's breast offering precious comfort. Breast and beast don't mix. Or do they? Rochas Man (1999), no less because of its super suggestive bottle designed by Franzrudolf Lehnert and Michael Fõrster, which looks halfway between a rocket, a frosted glass tit-statue and a futuristic sex toy, proves otherwise.

The secret, woven by master perfumer Maurice Roucel, lies into constrasting the warmer, sweeter elements of vanilla with aromatic lavender (its medicinal and caramelic ends both exploited) and a dark-roast coffee note which he seems to have transported into his Bond No.9 New Haarlem composition. Thus he creates a hybrid: the gourmand fougère! I'm of course being creative; the fougère is a pliable enough fragrance family to include both warmer and cooler interpretations and its core of coumarin is sweet by itself.

Roucel is nothing if not one for opulence, but he manages to make even potentially cloying compositions (Hermes 24 Faubourg, Guerlain L'Instant pour Femme) shimmer and radiate rather than choke and oppress. Rochas Man, aimed at men but worn with intense pleasure by discerning women (especially those who like things like Dior Dune and L de Lolita Lempicka), takes the restrained qualities Roucel displayed in Kenzo Air and weaves in a hint of the animalic sensuality of his infamous Musc Ravageur. The touch of tang (which smells like Frambinone to me) further restrains the sweetness, while the distinct patchouli facets create intrigue in the final stages of the fragrance on the skin, giving an edge to the sweet notes. But if I were to compare it to something smelling similar, I'd peg the New Haarlem as a closer match (and a fifth of the price!) with a slice off Serge Lutens' lavender musky, sweet fougère in Fourreau Noir. Plus, in its toys for boys bottle, I hereby solemnly dub it "the Rocket Man Fragrance".



This Rochas is quite unlike the gentrified citrusy & peaty Rochas Moustache, engaging into more overt, urban foreplay. Its main advantage however is staying as close to the skin as is necessary for you to order another round of shots at the bar, prolonging the flirting enough to ensure that the female target is fully enraptured by your scented aura. She'll be smitten!

Available in department stores as eau de toilette, last I checked, and on many etailers for ridiculous prices.

still from the film Dr.Strangelove or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Bomb by Stanley Kubrick via kubrickfilms.tripod.com 

Patricia de Nicolai Kiss Me Tender: fragrance review

Heliotrope is at once deep, soft and mysterious, a note traversing the rainbow from the yellow of vanilla pods and almond, to the light blue and green of anise right to newly mown hay. Kiss Me Tender by Parisian niche brand Patricia de Nicolaï feels like being submerged in a warm bathtub on a cool evening, the translucence of water clouded by the full range of the delicate, powdered notes of heliotrope.

The simplicity of structure in Kiss Me Tender shouldn't fool us into believing there is no skill involved. Heliotrope might be a full perfume in itself, but De Nicolaï weaves it both subtly and deliciously, a hint of retro without ever falling into the pit of dated. If you always liked the powdered aniseed core of the classic L'Heure Bleue perfume but found it too mature, rejoice: the main components ~anise, orange blossom and synthetic heliotropin (for heliotrope notes, as the flower cannot be extracted)~ are present in both the classic Guerlain and the newer Patricia de Nicolaï; it might all be in the genes, the woman derives from Guerlain stock after all! (For those who don't know, she's the grand-daughter of Pierre Guerlain). But it's more than that just modernising and streamlining a beloved structure and one of the quintessentially Guerlain notes. It's underscoring it with a freshness and tenderness like never before.

The almondy facets in Kiss Me Tender bolstered by vanilla overlap into the gourmand oriental fragrance group; tempered, good-mannered sweet, a touch of white pastry confectionary like marzipan accented with spicy bites that are just this side of edgy. The hay facet is clearly discernible, over abstract solar notes (salicylates) of ylang ylang and non-indolic jasmine, floating on a watery pong, the two woven in the ethereal way of Hermès Vanille Galante.

More delicate and subtle with skin-soft musky notes than livilier interpretations of the note (such as the latest versions of Guerlain's Apres L'Ondée which are eclipsing the violet in lieu of heliotropin) Kiss Me Tender comes closer to the feel of being wrapped by goose down in L'Eau d'Hiver (F.Malle) or the lighter interpetations of Shalimar and Habit Rouge; after all it shares the flou, hazy base of opoponax resin with the latter two. The deviant, fresh and slightly green, minty-anisic top note takes Kiss Me Tender on a different track than the usually opressive routes of other gourmand or floriental fragrances built on almond and gives it a unisex aspect that men might enjoy too. (The trick of coupling anise with vanilla for lightening the latter is working for Jo Malone in Vanilla & Anise as well.)
For its elegance and versatility, Kiss Me Tender is a must-try for those who always sought for a discreet daytime heliotrope fragrance but probably a bit too pastel for those who like their floral orientals hard-core and khol-eyed.

Notes for Patricia de Nicolai Kiss Me Tender:
vanilla, aniseed, almond, heliotrope, fresh cut hay

Kiss Me Tender is available in 30ml/1oz for 39 euros or 100ml/3.4oz for 99 euros of Eau de Parfum available on the official Patricia de Nicolaï site and select stockists.

Le Labo Vanille 44: fragrance review

To optically pair Vanille 44 by niche brand Le Labo with Luis Buñuel's Un Chien Andalou (1928) is a natural: The fragrance is illusory and surreal, like a razor slashing the eye ball that never actually happens. It's sexy too, in that perverted way of Buñuel's young novice about to take her vows led astray by her widowed uncle. How can a childhood aroma like vanilla do this stuff? Is there nothing sacred? Read on.

Vanille 44 weaves the cool, almost sour scent of frankincense (which naturally has citrus facets, therefore mixing well with bergamot and mandarin) into the tarry-smelling carapace of smoky woods, like gaiacwood. This tar-like inky note is due to pipol, a volatile component that smells of black smoky tea. But the treatment is diaphanous, complex veils of chiffon material rather than heavy damask, as one would have typically expected from an oriental fragrance based on this commonly thought of as aphrodisiac raw material, vanilla.

Le Labo's Vanille 44 is an atypical vanilla hidden beneath layers of other essences, veils of Salome, with a pronounced woody-musky trail (muscenone is a musk molecule) that would never have small children or those "too nice" co-workers with scrunchies on their hair atop bulky mohair sweaters to exclaim "you smell nice!". It's not that Vanille 44 doesn't smell nice, it's that it's not the instantly familiar sweet, cozy, foody vanilla these target groups are accustomed to. On the other hand, I don't know whether that super sophisticated group, who upturn their noses upon hearing your mother still likes Calvin Klein Eternity (which you faithfully buy for her every Christmas), would love it either. It's good stuff, created by one of the very best, perfumer Alberto Morillas (who has given us mega-hits from Kenzo Flower to Aqua di Gio for men for Armani) but is it that uncommon to warrant the huge price (500$ for 100ml)? I believe Lutens, Montale and Guerlain have already set foot in the smoky, woody or boozy vanilla territory respectively and not come back with losses. Vanille 44 is a good, mysterious fragrance, an oddball vanilla fragrance for adults of both sexes, but you need to forget about the name as it's as close to vanilla pods as Falco would be to the real Amadeus.

Le Labo presents it thus: "We all know that Paris is the city of love (and hence sex). But Paris is also the city of Vanille 44! We also know by now that our Rose 31 does not smell of only rose, that our Iris 39 does not smell of just iris, and that the number is as important (if not more) than the name of ingredient to the left of it (I am not a number !). Well our Vanille 44 does not smell of just Vanilla. At least it doesn’t smell of vanilla straight away. We could say that this theme is a subtle ambery incensy woody sexy note that once acquainted with your premium pashmina sweater will release the finest of the vanilla bourbons that you’ve experienced. It’s vanilla disguised."

You can say that again. 

Notes for Vanille 44 by Le Labo:
Natural bergamot, incense, mandarin, gaiac, vanille bourbon, muscenone, pipol, hedione

Le Labo Vanille 44 is a Paris city-exclusive (available at Colette), retailing at $290 for 50ml, but only for the month of November it is globally available at Luckyscent and on the official Le Labo site.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine:  Le Labo reviews & news ,Vanilla fragrances reviews

In the interests of disclosure, the review is based on a sample vial sent to me by the company.

Prada Candy: fragrance review

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

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

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

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

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





Photo of dulce de leche via pinterest.com

Cartier Baiser Vole: fragrance review

“There is no lily oil or lily absolute,” says perfumer Mathilde Laurent, who wanted to introduce a floral scent in Cartier’s fragrance collection, a propos Baiser Volé, the jewellery brand's latest feminine fragrance launch. The name means "Stolen Kiss" reminiscing such romantic images as Fragonard's painting or Truffaut's film. “But I didn’t want it to be the 1,001st floral floriental, and I didn’t want to add a new floral composition.” Instead, Laurent likened wearing Baiser Volé to having on a necklace of lilies!

In Baiser Volé, in-house Cartier perfumer Mathilde Laurent explores the nature of lily three-ways (the leaves, the petals and the pistil) in a fresh powdery floral context and ends up with a surreal lily that isn't really about flowers, nor does it smell particularly spot-on "floral", but about the flowery nature of woman herself: opening up, "blooming", receiving, being at once pure and a little bit disorienting.

Laurent began by asking what smell men found enticing in a womanly way, to which the (fit to print, at least) prominent reply seemed to be "the lily". Colour me sceptical; isn't lily a symbol for purity and the need for cleansing? Maybe men are really leaning more onto the Madonna rather than the whore juxtaposition? Maybe they're asking them from a pre-arranged multiple-choice sheet?
At any rate, thus equiped, Laurent embarked on her 2-year long quest into fitting this stunning flower into a composition that would light up the room just lilies they do, without it being cliché, or surupy sweet, or headache-inducing cloying. If you are looking for the most realistic lily scent recreation, you might stop reading right now or read our article on Lily scent and lily flower types in perfumery; Baiser Volé doesn't even aim at that. But if you like fresh powdery scents, you might want to at least sample; it's very likeable.

The vegetal quality of the fragrance presents itself in an odd game of salicylates, solar notes which boom on the skin, a balance of bitter and sweet with a hint of citrus: The treatment, air-spun, meringue-like, delicate, is not unlike the one that perfumer Jean Claude Ellena reserved for the lightening up of vanilla through ylang ylang & lily notes in his fluffy Vanille Galante for the Hermessences. The vanilla and musks laced drydown in Baiser Volé recalls the sweetness of Un Lys by Serge Lutens, but the context is less poetic, more powdery, in a cosmetic-power-infused, slightly bittersweet way with a small subfacet of spice ~only minimal, a tad clovey; and a hint of violet ionones. It's safe to deduce that Baiser Volé transposes these niche sensibilities, pure, unadulterated exploration of perfumery raw materials's facets, in sleight-of-hand executions, into the mainstream. Compared with other lily fragrances, Baiser Volé stands alone and lacks the gaiac smokiness of real lilies which is reported to give them their "ham" brine-y facet. Cartier's interpretation is nowhere near the dense, ambery tinged radiant ambience of Donna Karan's Gold. Or the faux chypre structure of Ineke's Gilded Lily. Or the spicy corolla of Lily & Spice by Penhaligon's. And whereas Lys Mediterranée is a raspy, roughened salty-savoury lily that appeals to a certain Med sensibility with its hoarsey voice, while remaining irresolutely lily-like, Baiser Volé is smoother, more pliable, less floral, more traditionally womanly in its vanillic powdery kiss, and oddly at once old-fashioned and "clean".

On the other hand, and this is really interesting, Laurent takes no prisoners into embracing the latest trend of reinventing powdery florals for a generation that was afraid of anything powdery signifying "old lady perfume": From Esprit d'Oscar to Love,Chloé, the pink satin feel of ballerina shoes is taking on the sheen of flou through dusty, dry notes reminiscent of violets, talcum powder and sweet musks (if you're thinking of Lovely, by Sarah Jessica Parker, with an added dose of powderiness, you're not too far off); especially since this is a medium sillage fragrance, projecting politely while lasting power is good. Maybe it's code for "classy" or "different" in the milieu of hundreds of sweet things on the market. Maybe the generation who loved Flower by Kenzo and Cashmere Mist by Donna Karan have moved onto other things by now, leaving a void to be filled with new consuemers. The freshly powdery effect needs a true best-seller to shoot off as the new "craziness" in perfume (after "pink chypres" , fruitchoulis, and ethylmaltol-based ~aka cotton-candy smelling~ gourmands) and it remains to be seen just which fragrance that might be: Even though the concept and smell might be right for Cartier, I think we're dealing with a confusing name for Anglos: kissing the rodent seems to be many people's gut response, which might shoot the project in the foot (who can forget Rochas Poupée?).

Mathilde Laurent has been at jewellers Cartier since 2005 and she had been busy concocting Les Heures du Parfum, a series of niche-smelling fragrances sold exclusively at Cartier boutiques. Baiser Volé is the brand's first major feminine fragrance launch since Le Baiser du Dragon oriental in 2003 (Cartier de Lune of early 2011 not withstanding) and contrasted with the best-selling masculine Déclaration, which garners more than 60% of all Cartier's fragrance sales, this Baiser is set to be a serious bet on the part of the company; a recent Women's Wear Daily article tagged it as being intended as the scent pillar in the brand's feminine portfolio.It's definitely geared towards "a younger consumer", though like Robin I am at a loss on just how old the Cartier demographic really is to begin with.

The bottle of Baiser Volé is based on a stylised lighter design, for which the house is famous: In the 1970s there was no chicer way to light up (even today Cartier-embossed cigarettes are still produced in a small quantity in Europe), giving rise to the Les Must de Cartier, a boutique line from which Must perfume arose. Cartier Baiser Volé is available in Eau de Parfum (priced between $75-$145), also presented in matching Shower Gel and Body Lotion ($55 each) and deo spray, and is currently a Nordstrom Anniversary exclusive, but it will be available at major department stores in September 2011.

artwork via lunarki blog