Absinthe Series 2: the Green Fairy Muse

Absinthe and its hallucinogenic reputation have contributed to the mythos of it being the drink of artists and poets who harnessed its "lucid intoxication" to produce works of inimitable fantasy. Through these works of visual and written art, the audience can almost taste and smell the bittersweet licorice flavour of la fée verte responsible; the imagery presents itself so vividly as if we are imbuing the green liquid ourselves.
People like Paul Verlaine, Arthur Rimbaud, Toulouse-Lautrec, Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Oscar Wilde, Aleister Crowley and Ernest Hemingway weren't just casual drinkers; they grabbed their paintbrushes and pens in an effort to manifest how the green fairy affected and presumambly wrecked them. Whether the wormwood-based spirit is accountable is besides the point: the tale is a charming one and thus worth recounting, which we will proceed to do.

Among the many paintings focused on absinthe, there are those which place the emphasis on the ethereal fantasy of the muse and her influence on the psyche and those which depict the sad end of the drinkers coming about via regular consumption of the addictive potion.
In the former category, one such masterpiece is Albert Maignan's Green Muse (1865): It shows a brazen spirit, running her fingers through the poet's hair with a naughty look in her eyes, up to mischief. It seems that she materialises through the fragrant vapours of the alcoholic drink, in a haze of anise and licorice, to make the poet eventually succumb to her charms.
Czech painter Viktor Oliva also focused on the fantasy, painting an almost translucent green fairy perched on the table, invisible to the besotted man sitting there but visible to the viewer who perceives that the vacant look of the drinker is an internal eye to the marvels opened up to him through the magic of the fairy.

On the other hand, Edgar Degas chose to focus on the darker side, using a muddy palette with melancholic overtones in his famous sullen woman who drinks an absinthe cocktail in L'absinthe (1876). Interestingly Degas never named the painting thus and the title must have originated through the dealer or the collector. Edouart Manet, himslef an absinthe consumer, went the same route with his The Absinthe Drinker (1858), showing a standing man, top-hatted, in the shadows, with a bottle of absinthe that has been dregged of its contents lying at his feet.
Vincent Van Gogh and Pablo Picasso also devoted copious paintbrushes to the jade liquid. Van Gogh along with Paul Gaugin indulged in heavy absinthe drinking while in Arles, which only augmented the epileptic crises of the former forcing him to retreat to a sanatorium in his twilight years and finally taking his own life. Of course absinthe is not solely to blame: he had been known to ingest turpentine in numerous occasions as well!



But the written word is no poorer when it comes to the green fairy, as we already hinted. The roots go far back:

For the lips of an adulteress drip honey,
And smoother than oil is her speech;
But in the end she is bitter as wormwood,
Sharp as a two-edged sword.
Her feet go down to death,
Her steps lay hold of Sheol.

~Proverbs 5:4

French poet Arthur Rimbaud, rebel child-prodigy and nicknamed first "punk poet" knew the feel of the fairy's touch intimately. In the following verse perhaps an allusion to a secret marriage is infered through the use of the word "chalice".

"When the poet's pain is soothed by a liquid jewel held in the sacred chalice, upon which rests the pierced spoon, the crystal sweetness, icy streams trickle down. The darkest forest melts into an open meadow. Waves of green seduce. Sanity surrendered, the soul spirals toward the murky depths, wherein lies the beautiful madness - absinthe." ~Peggy Amond, American poet

This intense, sensual description of the enrapture that absinthe evokes in the poet's soul reminds us of the olfactory journey which we undertake when exploring the unusual aromas of its herbal character.
His poet lover, Paul Verlaine, already an alcoholic before trying absinthe, died in 1896, drinking to the end. He had obviously repented of his absinthe addiction as revealed in his Confessions, published one year before:

"...later on I shall have to relate many [...]absurdities which I owe to my abuse of this horrible drink: this drink, this abuse itself, the source of folly and crime, of idiocy and shame, which governments should tax heavily if they do not suppress it altogether: Absinthe!"

In one of those fits he had destroyed the foetuses of aborted pregnancies that his -no doubt unconventional!- mother kept in the cellar.

Others were more sympathetic. Whether Charles Baudelaire, this magician of smells, speaks of absinthe in his poetry is not conclusive. He certainly insists on wine and opiates, which he mysteriously compares to something merely named "poison" in his famous poem "Le Poison":

"Yet all this pales next to the poison that flows from your eyes, like a green caress, from those lakes where I see my soul in reverse, where my dreams come in throngs to quench their thirst in chasms of bitterness"

~Charles Baudelaire, Le Poison (abridged)

The rumours that American gothic poet Edgar Allan Poe, whom Baudelaire heavily used as an inspiration, along with his drunkeness was also inebriated by absinthe have not been substanciated yet.
"A Queer Night in Paris" by Guy de Maupassant describes the smells and sensations of absinthe in the streets of Paris and makes an overt reference: "M. Saval sat down at some distance from them and waited, for the hour for taking absinthe was at hand” (commonly named "the green hour").

Oscar Wilde, famous for his sensual side as well as his wit, referenced many fragrant materials in The Portrait of Dorian Gray and wore a carnation on his lapel every day. He spoke of the green fairy thus:

“Absinthe has a wonderful colour, green. A glass of absinthe is as poetical as anything in the world. What difference is there between a glass of absinthe and a sunset?”

and

“The first stage is like ordinary drinking, the second when you begin to see monstrous and cruel things, but if you can persevere you will enter in upon the third stage where you see things that you want to see, wonderful curious things.

Another Brit shared his passion:

"What is there in absinthe that makes it a separate cult? ... Even in ruin and in degradation it remains a thing apart: its victims wear a ghastly aureole all their own, and in their peculiar hell yet gloat with a sinister perversion of pride that they are not as other men."

~Aleister Crowley, through Oxygenee.com

It was 1918, when Aleister Crowley, famous British occultist who earned the sobriquet "wickedest man in the world", composed a lyrical essay on the aesthetics of absinthe. Named "Absinthe - The Green Goddess" it was allegedly written while waiting for a woman in the Old Absinthe House in New Orleans. A lyrical poem, "The Legend of Absinthe", inspired by Greek mythology and devoted to the drink, was found among his manuscripts bearing a phallic symbol at the capital A for Apollo, claiming that absinthe "exalts his soul in ecstasy". {click to read and see the manuscripts}

“Then in 1900 everybody got down off his stilts; henceforth nobody drank absinthe with his black coffee; nobody went mad; nobody committed suicide; nobody joined the Catholic church; or if they did I have forgotten . . . Victorianism had been defeated”

~George Watson Yeats, Victorianism, and the 1890s

Ernest Hemingway, arguably a latecomer to the cult after its 1915 ban who must have procured his through Cuba and Spain, wrote of an evening heavy on absinthe in a 1931 letter:

“Got tight last night on absinthe and did knife tricks. Great success shooting the knife underhand into the piano. The woodworms are so bad and eat hell out of all the furniture that you can always claim the woodworms did it.”

Charmingly punny that he used "woodworm" along with the inferred "wormwood" which forms the basic accord of the green drink!
And again and again he references it: For Whom the Bell Tolls, Death in the Afternoon and in Hills like White Elephants with its controversial, although never bluntly spoken theme of abortion. Jig asks "That's all we do, isn't it? Look at things and try new drinks?" to which the heroine replies that even exciting new things held in waiting for a long time, like absinthe, merely end up "tasting like liquorice". Perhaps absinthe's taste stands as a metaphor for her need for more stability in lieu of their hedonistic lifestyle so far.

"It was a milky yellow now with the water and he hoped the gypsy would not take more than a swallow. One cap of it took the place of the evening papers, of all the old evenings in cafes, of all chestnut trees that would be in bloom now in this month, of the great slow horses of the outer boulevards, of book shops, of kiosks, and of galleries, of the Parc Montsouris, of the Stade Buffalo, and of the Butte Chaumont, of the Guaranty Trust Company and the Ille de la Cite, of Foyot’s old hotel, and of being able to read and relax in the evening; of all the things he had enjoyed and forgotten and that came back to him when he tasted that opaque, bitter, tongue-numbing, brain-warming, stomach-warming, idea changing liquid alchemy.”

~Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls, ch.4


To be continued with a breakdown of wormwood and anise perfumes

Paintings by Maignan, Oliva and Degas courtesy of wikimedia commons.
Clip of Van Gohg and Absinthe originally uploaded by Vanroe44 and of Green Fairy , based on Léon Spilliaert's painting "The Absinth Drinker" by Adrammalek on Youtube.

New Series: Absinthe, Anise and Wormwood

Our new Series takes you into the realm of the forbidden and the bohemian, the realm of the "green fairy that lives in the absinthe" and all the terrors and fascinations she produces in art and perfumery. Perfume Shrine has already tentatively shown a glimpse of its bittersweet, mind-altering magic through a music video by Nine Inch Nails a few days ago, which consolidated the idea of devoting a series to Absinthe and the herbs that aromatize it.
To do that, as usual, we take the long road to explore matters in depth.

Absinthe or "devil in a bottle" is a distilled, anise-flavored, high-proof spirit produced by distilling anise, wormwood (Artemisia absinthium) and various herbs (mainly florence fennel, as well as melissa, hyssop, petite wormwood or artemisia pontica, and angelica root). Its name derives from the Greek αψίνθιον, which is the name of wormwood, but is also interestingly tied etymologically to the Greek goddess of the hunt and the forests, Artemis.
In tracing the historical roots, one comes upon the medical use of wormwood in ancient Egypt (mentioned in the Ebers Papyrus, circa 1550 BC).
Hyssop, a usual ingredient in absinthe, is also referenced in the Bible: "Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow". (Psalms 51:7) There is however the hypothesis that the hyssop mentioned, used in bunches for purificatory rites and ritual cleansing of lepers by the ancient Hebrews, is probably not hyssopus officinalis used in the spirit, but a similar plant, capparis spirosa.
There are references to wormwood/la'anah as well: Deuteronomy 29:18; Proverbs 5:4; Jeremiah 9:15; Jeremiah 23:15; Lamentations 3:15, Lamentations 3:19; Amos 5:7; Amos 6:12 as well as the mention of "apsinthos" in Revelation 8:11.

What the Hebrew la'anah may have been is obscure; it is clear it was a bitter substance and it is usually associated with "gall"; in the Septuagint it is variously translated, but never by apsinthos, "wormwood." Nevertheless all ancient tradition supports the English Versions of the Bible translation. The genus Artemisia (Natural Order Compositae), "wormwood," has five species of shrubs or herbs found in Palestine (Post), any one of which may furnish a bitter taste. The name is derived from the property of many species acting as anthelmintics, while other varieties are used in the manufacture of absinthe.

~E. W. G. Masterman, International Stnadard Bible Encyclopedia (Bibletools.org)

Wormwood extracts were definitely employed by the ancient Greeks, who also consumed a wormwood-flavored wine, called absinthites oinos. The latter can be tied to Dionysus, for whom people masqueraded in an ecstatic frenzy during the god's celebrations in early spring. Anise plays an important role in Greek culture even to this day, through the similar preparation for ouzo: an anisic spirit into which water or ice is added producing a cloudy effect and "opening up" the bouquet of herbs.

Absinthe spirit originated in Switzerland, by Dr. Pierre Ordinaire, a French doctor living in Couvet in the 1790s, but it mostly became popular in France. Major Dubied acquired the formula from the Henriot sisters and in 1797, with son Marcellin and son-in-law Henry-Louis Pernod, opened the first absinthe distillery, Dubied Père et Fils. In 1805 a second distillery was built outside Switzerland, in Pontarlier, France, named Maison Pernod Fils. Absinthe's popularity largely ended with a ban in France in 1915, due to its neurotoxic properties that earned it the reputation of a psychoactive drug due to the chemical thujone, a strong heart stimulant present in small quantities in commercial absinthe. However no evidence exists that it is more harmful than ordinary liquer. Absinthe has known a resurgence in the 1990s, when countries in the European Union began to reauthorize its manufacture and sale resulting in over 200 brands circulating, although it is still controversial in the USA.

Although the absinthe distillate can be bottled clear, to produce a Blanche or la Bleue absinthe, the traditional colour has always been green, due to the chlorophyll in the herbal constituents in secondary maceration. Bohemian-style (alternatively known as Czech-style or anise-free absinthe), or just absinth (with no final e) is really wormwood bitters, produced mainly in the Czech Republic and is artificially enriched with absinthin.

Absinthe's notable role in the fine art movements of Impressionism, Post-impressionism, Surrealism, Modernism, Cubism and in the corresponding literary movements has been an inspiration for perfumers, helping them shape their creations and giving breath to la fée verte producing the 'lucid drunkenness' so coveted by artists. It is no accident that it had been the drink of choice for the "damned poets" and bohemians of the 19th century.
As a first tentative taste of the wormwood liquor attests, there is a journey to be had there!
But it is also intriguing to think that the name Chernobyl, the nuclear factory reactor which was responsible for the biggest nuclear accident in history, also means "wormwood", rounding out the biblical prophecy!

"And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp, and it fell upon the third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters; And the name of the star is called Wormwood: and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter."

~Revelation 8:10-11

Ernest Dowson, the English poet famous for coining the phrase 'Absinthe makes the tart grow fonder' wrote his Absinthia Taetra on a trip to Paris. Here it is from La Fée absinthe site:

Absinthia Taetra

Green changed to white, emerald to opal; nothing was changed.
The man let the water trickle gently into his glass, and as the green clouded, a mist fell from his mind.
Then he drank opaline.

Memories and terrors beset him. The past tore after him like a panther and through the blackness of the present he saw the luminous tiger eyes of the things to be.
But he drank opaline.

And that obscure night of the soul, and the valley of humiliation, through which he stumbled, were forgotten. He saw blue vistas of undiscovered countries, high prospects and a quiet, caressing sea. The past shed its perfume over him, to-day held his hand as if it were a little child, and to-morrow shone like a white star: nothing was changed.
He drank opaline.

The man had known the obscure night of the soul, and lay even now in the valley of humiliation; and the tiger menace of the things to be was red in the skies. But for a little while he had forgotten.
Green changed to white, emerald to opal; nothing was changed.

In Francis Ford Coppola's Bram Stoker's Draculathe hypnotic effect of absinthe preparation leading to seduction is set to a mesmerising score by Polish composer Wojciech Kilar. (you can get it here)


The ritual of serving the bitter green liquid is clearly half its charm. The spirit is poured into a glass over which a specially designed slotted spoon is placed. A sugar cube is then deposited on the spoon and ice-cold water is poured or dripped over the sugar, diluting it to preference. Adding sugar is essential as absinthe is extremely bitter and the essential oils so prized can't come out of suspension by themselves. The non-soluble in water components, mainly those from anise, fennel, and star anise, come out of solution with the water addition resulting in a milky opalescence called the louche (French for “shady”), common in other anisic drinks as well, such as ouzo.

Other films focus on the green spirit as well: Moulin Rouge's absinthe scene is inspired by painter and patron Toulouse Lautrec's own habit of absinthe drinking in the historical music-hall of Paris housed in an old windmill.La fée verte takes the shape of Kylie Minogue, talking with the voice of Ozzy Osbourne.
In From Hell Johnny Depp as Frederick Abberline in pursuit of Jack the Ripper succumbs to the charms of absinthe and laudanum (tinctura opii). But its reputation for being an aphrodisiac is what influenced the scriptwriter for Alfie to include it in a scene in which a sexually voracious older woman (Susan Sarandon) introduces the womaniser into both absinthe and a taste of his own drug.
Lust for Life,a film with Kirk Douglas, also features lots of absinthe consuming scenes, as allegedly the drink was at the root of the painter Van Gogh's madness. In Manon of the Spring glimpses of the practice set in the French countryside can also be seen.

But possibly the film which most accurately references absinthe and wormwood in relation to those who actually made it a trademark, the 19th century "damned poets", is Total Eclipse, the story of the torrid, tempestuous relationship between Paul Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud. Perhaps an unsuccessful film, it holds its special interest for those who are interested in the minutiae of 19th century style and mores.

Adding:An interesting article on modern day absinthe in the US can be found via The New York Times.


To be continued on that note with an exploration of such themes in art and literature and the olfactory pictures they conjure.

Pic of Johnny Depp from film From Hell , as well as label of Dubied Père et Fils courtesy of the wormwoodsociety. Dracula clip uploaded by Richardcontact1962

Perfumes the Guide by Turin and Sanchez: sneak preview and review

The perfume guide being written by odor guru Luca Turin with co-author and his newlywed Tania Sanchez was shrouded in mystery for some time. It has been 15 years since Turin had penned the original, now out-of-print Parfums, Le Guide in French. Since then the eruption of the Internet made English-reading audiences thirsty for his erudition, sporadically catered for through his NZZ Folio column and defunct blog. Finally this new guide is fast approaching. I received my copy in advance and I am in the position to tell you that it is a good read! Perfume Shrine is in fact the first perfume blog to post an actual review of the new Guide.

Although it claims to be “the definitive guide to the world of perfume”, I find that such a task is so monumental in its scope that it might as well be awarded the Everest-climbing seal of effort. It’s simply a Titan feat to accomplish! However, Perfumes the Guide impressed me as being a very pleasurable guide through the opacity of perfume shopping, low on the purple-o-Meter and more importantly one that does not require a former education on the subject while being scientifically elucidating.

How does the book "flow"?
Luca continues to write in his familiar vernacular (references to classical music and sports cars abound) that manages to be witty and caustic most of the time, even if one disagrees, with the admirable trait of laconic delivery. The latter should serve as a lesson to my anal-retentive habit of elaborating on any possible historical minutiae when writing myself.
Tania seems to have also benefited from her stint as editor-cum-muse, not having forgotten her Makeup Alley roots which she credits. Her writing is removed from previous exaggerations and is to the point, sometimes rivaling her prototype in acerbity and realism. They alternatively (identified by initials) take on almost 1500 fragrances -per the book jacket- circulating in department stores, drugstores and niche boutiques today. Something at every price point. The system is easy and relies on a 5 star point scale (from 1 for awful to 5 for masterpiece) ~which is to be expected in any product qualitatively measured these days. Wine appreciation guides as well as cinephile sites have contributed to this system becoming increasingly common. It will do.

The structure of the book is divided into uneven parts:

1. The brief introduction by TS focuses on how perfume is part of culture and criticism is inherent in any art form ~ergo in perfume as well, and everyone should get used to it
2. Essay on how to choose fragrances for oneself and for the occassion
3. Essay on why would men want to wear scent and categories of masculine fragrances with impromptu, fun names like "Lawrence of Arabia" for orientals
4. A brief introduction to the history of modern perfumes' emergence, which to LT is inextricably tied to the rise in synthetics. Somehow like a brick off his previous book but informative.
5. Some answers to frequently asked elementary questions, one of which is the perennial “skin chemistry” affecting fragrances (the short answer is "not really")
6. The reviews, which take the huge bulk of the book in easy to follow alphabetical order
7. A very brief glossary of terms
8. Top ten lists in the categories of: best feminines, best masculines, best cross-gender choices, best picks from floral, chypre and oriental families and the innovatively intelligent best quiet and best loud fragrances; as an epilogue an index by star-rating of all the fragrances reviewed.

What I enjoyed:

~The to-the-point monikers beside the perfumes, instead of general classifications which usually prove so pointless to the reader. Instead the two-word descriptors are uncunningly accurate most of the time. Those range from the merely descriptive (“rasberry vanilla” for Armani Diamonds) to the outright dismissive (“nasty floral” for Bright Crystal by Versace or “fruity death” for Nanette Lepore), through the poetically inclined (“angry rose” for Malle’s Une Rose or “snowy floral” for Pleasures) and the iconically untouchables (“reference vetiver” for Guerlain’s).
I had much fun with the “not X” and “not Y” descriptors besides perfumes which are actually named X or Y something. It is so true, it’s hilarious! It’s refreshing to see that Lauder's Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia gets the “true gardenia” descriptor, because hey, it does smell like it and making it into the best florals category.

~That no perfume is spared based on its former laurels. This is a personal pet peeve of mine, I admit, when reading perfume criticism online; especially on perfume blogs and fora. Too often the illustrious reputation and history of a fragrance earn it a state of grace that is completely undeserved in its present formulation. To their credit, LT and TS dismember each and every one of those old beauties and see just how successful the facelift was: Are there any visible scars? Forehead immovable? Eyes not going beyond the perpetually surprised? Oh, it’s breathing and smiling again, there’s a dear! Or is it terminally confined to Joan-Rivers-land? It’s a great misfortune that the majority belongs to the latter category. Caron fans are in for a bumby landing!

~That two indie perfumers (and people who are trully sweet) received accolades for their work in this tome: Andy Tauer, mainly for his superb L’air du desert marocain (which earned the masterpiece 5-star award, with honorable mentions for Le Maroc, Rêverie and Lonestar Memories). And Vero Kern whose Onda, Kiki and Rubj received each 4 stars. For someone who is mentioned as coming initially from aromatherapy (a no-no obviously in LT’s books), this is not just high praise, it’s being toured round Zeus for the first time ever. Bravo Vero!

~That Luca Turin has relaxed his stance against perfumes that use only natural essences and included creations by Dominique Dubrana, who will be featured on these pages soon. A small step for one man; a huge step for a whole artistic movement.

What I did not like as much:

~The impression that fragrances created by friend perfumers are seemingly described in more raptured tones. The fact that some of those perfumers are actually mentioned as friends leaves a little bit of hesitancy to the reader in ingesting the opinion proferred. Not that I doubt the best possible intentions, mind you.

~The idolatry surrounding most of Sophia Grojsman’s scents down to 100% Love (formely known as the artwork named S-Love). Do I read her referred to as trismegista? I can’t explain why. I trust it does not fall under the previous category. The comparable disparagement of Jean Claude Ellena’s and Olivia Giacobetti's aesthetic with sporadic exceptions.
Celebrity deathmatch indeed of two diametrically antithetical worlds.

~In fact there is a tendency of formed opinion regarding brands more than individual perfumes (By Killian is "good" while Le Labo is "bad", although to me they seem to be equally poseurs). I might attribute that to opinion on the concept of a line, however.

~The glossary provided is very poor in a guide that purpots to be “the definitive” one. Perhaps they meant it as a help through the lingo used throughout the reviews. For the perfume enthusiast it is formulaic and not offering anything new.


In essence (pun intended), Perfumes The Guide is not going the exposé route that Chandler Burr did with his The Perfect Scent and therefore perfume lovers will not find out as many revelations either, but it is an absorbing, very entertaining read that will be referenced from now on on every possible online venue. Rookies especially will have a field day with the latter activity (bound to grate on the nerves of the rest of us). More seasoned perfumephiles can disagree from time to time... Oh and Luca, please drop the Keen fishing sandals over socks.

Perfumes the Guide is officially coming out on April 10. You can preorder it clicking Perfumes: The Guide

Pic of book jacket courtesy of Amazon, pic of LT and TS courtesy of the perfume pilgrim. Pic from the Terry Gilliam 1985 film Brazil courtesy of filmforum.org

Scents the Wind Got: a Joint Project from 2 sides of the World

We were having a discussion with Gaia, the Non-Blonde, the other day, about one of our common passions: cinema. And one of the epics that marked it has been Gone with the Wind, the adaptation of the Margaret Mitchell novel which spans almost two decades surrounding the American Civil War. Both being fans of the novel, as well as of the 1939 film, we got the idea to tackle it in olfactory terms: after all it is so rich in the smell of nostalgia, of a past long gone, of youth misspent and maturity gained with hardship. It was bound to appeal to our sensibilities.

I recall when as a very young teenager I got the two thick, heavy volumes of the novel. It was a stark difference from all the heavies I had been immersing myself to read as a nerd trying to "complete" her education on classics: Dostoevsky, Camus, Joyce, Satre and all those good people. Nerds do leaf through Cosmopolitan as well though ~I am living proof of it!~ and it was on its spread with curly-tressed Andie MacDowell in which a lazy summer reading suggestion included "Gone with the Wind". Southern Belles always held a fascinating appeal to my European soul: they were warm, hospitable, giving yet stealthy and reminded me very much of the women of my own culture. Scarlett promised to be the "bad", naughty girl anyone was dreaming of emulating. Watching Vivien Leigh impersonate her was the final straw: she was a vision in that dark burgundy dress at Ashley's party, referencing the Scarlet woman...I sincerely developed a girl-crush!

The title is taken from the 1st line of the 3rd stanza of the Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynaraepoem by Ernest Dowson:

"I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind."

And indeed the novel and film speak of times gone by and with them the innocent aroma of carefree youth. It was also intriguing that there was an undercurrent of dubious sociological belief in designated tasks for certain classes and certain people in antebellum South, to which my idealistic youth protested against. Men and women of colour were treated in a weird way throughout the novel: on the one hand to be trusted and confided to in an endearing way (Mammy was such an adorable character!), on the other it seemed like there was the implied idea that their place was specific (slavery) and it should have remained so for the sake of the good old days! "How stupid Negroes were! They never thought of anything unless they were told." Scarlett said at one point. The duality found me awashed with emotion and intellectual turmoil.

Through the pages there are so many smells that reminded me of languid springs and summers of a sub-tropical nature: The lush magnolia trees whose petals were white, soft and waxy like the porcelain skin of Scarlett. The Twelves Oaks plantation of Ashley Wilkes (such an imposing name for one!). The sweet yams and sweet potatoes prepared by Mammy, Scarlett's nanny. The preparations for the spring barbecue under the trees and the rest of the girls before the ball: I seem to recall there was a description of the smell of the room as being scented with powder and young girly flesh. The Peach Tree street in Atlanta where the protagonists were forced to move when they left the plantation in Tara. Scarlett gurgling with Cologne to hide her drinking from Rhett Butler, the debonair scoundrel who proves he has a heart of gold after all and most of all for Scarlett and the daughter they will have later on. And of course the gunpowder and the smell of the sick-room when war strikes in Atlanta as well and they have to return to a derelict Tara. The odour of death, the odour of famine and destruction, the tobacco pipe aroma of Scarlett's not-all-there father as they return, the smell of the slow realization that the pampered life they knew is there no more... Oh, yes, it is full of all those things.



And then there is the wonderful movie-buff trivia of Clark Gable wanting to irritate Vivien Leigh (because she got the part that was to go to Carole Lombard) by eating raw onions before every kissing scene they shared. Not to mention his being a heavy smoker. But then Vivien reputedly smoked four packets a day during the entire shoot! Naughty boy Clark surprised Hattie McDaniel (Mammy) as well when he poured her real alcohol instead of the usual tea while filming the rejoice scene after the birth of Bonnie!

As the characters evolve I imagine their scent choices would as well. It's not something that is referenced in the book, merely a fancy of my fevered imagination.

Melanie and Ashley both resonate with a quiet dignity, characters that are not prone to externalize their feelings with as much demonstration. Their natural class and insistence in impracticality is their adherence to the old ways of life.
Melanie Wilkes is such a true lady, revered for her kindness as well as her loyalty, that I cannot help seeing her in something other than a classic cologne in the English tradition: the scent of Bluebell by Penhaligon's or Lily of the Valley by Floris can be the perfect background to her restrained, yet majestic stance throughout the plot.
Ashley Wilkes could also be the embodiment of monogrammed slippers, with a scent choice to match. While vintage Creed Tabarome would be great for Scarlett's Irish father, Gerald, it's Ashley whom I see in the pristine Green Irish Tweed. It only serves to pronounce everything that is aloof, slightly shy and introvert about him. A fragrance like an armour of respectability. And yet there are traits of turbulent emotion there, which reveal themselves when he is forced to earn a living in Tara or under Scarlett's employment: his broken pride would be echoed by something as deep yet poignant asEquipage.

Rhett is such a cocky fellow it's hard to peg him: his debauchery and encounters with prostitutes with a heart of gold like Belle Watling make one think that he would go for something boozy with a devil-may-care air: Idole de Lubin would suit him. Or for his sexy, intense side L'instant pour Homme could be a wonderful choice to get Scarlett's and all the ladies' pants on fire! I would love to think that along with the ruffly petticoat he gifted her with, he gave cologne to Mammy as well: sweet orange blossoms or lilies for her endearing nature would be what would warm her heart.
And what would Belle Watling actually wear herself? Probably a rich white floral to leave a trail behind: her hair was obviously painted, the ladies gossiped, and she wore rouge. If Carolina Herrera existed back then I could see her swamped in its exotica.

Scarlett intrigues with her numerous facets. I would have loved to designate her Keiko Mecheri's Scarlett, if only because of the name: "dramatic dance of lively spices" is not a bad description of her character either, but it is not meant to be. To me, Scarlett begins her adventures as a girl full of feminine guiles, full of the scents of her paternal home: the rich magnolias, the mimosa, the comfort of the embrace of her beloved mother whom she loses so early. L'artisan's Mimosa pour Moi has the bright sunny disposition she displays at the start of the story, warm, milky and sweet with just a little headstrong strain underneath.
As she becomes the disillusioned widow for the first time, crying face down for her spent youth and the loss of her childhood dreams, I still imagine her smelling of a creamy magnolia, like Magnolia Dolce by I Profumi di Firenze or Magnolia Pourpre by Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier: only her demeanour wouldn't be as gay. As plans to take over Tara engulf her and she is desperate to succeed as a business woman, her smell would be stricter, more controlled, more abstract. I think that an old-fashioned mossy affair such as Ma Griffe means business, yet still smells like a young lady. And finally when she become Mrs.Rhett Butler with a desire to show off her nouveau-wealth replete with jeweled baubles she would opt for an entrance-making scent, more famous for its price tag than its intrinsic value such as Clive Christian: the costliest money can buy, so people can eat their hearts out!
What scent would adorn her repentant visage as she cries in the final scene is any one's guess. That mix of irrational optimism and hearty abandon is a rare cinematic gem to be treasured and I would love to hear your opinions on this one.


Be sure to check out The Non-Blonde for her take on Gone with the Wind scent associations.

Pic of Vivien Leigh with her straw hat originally uploaded on POL. Pic of Clark Gable from yahoo.movies. Pics of Leslie Howard and Olivia de Havilland through Wikimedia Commons. Clip originally uploaded by iluvsoaps on Youtube.

Travel Memoirs: Istanbul part3

Desserts in Turkey take on many aromatic guises in their war-like mission to ruin one's waistline and walking through the marketplace one faces its own portable amunition.
One of the most famous, referenced even in The Chronicles of Narnia, is Turkish Delight: lokum or loukoum. Contrary to what one might be led to believe from homonymous perfumes circulating, such as Rahat Loukoum by Lutens and Loukhoum by Keiko Mecheri, the traditional jelly-like delicasy, lightly dusted so as not to stick, isn't made with almond nor cherry. Instead lokoum is made from starch and sugar and aromatized with rose water and lemon, giving it a refreshing flavour, justifying the Arab name rahat al-hulkum (=contentment of the throat). Varieties might include little cubes with other nuts such as pistachios or walnuts and some types even have a touch of cinnamon or mint aroma.

Another olfactory delight is Salep, a traditional winter drink sold by street vendors in big copper caldrons. Salep is produced by grinding the dried tubers of Orchis mascula, Orchis militaris and related species of orchids, which contain a starch-like polysaccharide, bassorin, with nutritional and heartening properties. It has a reputation of being an aphrodisiac (which might be accounted by the etymology of its plant source, relating it to the Greek word for testicle!). It is milky, flavoured with rosewater or mastic and dusted with cinnamon or nutmeg, to be optionally sprinkled with crushed walnuts on top. Salep enters along with mastic into the traditional Turkish ice-cream, Dondurma, which is much stickier and resistant to melting than regular ice-cream or gelato.

A perfume that has being inspired by this drink is Ayala Moriel's Sahleb. A wonderful comforting fragrance with a starchy pudding quality about it, it gives you the cosy feeling of sipping a dessert rich in buttery creaminess with the aromatic tinge of mastic that recalls the Mediterranean. There is no floral clearly discernible, yet if one leans one's head and inhales deeply, there comes the subtle nuance of the traditional rosy loukoums of the Bazaar, down to the dusty, powdery feel of coconutty copra enrobing them. Vanillic goodness in restrained doses compliments the fluffy and nutty flavour of this softest of gourmands. It makes me nostalgize of the true salep on the streets of Istanbul. Sadly the true thing is forbidden to be exported. But how lucky are we that there is a fix in the form of a fragrance!

After all this indulgence, one needs to come to terms with one's body. When in Rome do as the Romans do. In this Nova Roma, who could deny a Turkish bath? Cagaloglu Hamami is one of the most famous hammams in the city, constructed in 1741 to bring revenue to the library of Sultan Mahmut I, situated inside the Haghia Sophia mosque. It receives both men (from the main street entrace, on Hilal-I Ahmer) and women (from the side street entrance).
Stepping into the various cubicles and rooms with terlik (a kind of slippers) on the feet and a pestemal (clothing wrap), one can see a raised platform of stone (goebektas) in the center, with bathing alcoves all around, in coloured quartz tiles which remove static and help unwind, by sweating and sustaining an internal dialogue. A sight to behold is the pool in the middle of the camegah with its waterjet.
The light is softly filtered through glass from the ceiling in the hot room (Hararet), with small star-like windows on the domes. The air is fragrant with the essences of various unguents and the mind is dizzied into a reverie. The exfoliation with kese is blissful, using lavender, tea, chamomile and olive oil soap. One can bring their own products and Harvey Nichols at 185 Kanyon Alýþveriþ Merkezi provides a rich selection, among which the organic Jo Wood line (by the wife of Ronnie of the Rolling Stones). Amka Bath Oil contains Persian rose Otto, feminine Egyptian jasmine, along with neroli and bergamot for their uplifting effect. Mmmmm...
Next one can require a relaxing massage to recuperate and energise the muscles, which is followed with hair washing and a cold shower, before drinking dark tea, aromatic and dense, at the old marble café-bar. One could get really spoiled in this place!

And yet in the strange, lucid melancholy of such an abode, I cannot help but wonder how many women or men with tragic love tales, unfulfilled desires and bittersweet memories have passed from here through the years, sighing and opening their souls to one another as mussels do when steamed.

Like this most touching tale: A Touch of Spice(Politiki Kouzina). A young Greek boy (Fanis) grows up in Istanbul, whose grandfather, a culinary philosopher and mentor,teaches him that both food and life require a little salt to give them flavor; they both require... a Touch of Spice. Fanis and his parents leave Istnabul during the 1963 deportation of Greeks. He grows up to become an astronomer and an excellent cook using his cooking skills to spice up the lives of those around him. 35 years later he leaves Athens and travels back to his birthplace of Istanbul to reunite with his grandfather and his childhood love, the Turkish girl Saïme, now married with a daughter; he travels back only to realize that he forgot to put a little bit of spice in his own life...



The song (Baharat, tarçın ve buse) translates as:

"That night you left me
you went with a pinch of spice
a shadow inside the marketplace
I laid salt on the streets of Beyoglu
to find you in the hideouts

A kiss of cinnamon and spice,
recipe hidden in the attic
Moonlight and the Bosphorus lonely
That lighthouse is our childhood love"

On that bittersweet note, we will leave the enchanting Istanbul behind...
But Travel Memoirs will take you to another fascinating destination soon.

Loukoums through Fotosearch. Painting In the Trepidarium by Sir Lawrence Alma Tadema (c.1903), originally uploaded on Mary's blog. Clip from the film Politiki Kouzina/A touch of Spice from Youtube, uploaded by JasonSeaman1

Travel Memoirs: Istanbul

"The ghosts return at night, little lights for unredeemed souls
And if you gaze up at the barricades, you’ll see figures looking back at you
And it’s then that a complaint wanders you through the cobblestone alleys
Of Constantinople, a lover from yore, whom you find in someone else’s embrace".

~"Vosporos", by Nikos Zoudiaris, sung by Alkinoos Ioannidis

Travel Memoirs begins with one of the most sensuous destinations: Istanbul ~the Ottoman name under which the former capital of the Byzantine Empire, Constantinople, is known today.
Initially the city was named after the Roman emperor Constantine the Great who made it Nova Roma, over the site of the ancient Greek colony founded by Megara citizens simply named Byzantium. Yet the name Istanbul itself is based on the common Greek usage of referring to Constantinople simply as “The City”, because it was the crown jewel of medieval cities with a population and grandeur that exceeded many western European cities, such as London, Paris and Rome, for centuries. It derives from the phrase "εις την Πόλιν" or "στην Πόλη" {(i)stimboli(n)}, both meaning "in the city" or "to the city".

And it is no surprise that in an Empire whose majority of the population was Greek or speaking Greek, there is still a strong Greek element running through the fabric of memory when one sets foot on Istanbul’s soil. But the Ottoman heritage is none the less interesting to witness: minarets and mosques, majestic palaces, bazaars, carpet dealers and salep sellers on the street peppered with excellent cuisine and suggestive dancing render the visitor captive of its charms. It’s this fusion between Occidental and Oriental that gives Istanbul its extraordinary character. A character of strange melancholy: perhaps it’s the ancestral call…

Passing through the arabesque cobblestone on Istiklal across from the fish market, one enters the Cukurcuma district, full of antique shops, lazy cats sunning their bellies and the aroma of slowly roasted, dark coffee on hot sand, Turkish coffee (Türk kahvesi), made the traditional way. The preparation begins by boiling finely powdered roast coffee beans in a copper ibrik, the shape of a tiny ewer, with the addition of cardamom and (optionally) sugar. The thick liquid boils and boils again ceremoniously, emitting the aroma beyond the scope of the little terraces where it is served. Made one cup (fildžan) at a time, where the dregs settle and a thick golden cream forms on top, the köpük, it is a process of slow anticipation, a largo of animation. And also a journey into the past and the future. In this small fildžan I can almost glimpse the Levantine Arabs bringing the fruit of coffea bush to Constantinople. The Ottoman chronicler İbrahim Peçevi reports the opening of the first coffeehouse in İstanbul:

“Until the year 962 (1554-55), in the High, God-Guarded city of Constantinople, as well as in Ottoman lands generally, coffee and coffeehouses did not exist. About that year, a fellow called Hakam from Aleppo and a wag called Shams from Damascus, came to the city: they each opened a large shop in the district called Tahtalkala, and began to purvey coffee.”

~ Cemal Kafadar, "A History of Coffee", Economic History Congress XIII (Buenos Aires, 2002)

But I can also forsee the future: those sludgy grounds left at the bottom serve for tasseography, an old tradition of fortune telling. The cup is turned onto the saucer and the symbols formed are deciphered by some older woman.The flavour of cardamom and sometimes kakule (pistachio grains whole seed "pods", pistachio-looking like of the cardamom plant) settles in the mouth, lingering for a long time, like the prophecies revealed by the symbols on the cup. “Will they ever come true?”, one wonders gallivanting through the medieval alleys.



In Kapali Carci (the Grand Bazaar with the 1000 shops) one comes across all kinds of scented products. Fragrant balms for the hair, henna paste for body and hair, oils of rare plants and fossilised resins, like lumps of gum benjamin (benzoin), Turkish sweetgum (Liquidabar orientalis) and all the spices of Arabia. If one persists there are manuscripts, or should I say copies of old manuscripts posing as older than they are, with recipes using them. One of them is "Theriaca Andromachi Senioris", a Venice treacle recipe that uses benzoin appearing in the 1686 d'Amsterdammer Apotheek, a honey- or molasses-based alexipharmic composition once thought to be effective against venom. First developed in Italy, then exported throughout Europe from Venice and ending in Constantinople. If only the offered manuscript were authentic…

And of course there is Anatolian rose Otto (from Ottoman) which leaves an intense trail of almost fruity scent to one’s hands after handling the precious little bottles, with the name Gül (Rose) written on the label. I try to recall if any commercial fragrance captures the intense, decadent and yet also fresh odour of such an essence and come up with none. One is hard pressed not to haggle with the local sellers who are expecting so and the little treasure is secured into a handbag, folded with a silk handkerchief depicting seagulls. It will linger in a drawer with old, frayed photos of ancestors, impregnating their precious memory with the essence of the place they begrudgingly had to leave.



To be continued....

Pic shows Ortaköy Mosque (officially Büyük Mecidiye Camii, the Grand Imperial Mosque of Sultan Abdülmecid) and the Bosphorus Bridge by cafefernando.com.
Translation of lyrics by the author.
Clip from the intro of Greek-Turkish film Politiki Kouzina, uploaded on Youtube by JasonSeaman1.

Lamb, the fragrance

No, not Lamb by Gwen Stefani, lovely as the site might be.
Another one, which aired in Australia: a sure-fire man magnet!


(uploaded by melliepanther)

What do you think?

Chloé: New vs Old

There are perfumes that know what they are doing and there are perfumes on an identity crisis. The latest Chloé belongs to the latter category. You're probably asking yourselves "the latest? Isn't there only one Chloé"? No, actually there are three of them simply named Chloé! Confusing, isn't it? Let's help make the disctinctions.

Michael Edwards lists five Chloé fragrances in total in his compendium: Chloé Narcisse, Chloé Innocence, Chloé Classic (presumambly the original by Karl Lagerfeld: a white floral),Chloé (Collection 2005), and one just called Chloé listed among rosy fragrances (therefore the newest one, out February 2008). The first two are easy to distinguish, the rest not as much.
But let's take matters at the top.

Jacques Lenoir and Gaby Aghion were the designers responsible for the prêt-a-porter fashion house Chloé, founded in 1952. The fashions focused on a romantic vein inspired by the art which had been prompted by the bucolic idyll of antiquity by Longus, Daphnis and Chloe. The dreamy ballet Daphnis et Chloé by French imporessionist composer Maurice Ravel, often collected in romantic compilations helped consolidate an oneiric inpterpretation of what Chloé stands for: fluid, gauzy designs, chiffon and mousseline fabrics, pastel colours.

And so in 1975, when Karl Lagerfeld was designing for them before going on to Chanel, the house came out with its own perfume, simply named Chloé by Chloé : a white floral centered on tuberose, flower of spiritual ruin, carnal, feminine and feisty.
Taking its name from the Greek, which means "green shoot" it was composed by Betty Busse. The original Chloé married the subtle green tinge of leaves and aldehydic peach on top of an avalanche of jasmine, ylang-ylang, honeysuckle and narcissus, with just a whisper of exotic coconut. The drydown of warm skin and a little dry orris powder was indeed memorable. Thus it managed to mark an era, becoming a cult item, none the less because of its weird award-winning bottle designed by Joe Messina which was depicting the stem of a calla lily on the extrait de parfum stopper. It could also be interpreted as an aorta sprouting from a heart, if one is twisted enough...

Although the original Chloé has had many ardent fans through the years I always found that warm, radiant and feminine through it undoubtedly is, it possessed a tad sticky vulgarity that announced its wearer a bit earlier than would be the height of good manners: when within an arm's length, that is! Rumours have been circulating about a reformulation in the 1990s that left something to be desired for those who were devoted to the scent of their youth.
Compared to other tuberose vignettes,the original Chloé is an amateur 9mm to Carnal Flower's 3D-Techicolor and it lacks the rubber gloves of kink that Fracas is hiding beneath its femme façade. Nevertheless it executed its message with conviction and admirable flair.

The new version after 10 years of seeming inertia, alas, does not; and on top of that it marks the discontinuation of the old, classic tuberosey Chloé. The press release by Coty promised:

"The amber floral by Michel Almairac and Amandine Marie at Robertet is meant to embody the classic modern scent. It features a bouquet of powdered florals composed of peony, lychée and freesia. Notes of rose, magnolia and lily of the valley make up the heart over an amber and cedar wood base".

Personally I would not categorise the new Chloé in the ambery floral family. In fact it starts with an hydroponic* freesia accord that reminded me of the intense aqueous opening of L'eau d'Issey as well as its fantasy woody base. The pastel fruit-jelly accord (of which lychee is officially mentioned) has a passing resemblance to the fruity floral character of Cool Water Woman. Bearing in mind that those two are fragrances which I have smelled to death in the 90s, I could do without. There is also no prominent rosiness, at least no next of kin to the noble Bulgarian attars and the whole expires in little saccharine puffs of no great consequence. The attention which had been given to the exquisite, hefty bottle showing love for the detail (the grosgrain ribbon) was sadly lacking in the production of the jus.

No less than three egeries front the new Chloé campaign: American cult icon Chloë Sevigny, model Anja Rubik and French actress Clemence Poesy — "each chosen to represent a different facet of the Chloé woman: romantic; edgy, and sexy and sensual" — they all star in the black & white ad campaign, which you can watch here.


(uploaded by carriefan8890)

It is especially interesting to note that Chloë Sevigny, notorious for her outré performance in the Brown Bunny by Vincent Gallo is from now on and for as long as her contract is valid forbidden to star in comparable projects that might harm the reputation of the fragrance and consequently its sales. "It's very flattering," said Sevigny on being picked to represent Chloé Eau de Parfum, before adding, with a laugh, "I'm concerned that the customers might be confused, though; I have the umlaut in my name while they have the accent. I'm Chloë, not Chloé."
I was also surprised by her comment that Chloé has an edible quality about it in the above clip: I certainly didn't detect anything of the sort!
No wonder Chandler Burr slain the new fragrance in his article in The New York Times.

There is yet a third Chloé fragrance that might be confused with both, usually referred to on etailers as Chloé collection 2005, from the year it launched (it was a spring edition). The info from Parfumessence states that it features

"top notes of water lily, passionfruit, and pear, with a heart of tuberose & gardenia over a base of white woods and musk".

I haven't tried it but it is worth bearing in mind, should one be before a counter on which the sales assistant is not completely in tune to the goings-on in the house of Chloé . And why would she?


{*Hydroponics is a method of growing plants using mineral nutrient solutions instead of soil}.

Pic of ad through Threadtrend.com, of original bottle through Amazon, of new bottle through Glam.com and of collection 2005 through Parfumessence.

Enchanted Forest of Desire

Watch this wonderful commercial for the Lolita Lempicka fragrance I came across. Subtitled L'Eveil du Désir (the awakening of desire) it is centered around the sensual awakening of a young woman who enters an enchanted forest when the apple, fruit of sin and desire casts a spell on her with its fragrant message. I especially love the devious movement of the bottle, creeping up out of its own -seemingly- volition, like a poisonous vampiric little weed, entangling people in its wake in Jung-loaded imagery. Feast your eyes...


(uploaded by iccops)

Credits: Vincent Baguian/Bruno LeRoux (ouistiti.com)

Please visit again tomorrow for an assesment of the year in scent in my style and I remind you to vote on the poll at the upper right hand column.