Perfume Primers: Gourmand Fragrances for Beginners & Beyond

Soft Turkish delight, gleaming lollipops swirled with creamy caramel, bright red candied apples at the fun fair, the delicious creaminess of rich ganache, bittersweet anise-inflicted licorice sticks and the temptation of fine cognac-filled nuggets of chocolate...If you mentioned these aromas as springboards for composing to perfumers 30 or 40 years ago they'd laugh at you. And yet the novelty of gourmand fragrances came to stay, highlighting perfume "notes" such as chocolate, coffee, cupcakes, whiskey, sugared almond and marzipan, even cotton candy/candy floss!
But what is the definition of a gourmand perfume? Simply put "gourmand" (French: [ɡuʁmɑ̃]): perfumes smell almost "edible" and have"dessert-like" qualities that tickle our taste buds as well as our nose. In French the term only slightly overlaps with "gourmet"(connoting discernment), adding a "greedier" nuance which seems to fit; just reading a notes list of a gourmand fragrance is enough to make one salivate!
Technically as they're built on vanilla and sweet ingredients they're a subcategory of the oriental family of fragrances. Talking with perfumers however I realized their appetizing quality is markedly different from perfumes in which succulent notes -such as peach, spices or vanilla- appeared previously, in that gourmands actually evoke desserts in a more concrete way, whereas the classics only hinted at the pleasures of food & drink they were meant to accompany, via abstraction (the delicious duvet-appeal of Farnesiana's sweet acacia, the cinnamon-sprinkled peach skin of Mitsouko).

Source: cherrapeno.com via Teresa on Pinterest

In aesthetic terms gourmands are the polar opposite of the inedible feel of most chypres and fougeres whose traditional aim was to conjure grooming products such as powder, soap and shaving cream and thus denote a "polished" appearance. In contrast gourmands are not concerned with that, unless it's the polishing off a particularly tasty dish!
Comfy and delicious, their more laid-back, casual approachability (everyone eats, after all) accounts for their non-snob factor, making them a perfect fit for the end of the 1990s and the 2000s, when they flourished. Could that surge speak of misspent childhoods pampered by a sugar-riddled diet, of a regression into the protective cocoon of kindergarten, or of the desire to at least partake of the olfactory pleasures -if not the gustatory ones- afforded to people on a diet?
The too sweet stuff can be rather nauseating. Some of the Comptoir Sud Pacifique fragrances for instance seem to cater to the hardcore baked goods lovers, being particularly "foody", a looked down upon term by serious perfume lovers who opt for the more refined within the genre.

History of Gourmand genre

Angel by Thierry Mugler (1992) is generally considered the first gourmand with its overdose of ethyl maltol (the scent of cotton candy/caramel) paired with natural patchouli, plus sweet red fruits and a floral "base". Patchouli has an inherent facet that recalls chocolate, boosting the dessert angle of the Mugler pefume. But perfumer Yves de Chiris (alongside Olivier Cresp) put a staggering 30% of camphoraceous patchouli in the compound to counteract the aching sweetness of the sugar note. Its genius lies in its semi-poisonous subtext under the deliciousness: this is dangerous, dark, powerful perfume, almost masculine, reminiscent of the childish joys of the fun-fair but also of its disturbing aspects...Vera Strübi, at the time CEO of Parfums Mugler, says: ''The feminine is not our aesthetic approach.'' Strübi, having met Mugler and the Clarins Group in 1990, has been recognized as "the most audacious and creative president by the entire perfume industry"; the prototype gourmand only later took on the childhood story of Thierry's love of fun-fairs, but still it never was a marketing "recipe" which is probably why it became so successful in the end...
Molinard already had Nirmala in their catalogue since 1955, a scent that smells so close to Angel in its current form that it ignited a heated legal battle about intellectual rights in regards to perfume in France. The truth is the 1990s revamped Nirmala purposefully twisted its recipe to adhere to a more "Angelic" principle...The pioneer claim of Angel is contested nevertheless: Angel was not the first perfume to bring pure, sweet ethyl maltol into the spotlight; that distinction belongs to Vanilia (1978) by L'Artisan Parfumeur, the scent of a "vanilla ice-cone" as per aficionado supermodel Paulina Porizokva.

Still, the caramel-patchouli wildcard juxtaposition of Angel was like nothing else on the market when it came out (the same year as the limpid, totally "clean" L'Eau d'Issey!) and slowly built a cult following, eventually becoming the reference point influencing the entire market to this day (and being a marketing case study!). Angel's spawn is Gremlin-like: 20 years later every house has their "Angel wannabe" (hoping to usurp some of its share on the market): Armani Code for women, Calvin Klein Euphoria, Lancome Miracle Forever, Prada by Prada, Paco Rabanne Black XS, Nina (Nina Ricci), Chopard Wish, Hanae Mori Butterfly...the list is endless! You may see these fragrances colloquially mentioned as "fruitchoulis" in perfume fans conversation, as they all rest on sweet fruits on patchouli; the term is anecdotal.

Source: basenotes.net via Ali on Pinterest

Of all the variations on the theme, only Lolita Lempicka and Angel's own flanker Angel Innocent (and possibly Sonia Rykiel in the orange sweater bottle and Missoni by Missoni) manage to differentiate themselves enough and inject new ideas; the former through an emphasis on the anisic facets of licorice, the latter by adding a praline note and subtracting the patchouli.
Aquolina Pink Sugar (2003) is another emblematic gourmand, its name an uncontested allusion to pink cotton candy. Again based on ethyl maltol, but with less of the bittersweet edge of Angel that makes it so compelling, yet an equally love-it-or-hate-it fragrance, Pink Sugar smells like overripe strawberries melting into the candy machine.
Dior straddles the category with three of their perfumes in different measure with polarizing results: The original Addict is boozy vanillic and yet with a hint of vulgarity; Hypnotic Poison is the most accomplished in its dark, edible powdery evocation of bitter almonds & musks, whereas the original Miss Dior Cherie from 2005 (before being so messed up with) was a medley of sweet kid's strawberry syrup drizzled onto caramelized buttery popcorn that smelled as cheeky as it sounds.

Gourmands wear nicely in the cooler seasons, although lighter ones, such as Theorema (Fendi) with its orange-filled chocolate note, are fine in summer too. Especially marketable to women (perhaps because they're more mindful of calories or due to indoctrination of adage "sugar and spice and all things nice") gourmands do not exclude men. Some are specifically addressed to them, such as the delicious Lolita au Masculin by Lolita Lempicka, Rochas Man, the so called "Angel for men" A*Men by Mugler (as well as its variations) and Guerlain's L'Instant pour homme Extreme.

Niche gourmands
If the mainstream market is intent on just "copying" Angel without furthering the conversation, the niche fragrance sector seems to offer varied takes on the gourmand genre, some "dark" and sinful, others airier: Annick Goutal Eau de Charlotte, Serge Lutens Five O'Clock Au Gingembre and Arabie, Hermèssence Ambre Narguilé, Lostmarc'h Lann-Ael, Guerlain Gourmand Coquin, Spiritueuse Double Vanille, and Iris Ganache, L'Artisan Parfumeur Jour de Fete, Bois Farine, and Safran Troublant, Laura Tonatto Plaisir, Hilde Soliani Cioco Spesizissimo, Montale Chocolate Greedy, Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, Frapin 1270, Ginestet Botytris, Parfumerie Générale Aomassai, Serendipitous by Serendipity 3, Luctor et Emergo (People of the Labyrinths), Love by Kilian,  Bond No. 9 New Haarlem, Ava Luxe Milk, Etat Libre d'Orange Like This.
Honorary mention for the loukhoum/Turkish delight fragrances, replicating the famous dessert with rosy and/or almondy notes. Notable examples include Rahat Loukhoum (Serge Lutens), Traversée du Bosphore (L'Artisan Parfumeur), Loukhoum (Keiko Mecheri), Loukoum (Ava Luxe). Although figs are certainly edible and there are many "fig scents" on the market, these are technically classified in the "woods" category, as they evoke the leaves as well as the tree sap in most cases (i.e. Philosykos, Premier Figuier, Figue Amère)

A rather recent sub-category within the gourmand orientals is the "savory gourmands", fragrances which replicate foodie smells but of a non specifically sweet persuasion. One could classify Champaca (Ormonde Jayne) with its steamed rice note in this category, Parfumerie Générale Praliné de Santal with its roasted hazelnuts, Jeux de Peau by Lutens evoking toasted bread, Jo Malone Blue Agave & Cacao, as well as the groundbreaking Womanity by Mugler pairing salty caviar and sweet figs.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfume Primers: concise intros for beginners

The Guerlain Conundrum

If you have been under a rock in a cave in the Sumatran soil, you might have missed the discussion around Guerlain's modus operandi of the last few years. Let's do a very brief recap for those of you who might have: First there was a colossus who bought an historical house: LVMH (that's Louis Vuitton Moet Hennesy) ~the Guerlain boutique at 68 Champs Elysees is getting refurbished and Guerlain starts to produce "niche" and exclusive lines within the brand as well as "for old time's sake" re-issues for those who have access to select distribution and serious trust funds. Then someone pronounces "The End of Civilization as We Know it", when news of a reformulation of one of the house's masterpieces leak: the perfume community sounds its barbaric yawp through the rooftops of the world and Isabelle Rousseau's mail gets spammed. Then that someone changes their mind about a year and a half later pronouncing the pneuma of the original living on in the current juice (sorry, I don't want to go there). In the meantime, industrious Guerlain launches juice after juice, flanker after flanker and name change after name change like the equivalent of Japanese labor on strike: working a 64-hour week. Do they even have time to smell the roses?
And when outsourcing is proving too incoherent, when Jean Paul is petering out after years of faithful service, they hire one of their Givaudan protegés, their own resident nose.
Last but not least, they issue out their take on erotic tittilation that reads like Régine Deforges on crack for Carnal Elixirs ~a MUA reader succinctly described it as "some Paris Hilton Goes to Versailles nightmare script": if you haven't yet read it, do so on Perfume Posse and don't miss the comments. I admit I didn't make the "charnel house" connection right away but the prose was such a deepest shade of purple I didn't have available grey cells left to proceed the data.
And of course prices are skyrocketing all the while: on everything, up till now cheap and cheaper, as if some strange magnetic force is making them all stick together like iron particles .

What exactly is happening to Guerlain? That's not me asking; that's the whole perfume buying public who lowers their brow in awe and respect when entering the Abode; an abode which will become a mausoleum if they lose that respect.

Let's take things from the top. Lutens was on the vanguard of the conceptual fragrance line. When the Salons du Palais Royal opened its doors in 1992, there was no one doing "niche". Apart from those who had small artisanal businesses at the back yard of their homes and they were lovingly preparing batches for themselves and their friends, of course. Or the special commissions by rich people to specific perfume houses. But these are not general exempla, emulated by many.
Lutens went where no one had dared set foot before: art-directing a whole series of scents that were inspired by specific visions of a very individual culture, made with traditional care yet modern flair ~in essence, a pioneering act of defiance to current trends (I am reminding you these were the ozonic/marine 90s). He must have lost quite a bit of money at first, as both the formulae were expensive (too many costly natural ingredients) and the packaging, decor and scenario were fine-tuned like a fine specimen by Stradivari.

Success comes to those who wait and imitation is the sincerest form of flattery: A few years later almost everyone was doing their own Lutenesque vision.
The exclusivity factor caught on and everyone started realising that the lack of "marketing" on Lutens's part on the Paris exclusives was indeed an admirable marketing tool: the oldest one, actually ~deny this which could be had and you create desire!
Consequently, this avalanche of exclusive lines within big brands who cater for two different clienteles, it seems: The hoi polloi and the connoisseurs. [The latter term can be thought to be an euphemism for those who are willing to spend a lot of money and energy hunting down what is elusive yet not always worthwhile, but I will return on this at some other time].
One house followed another in this "game". Hermès was the first to launch an exclusive line of haughty-mighty sparse fragrances (like eating raw artichokes is the pinacle of savoir-faire) for their "boutiques only" just when they hired a resident nose in a move that was crucial: the Hermessences.
I am pretty sure Chanel saw the desirability factor of the Hermessences and launched Les Exclusifs in turn: appearing like elegant sketches rather than finished oil on canvases, they utilised modern interpretations of older spermatic ideas in previous fragrances of the house. Even Lancôme re-issued some of their past successes in La Collection, including Cuir, and Givenchy did Les Mythiques.

What was Guerlain to do? The above houses were not primarily perfume houses. Hermès is a glorified saddlery. Chanel an iconic fashion house who had their own cornering on chic that needed modernising in the 80s to get out of the moth-balls of inertia. Givenchy is a designer house relying on the designer's quixotic pursue of elegance, not for some time now. Lancome was skincare and cosmetics and try to convince me otherwise.
Guerlain had a legend in their hands: Shalimar (amidst myriads, assuredly, but I'm willing to accept it's their calling card) as well as an arch-snob that demands an acquired taste much like a Trapeze-monk-produced-beer fermented in the bottle (ie.Mitsouko). With the craziness about gourmands in recent years surely they could have tapped that potential and produced something sophisticated and rich in that vein. After all their exquisite treatment of vanillin has consolidated their mythos. Would it be enough?
I think they were terribly late with their Spirituese Double Vanille (which admitedly sounds much worse than it actually smells; fist faux pas). Their Shalimar Light was brilliant and they should have pursued in that course stylistically (not in the onomatopoieia part though, because it evokes sugar-free sodas to mind and that wouldn't help; second faux pas).

Guerlain realised they couldn't be left out of the "game" everyone was playing: Enter L'art et la Matière line ~at least visually, but also semantically, very much inspired by the Lutens portfolio. Guerlain fans are crazy about Guerlain anyway, but this allowed them to approach a segment of the niche audience who was after more conceptualised, modern series with lyrical and strange names ( à la Tubereuse Criminelle, which is surely behind the Rose Barbare or Angélique Noire moniker).

It seems to me that Guerlain is on an especially precarious balance: they need to respect their historical tradition (which after all, as an historian, can't help but respect) and to enrich it with some modernity (otherwise they will get obsolete and slowly die along with their old customers). But the practical problem is Guerlain afficionados are not interested in modernity: they want tradition! That die-hard core base is too small to sustain the house alone, however, so they need to corner the modern market (new parties interested in the "hard to get") as well as the mass market to get profits that would fuel the above two scenarios.
Therefore they neededed to proceed with segmentation, which they did on the antithetical poles of tradition and modernity:

1) the Il Etait une fois line for the serious traditionalists and collectors in Baccarat crystal bottles with special etchings and Jean Paul's boutonnière molded out of wax (über-tradition of the upper echelons with a price tag to reach the stars)
2) the classic stable of dependables, such as Shalimar, L'heure Bleue, Vétiver et al, with some lifting ~that never gets admitted~ for the old, loyal fans (conservative traditionalists)
3) Les Parisiennes for the younger fans with the desire to hop to Paris and get a memento from a great museum-store (tradition and modernity hand in hand: limited editions that scream "new" in old, royally embossed bottles; travel exclusives that created a following but now put on their party clothes and are unwilling to stay overnight unless you order Veuve Cliquot with those nachos)
4) L'art et la Matiere line (audience: the press people, the niche fans, the blogosphere, the marketing people at rival firms getting a heart attack ~modernity that shows we're alive and kicking, by Jove!).

These moves did revamp their profit margin and their "niche" appeal as well as the interest of collectors and perfume lovers of vintage.
And now they growl "for the animal in you" with their mojito-sounding Guerlain Homme and play light bondage games with their Elixir Charnels. It's like a temporary tattoo for kids, hidden in a bag of Cheetos: be a man and go the whole hog with it, damn it!

Will these moves see them through thick and thin in the future? I am very much afraid that they are not ready to see just how deep down the rabbit hole goes...

Photography by Maria Brink courtesy of What Up Thug blog. Guerlain garden at EPCOT courtesy of anelson823

Fragrance Layering: A Layman’s Guide on How to Layer Perfumes

So you’ve decided to layer, the art that involves applying more than one fragrance at the same time. You have amassed your scents, put all your samples in order. Now what?

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

Fragrance layering sounds impossibly chic, but often harder than a trifle dab of this and that. Part of the delicate problem lies knowing the basics of your fragrances, somehow understanding how to rev the aromatic engines in harmony. Thus in layman’s terms I am here to put together a concise, easy to follow guide on the fundamentals of perfume layering.

via scent compass

Before the layering can take place I want to show you a few simple application rules. Some of you might know this already but I prefer covering all grounds. Still, for those of you new to the game: less if always more. Discretion and common sense always is the key to success in fragrance layering: to start always choose to play with two. More only if you are confident.
Even perfumer Jean Claude Ellena advocates some wild combinations of scents (Angel and L'Eau d'Issey together?)

Pic Source: jillmckeever.blogspot.com via For Strange on Pinterest

1. Layering doesn’t have to be merely pairing equal-concentration scents, meaning that parfum A can blend beautifully with, say, eau de cologne B. In fact that’s often how I layer. This is also taking into the accounts that historically houses (such as Guerlain and Chanel) have separate formulations for parfum, eau de parfum and eau de toilette even within the same line. (Personal example: Chanel No. 19 parfum & 4711 Eau de Cologne)

2. Ancillary products, such as deodorants, body lotions or body creams are absolutely fair game layering with regular fragrances. Still, often they are designed to amplify and to hold onto the fragrance molecules a little longer, so please take that into consideration when layering. Nothing worse, say, a tuberose body cream with an extremely diffusive spicy 80s fragrance! (Personal examples: Terre d'Hermès deodarant & Creed Green Irish Tweed eau de toilette; Chanel Allure Homme Edition Blanche deodarant & Terre d'Hermès eau de toilette)

3. Layering doesn’t mean applying everything on the skin. Try misting your undergarments with fragrance X and apply fragrance Y on your skin. (Personal example: misting Hermès Hiris on a garment & wearing Guerlain Mitsouko parfum to boost the iris effect)

4. Layering does not mean applying everything at the same time. Sometimes heavier fragrances such as the orientals or the chypres have lovely drydowns to pair with a different fragrance. (Example: extending a few drops of Guerlain Shalimar parfum with Guerlain Jicky eau de toilette)

5. Layer with purpose. Most of us in the know layer because we see an improvement in the combination, not because we want to wear something nobody else has. (If I do it for vanity reasons penning this article would be self-defeating.)

I shall further illustrate the last rule: I enjoy wearing eau de colognes but the sillage and the longevity of each, by themselves, tend to leave me wanting more. So my staple combination is actually 4711 Eau de Cologne x Chanel Eau de Cologne x Tom Ford Neroli Protofino, spraying 4711 on the garments (not directly on fabrics), body mist with Chanel, and then a discreet spray of the Tom Ford on my forearms as punctuations. Those three would last me a good 10 hours.

via www.ninfeobeauty.com

Which brings me to the central theme of fragrance layering: the preferred method is to involve citrus-based or simply light-handed fragrances, as they are flexible enough to meld with the bolder fragrances—and always heaviest first and the lightest last. As I have mentioned with all-citrus fragrances one can layer 3 fragrances effortlessly, but if a heavy oriental, classic aldehyde floral or a chypre I would first try with two fragrances. I would also recommend:

• finding a common theme with the fragrances—such pairing a soliflore with an oriental (Guerlain L’Heure Bleue parfum & Chanel 28 La Pausa comes to mind).
• extend the nuance within the lighter fragrance—for instance I would describe layering Piguet Bandit with Osmanthe Yunnan as “the S/M tricks occasionally enjoyed by sexually frigid suburban housewives when their marriages are on the rocks”!
• (only if you know what you are doing) pair with another fragrance a very similar structural analogue: for instance the aforementioned Shalimar/Jicky combination. I also love smelling Givenchy Ysatis with Estee Lauder Knowing—but only with a deft hand on a very chic person who knows what on earth they are doing. Not for the faint hearted!

Now one caveat: marine/aquatic fragrances are case by case only, since though they are generally light in nature Calone (the watermelon-smelling "fresh" molecule) can be extremely dominant and unpredictable. I have never, for since, tried layering L’Eau d’Issey Pour Homme even though I have worn it since 18!

So there, now you are ready to play. How to test? The safest say is to spray the choices on test strips first—weeding out all the bad choices before applying gingerly on you. And just like entertaining: never prepare something for the first time right before a major event—stick with a tried and true layering combination in this case! Good luck!

For inspirations here are some further ideas:
Combos published in French Elle (21 July 2003)
Les Tuileries Bizarre Layering Challenge of the Day

PS. My all-time favourite layering combinations:

Chanel No. 5 Eau Premiere & Hermès Un Jardin après la Mousson
4711 Eau de Cologne & Chanel Eau de Cologne & Tom Ford Neroli Protofino (and if I am feel like pulling all the stops maybe an accent of Guerlain Eau de Fleurs de Cedrat)
Guerlain Shalimar parfum & Chanel Cristalle Eau Verte
Terre d’Hermès deodorant & Creed Green Irish Tweed
Robert Piguet Bandit & Hermès Osmanthe Yunnan

Currently I’m experimenting mint (Prada Luna Rossa, Cartier Roadster, Guerlain Homme) with iris soliflores (Hiris, 28 La Pausa)!

Pic Source: Uploaded by user via Vicio on Pinterest

And a few of Elena's perfume layering suggestions:

Le Baiser du Dragon parfum + Narciso Musk for Her oil = the most delicious baby powder scent

Lancôme Trésor + Bvlgari Black = sweet, peachy rubber

Youth Dew body cream + Old Spice = delicious spicy carnation

Pacifica Spanish Amber solid + drop of Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan = mellow skin-like amber

Thierry Mugler Angel (preferably a fav product in bath & body range) + Serge Lutens Clair de Musc = a more floral & lighter Angel

Shiseido Feminite du Bois + rose hydrosol = lighens the oriental and emphasizes the smoother notes

Jo Malone Red Roses + Jo Malone 154 = woody, dark, earthy roses

The Body Shop Citrella + The Body Shop Amorito = Pink Sugar on the cheap

Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan + Serge Lutens Vetiver Oriental (both in tiny dabs) = gorgeousness!

YSL Opium + orange blossom soliflores = summery Opium

Dior Dioressence + Eau de Merveilles (Hermès) to reinforce the ambergris scent

Stay tuned for follow-up post, with perfume layering suggestions by perfume Francis Kurkdjian and by Serge Lutens!

We also welcome your own Layering Suggestions & Tips or Questions in the comments!

Classified Ads: Reader Swaps Amouage Candles. Takers?

A dear reader of mine wants to swap some Amouage candles she has got (but never lit), preferably for vintage Guerlain Mitsouko or Caron Bellodgia perfume or alternatively "for something pretty and happy", as she specified.
The candles are in their original packaging and are unlit: Amouage Oriental Oud and Divine Oud are both intact in their original sealing, Eternal Oud has been opened only to be sniffed.
These are perfect for the holiday season. Preferably US shipping.

These are a $90 retail value each. Anyone who thinks they have something swappable for these, please comment below stating what you have to offer, so she can read, and watch this space for her pick/comments so she can eventually contact you through email.

A Smooth Leather for the Tough 1930s: Lanvin Scandal

~by guest writer Denyse Beaulieu

Though the fashion pendulum swung back to femininity, away from the androgynous styles of the Garçonnes towards a more traditionally feminine silhouette ~waists, breasts and hips caressed by bias-cut satin, bobs set in platinum marcelled curls~ the Thirties were in fact a much tougher era than the Années Folles. Perhaps all-out modernism can only occur in an era of financial optimism…


The France in which Scandal was born in 1932 was riddled with unemployment, political instability and financial scandals. In the wake of the newly fashionable psychoanalysis, surrealism delved into the subconscious and its disturbing images. From the 1932 Tabu by Dana to Schiaparelli’s Shocking in 1937, perfume names reflected these troubled times…
It is strange, though, that the house of Lanvin would be the boldest in naming its scents: the milliner Jeanne Lanvin actually launched her brilliant career by producing for her high society clientele the designs she had created for her beloved daughter – the house logo by Paul Iribe showed a stylised mother and daughter embrace. However, starting with the sensuous My Sin in 1925, on to L’Ame Perdue (“Lost Soul”) and Pétales Froissés (“Crumpled Petals”, perhaps a vague allusion to “damaged goods”), both in 1928, Lanvin launched a series of racily-named perfumes. A shrewd marketer, she was in tune with the zeitgeist. In the year following the launch of Scandal, the most resounding politico-financial scandal of the decade, the Stavisky affair ~in which several prominent figures were embroiled~ would rock France to its very foundations.


Was Scandal scandalous for its day? As we have seen in the previous instalments of this series, leather had already entered the feminine scent wardrobe a decade earlier. But unlike its Twenties forerunners Tabac Blond, En Avion or Djedi, and to a much greater degree than Chanel Cuir de Russie, Scandal plays up the animalic, leathery side of leather. According to perfume historian Octavian Sever Coifan, who commented about it on these pages, André Fraysse had also composed a “cuir de Russie” base (i.e. a mixture of different components for ready use in perfumery) for Synarome.
This is possibly the “cuir de Russie” mentioned in the breakdown of notes:

Top: neroli, bergamot, mandarine, clary sage.
Heart: jüchten (cuir de Russie), iris, rose, ylang
Base: incense, civet, oakmoss, vanilla, vetiver, benzoin.

Considered by many perfume lovers to be the ultimate leather, Scandal was admired by no lesser an authority than the late, great Edmond Roudnitska. It is one of the few classics he mentions in his book Le Parfum(Presses Universitaires de France, 1980), firstly as the prototype of a “fruity-aldehydic-leather” family and secondly, as a prime example of compositions that evoke rather than represent a note (which he opposes to non-representational perfumes such as N°5, Arpège, Mitsouko or Femme).

“Leather and tobacco”, he observes, “are already transpositions of natural elements since they undergo painstaking preparations which alter the initial odour.”

My own version of Scandal is a flacon of extrait, of which one third has evaporated. The aldehydic top notes mentioned by Roudnitska have all but disappeared, except in the first fleeting moments of application, with a slight hint of citrus.

What immediately dominates is, well, leather, with a stronger birch tar edge than Chanel Cuir de Russie, with which it shares several notes: rich, deep, smooth as a fine old Bordeaux or a single malt whisky, with its complex peaty-mossy depths – oakmoss certainly, possibly vetiver because of the earthiness. A sombre undercurrent yields a vaguely licorice-y tinge to the heart, in a moment of olfactory illusionism: is it the clary sage? The floral notes seem so deeply blended in that they don’t appear as such any longer, which could be an effect of the age of the sample – a common phenomenon in older extraits. In its pristine version, the aldehydic fizz lifting the dark wood-resin-animal base, churning through the stately cool iris, tender rose and flesh-like carnality of the ylang-ylang must made for an intoxicating experience.
As it is, though, it is still a compellingly complex, opulent leather.

Though Lanvin has recently re-launched a scent of the same André Fraysse series, Rumeur (there was also Crescendo and Prétexte), there seems to be no chance of their resurrecting Scandal, discontinued in 1971: British perfumer Roja Dove has appropriated the name which had fallen into the public domain for one of his own compositions, an opulent white floral. Lancôme’s 2007 re-edition of Révolte/Cuir, another animalic leather of the period, was quickly followed by its discontinuation, allegedly because it was too costly to produce.

Thus, the original Scandal seems condemned to the limbo of long-lost scents. The few drops remaining are all the more precious: a reminder of an age where to dab your skin in the scent of a flower-drenched leather would send an iconoclastic frisson coursing through well-bred salons…


Pics from the "Gosford Park" film by Robert Altman, set in 1932, courtesy of djuna.cine21.
Pic of the french film "La règle du jeu" by Jean Renoir from wikipedia.
Lanvin ad originally uploaded at cofe.ru

Ineke Gilded Lily: fragrance review

Ineke Rühland follows a nifty idea concerning her niche brand: an ABC of fragrance so to speak, each new scent named after the next-in-line initial letter. So after some of her earlier work (reviewed here) and last year's Field Notes from Paris (click here for review), the latest fragrance is called “Gilded Lily” after G.

According to the press info which we had announced a while back: "When Ineke read about the scent of the Goldband Lily of Japan (lilium auratum), she felt compelled to order a few for her garden to study their fragrance. This note became the heart of Gilded Lily.[...] Gilded Lily’s "fruity chypre" structure opens with sparkling top notes of pineapple and rhubarb followed by the goldband lily, and closes with patchouli, oakmoss and amber".

I admit that as far as I'm concerned, Gilded Lily doesn't conjure a fruity chypre in the manner of classic Femme, Diorama, or Mitsouko to my mind (or even a contemporary fruity chypre like Esteban's Modern Chypre, YSL Yvresse or Chypre Rouge by Lutens), but rather a rather unisex floral demi-fougère. The former are peachy-plummy symphonies of creamy millefeuilles and golden light getting deflected from a window pane at the 6th arrondissement on a bright autumn afternoon when chic tailleurs are thrown in haste on a heap on the parqueted floor and ties are used as impromptu blindfolds... Gilded Lily is a cool blonde walking the streets towards the museum of Modern Art in New York City, her arms getting goosebumbs from the cool air holding a white lily with frothings of retro greenish shaving cream on its heavy petals in a papier-mâché vase, a Magritte-worthy scene.

What I mean: Although advertised as a lily chypre fragrance, I get no big lily bouquet, the kind of thing that I was used to receiving while giving piano recitals in my university days. Those were engulfing, very floral-spicy affairs and ~if inhaled too much~ they tended to give a migraine, despite their uncontested beauty. Nor do I get the dark mossy autumnal forest floor that I associate most with chypres. Gilded Lily needs no gilding in fact, nor is it particularly embellished. It's neither sweet nor too floral, but rather after a short floral-fruity top note (which is NOT like most of the mainstream swill at stores right now, thank heavens!) goes straight for a woody liqueur-like clean patchouli drydown of modern proclivities which would have men notice it and claiming as their own, even though it's touted as a feminine.
After seven fragrances Ineke emerges as possessing a distinct style of her own, a sort of "signature", which one either loves or dislikes; there's no in-between. Gilded Lily is certainly very much within that style and shares elements with other creations of hers. Fans will be pleased and the rest would know what to expect.

Gilded Lily is available as Eau de Parfum and along with the rest of Ineke's line (After My Own Heart, Balmy Days & Sundays, Chemical Bonding, Derring-Do, Evening Edged in Gold and Field Notes from Paris) are sold worldwide at the stores listed on her website, http://www.ineke.com/

Painting Les Amants by René Magritte

Parfums MDCI Promesse de l’Aube: Fragrance Review

"With maternal love, life makes a promise at dawn that it can never hold. You are forced to eat cold food until your days end. After that, each time a woman holds you in her arms and against her chest, these are merely condolences. You always come back to yell at your mother’s grave like an abandoned dog. Never again, never again, never again."
―Romain Gary, La Promesse de l'aube (1960)

by guest writer AlbertCAN

There. The mandatory quote from Romain Gary’s La Promesse de l’aube (translated into the English title “Promise at Dawn”), the autobiography which the fragrance is supposedly named after*. I am getting that out of the way because I still cannot—for the life of me—figure out the connection between the book and the fragrance. And I have owned Francis Kurkdjian’s composition for many, many moons.

Yet somehow that’s the beauty of artistic transposition, isn’t it? Ideas attributed to something else altogether. It’s as if one discovers that Luis Buñuel’s psychological sexual liberation Belle de Jour (1967) is actually based on Joseph Kessel’s 1928 thinly veiled cautionary tale of the same title about a young garçonne’s indiscretions and her eventual fall from grace. One story, two completely different tales! Or realizing that Truman Capote’s Holly Golightly takes after Marilyn Monroe in the original 1958 novella, really a kooky gamine who rather explores the whole wide world than resolving her insecurities. (Monroe, in turn, was considered for the starring role in the 1961 cinematic adaptation: her bid, however, pretty much dashed after her demand of getting paid in Tiffany diamonds. The more affordable Audrey Hepburn came into the picture—and becoming the highest paid actress of her time in the process. Much to Capote’s chargrin, however, and understandably he never embraced Hollywood’s vision on his beatnik tale.) Somehow that is the way I have felt about Promesse de l’Aube (2006): probably not exactly what Romain Gary had in mind when describing his youth, but a transcendental beauty in its own right nonetheless.

Parfum MDCI describes Promesse de l’Aube as an oriental floral “pour le jour” (daytime wear), but truth to be told the overall sheen and aura are just shy of the modern chypre terrain. Structurally it has also been favourably compared to Guerlain Attrape-Coeur, though not having the opportunity to experience Mathilde Laurent’s creation I cannot objectively comment on that matter. Still, the word honeyed comes to mind upon describing the opening Promesse de l’Aube; although the requisite graces of bergamot, mandarin and lemon are present, the focal point is more apricot-glossed in sensorium, candied yet delicate in tow. One can almost mistaken the olfactory refraction as the offshoot of a vibrant peach, but such is not the focus, at least not in the sense of the classic grande dame tone, how unctuously fruity Persicol is in Guerlain Mitsouko (1919). Instead, imagine a quality French citrus-apricot confit, say, from Fauchon: poised, polished, but knowingly with that touch of restrained decadence. The apricot here is that necessary gloss above the rigorously made crème anglaise and pâte sable, that requisite sheen on the French confections.

And that sheen gets subsequently buoyed by the white florals, of ylang ylang and jasmine. Knowning Kurkdjian’s style my money is also on orange blossom—not in the sense of the absolute but more of a modern accord with methyl anthranilate and the salicylates—but alas such is not listed. This is where having an unrestrained development budget factors in, the floral elements having a proper heft and sheen without the all-too-commonplace screech in its sillage before the balsamic elements (tonka bean and vanilla) ushering in the modern musks, along with the woods such as Indian sandalwood to give off an air of billowing cloud somewhere within the vicinity of a modern chypre.

Here lies the contradiction within Promesse de l’Aube: the compositional style nudges on the late fifties side with its solemnity and structure, yet the overall sweep is nimble and modern. To this day I am still doing double takes on its theme: the cerebral side of me knows all too well that an oriental floral is at play, yet from time to time I wouldn’t think twice about enlisting the base as a modern chypre...

Is it worth its hefty price tag? Ringing the affirmative. To me here the phrase “promesse de l’aube” is more literal, a take on l’aube without the fear of not delivering on la promesse.

For more information on the perfumes, flacons and on how to order, please contact Parfums MDCI
Photo: Promesse de l’Aube from LuckyScent.
* For a basic summary of the book please refer to this literary review.

Chypre series 3: the new contestants

 If we are to talk about New Chypres (also nouveau chypres or "pink chypres" see below), we need to clarify some things. If you're new to Perfume Shrine's Chypre Series, please refer to the following basic articles:
What ARE "chypre perfumes"?
What are the aesthetics of chypre fragrances?
What's the history and zeitgeist of "chypre" evolution?

In our quest for chypre perfumes we stumble upon a peculiar phenomenon: there are scarcely any true chypres getting produced in the last 25 years!! Why is that? The answer is two-fold and fascinating in its denouement.

First of all, there is the matter of ingredients getting replaced and restricted, with oakmoss being the most crucial and prominent one as mentioned before. However surely this is a very recent phenomenon that only lately has seriously affected perfumers and houses into producing fragrances that do not make use of this elusive, wonderfully sensual ingredient. For example it was only at the beginning of the year that Mitsouko begun its journey into its latest reformulation, the one that lowers the oakmoss magnificence into the accountant-minded IFRA guidelines. Perhaps it's just as well that the process is going slowly in those instances so one can stockpile a favourite version/vintage while they still can. Labdanum is also slowly being replaced by other ingredients. Miss Dior, this legendary New Look debutante has had a makeover by Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. The effect is not quite as endearingly old-fashioned as it used to be. The sister fragrance (or should I say evil step-sister?) Miss Dior Cherie is the new direction in which the pendulum swings.

Nevertheless there must have been something else besides ingredients' embargo at play, influencing trends and production, which we will explore in another installment on the Chypre series real soon.

In the meantime, it might be interesting to note that after what seemed a total eclipse of chypres in releases of late years, there has been a new category of fragrances coming out slowly but surely that although not typical of their family they bear the illustrious label regardless.

They encompass lovely watercolours like Narciso for Her by Narciso Rodriguez, the coquette qui fait la coquinne Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel (classed either as floriental or fruity chypre, leaning more to an orientalised patchouli), the grapefuit laden abstraction of Ralph Lauren's Pure Turqoise , the sexy safron rosiness of Agent Provocateur that might have been at the vanguard of the trend.
These new entries into the galaxy of chypre have been ingeniously coined by Ayala Moriel as "pink chypres", simply because they exude a modern, young and girly air that is a novel take on the old sophistication of a classic chypre.

Michael Edwards, the man who is responsible for the "Fragrances of the World" system is classifying them under the "mossy woods" umbrella as evidenced in the Sephora directory. Oakmoss is mentioned in the introductory note, yet it is distinctly shunning the invitation in several of those listed.

But then how conclusive are fragrance families and categories anyway?

Referenced in the series "Que sais-je?" in the volume Le Parfum Jean Claude Ellena notes:

I've taken part in the perfume classification committee of the Société Française des Parfumeurs, but nowadays I wonder what its use really is. [...]In today's olfactory classifications, I believe that the most valuable information lies in the perfume's date of creation, its name, and the name of the brand that launched it on the market. The date allows us to put perfumes in an evolutionary perspective (as long as we are able to smell them), while product names and brands give us some indication of the degree of creativity involved in each company. (p. 77-78)

(quote copied from Marcello on nowsmellthis)

Clearly this is a renouncement of formal classifications and perhaps a rather elitist streak, one might say, that runs into this 60 year old minimalist perfumer responsible for such masterpieces as First by Van Cleef, Declaration by Cartier, the Hermessences and the Jardin series (en Mediteranee and sur le Nil) for Hermes and numerous others. But then again Jean Claude has a family which cherises aromas in everyday life and sits down to Christmas dinner hiding little aromatic gifts under the napkins. His daughter is also a perfumer, Cecile Ellena, the co-nose of The Different Company. It goes with the territory.

With that in mind, if we choose to take his side, this new category of chypres is worth exploring even though they lack the characteristic bergamot-oakmoss accord that is typical of the classics of yesterday.

So what goes into the production of those modern chypres?

The typical bergamot top of classic chypres has long been known to be phototoxic, resulting in brown patches on the skin upon exposure to UV radiation. It has been advised ever since I can recall to avoid placing perfume in spots that would be exposed to the sun, exactly because of that. And it has been well-known and accepted for decades. Why it has become such a derisive issue now, which demands the restriction of its use in minute amounts or the clear labelling on the box, is a matter that has to do with complicated legal reasons and the fervent desire of companies to not get entantangled in judicial battles that would cost them fortunes.
Bergamot has thus been shunned for other citrusy and bright top notes that include fresh and slightly bitter grapefruit, sweet mandarin and tangerine (like in Miss Dior Cherie), homely orange in some cases, and even floral essences that marry the florancy with the high volatility and sparkle of hesperides, like neroli or even orange blossom (as is the case in Narciso which uses a synthesized orange blossom that is also apparent in this year's launches for men Dior Farhenheit 32 and Gaultier Fleur du Male).

Fruity notes such as mangosteen (Hillary Duff With Love), lichi, watermelon and passion fruit (Masaki Matsushima Masaki), strawberry (Miss Dior Cherie)and berries (Badgley Mischka) are also appearent, although this might have to do with the overuse of fruity aromas in perfumes of recent launch anyway.
Sweet gourmand touches (caramelised pop corn of Miss Dior Cherie and creme de cassis in Badgley Mischka) might also be attributed to that and not to any desire to revolutionise the chypre notion any further. Which is just as good...

Oakmoss and labdanum have been substituted by grassy, pungent vetiver ~that aromatic root from Java that is the dream of every engineer as it binds itself into substructure; and by patchouli ~that indian bush with the sweet smelling leaves that produce the most potent smell in the vegetal kingdom. The two have been the base accord of almost every new chypre to emerge since 2000 and are going steady in their triumphal marching into perfumery even in seperate capacities. They are tremendously popular notes in both feminine and masculine perfumes.

Often spicy notes, such as coriander (Emporio Armani City Glam Her), or herbal ones, such as angelica, mingle with various musks to accent the murky character of the new chypres. Producing thus oeuvres that although they bear no relation to the old-fashioned intense warmth and powder of their predecessors, they appeal to similar audiences; audiences who have been conditioned to love chypres since childhood perhaps, be it from received memories through beloved family members, or through an appreciation for the unidentifiable character of those Old World sumptuous fragrances.

In any case the future for modern chypres is looking very bright indeed!


Next installement will tackle matters of aesthetics.

Top pic sent to me by mail unaccredited, pic of Narciso bottle courtesy of Nordstrom.com

Continuing the saga: *what* future of perfumery???

I planned on writing up something about how the future of perfumery looks very grim indeed after so much arbitrary action has been taken to limit and restrict creativity for anyone concerned.

You might remember that it started long ago with oakmoss, a natural sunstance of which there is no equivalent synthetic to substitute, rendering a whole olfactory family, that of the chypres, obsolete and wimpering at its last throes of vintage life. After the loss of those vintages, nothing more...This had prompted me to write a lament for Mitsouko the brave. Maybe I was just being my usual passionate self.
But then the issue escalated and then escalated some more.
This has taken such a toll that even Chanel is issuing things in Les Exclusives line (more of which in review form later on) that smell nothing like chypre, yet they are being touted as being the best chypre in 30 years.
I don't know...I might be cynical. But is this what we are reduced to?

So today I came across this excellent article by Tony Burfield who is co-founder of Cropwatch ( a body who does some 'opposition' work for that 40th amendement IFRA of which I have talked about) and I think it's very worth reading.
Please do so here.
It seems as though we are being conditioned to believe that things are not what we see them plainly to be. A Magritte come alive.

I would be very interested in your comments.

Artwork by Rene Magritte "Ceci n'est pas une pipe" (=this is not a pipe) courtesy of allposters.com

Guerlain Rouge Automatique lipstick: a Nostalgic Dip into Perfume Names Archives

It's fascinating to see what a historic perfume house like Guerlain can do with archived names. In this case, they're creating a covetable triumvirate: the brand, the perfume names, the new lipstick: with Guerlain Rouge Automatique the house revives many of its fragrance names into lipstick formulae encased into a small jewel for the purse; a lipstick into a retro retractable case that will officially launch in April. The necessity of using old names is of course inescapable: On the one hand, the desire (and the need) to maintain a link with heritage and tradition. In the case of some old perfumes, a necessity in order to keep competitors from using names in the long history of the house. On the other hand the ease of using already copyrighted names, thus bypassing a time and energy consuming task. It's interesting to see that some of the names concern recently discontinued fragrances, so the desire to keep the name running is -hopefully- optimistic.


The story of Rouge Automatique reads like an historian's wet dream:

While searching through the immense Guerlain archives, Olivier Échaudemaison (Guerlain Artistic Director for cosmetics) found a small Art Deco wonder created in 1936 that captured his attention: the original “Rouge Automatique.” Though the legendary lipstick’s craftsmanship and hand finishes were commonplace at the time, the lipstick packaging was a revolution in itself with its single hand push to reveal luxurious color. Olivier now reinterprets Rouge Automatique for the 21st century – re-innovating the piece as the first lipstick without a cap and with an application technique requiring only a single hand.
With “Ne m’oubliez pas” (Forget me not) in 1870, Aimé Guerlain was the first to create the wax lipstick in a gold plated tube – inspired by a cylinder used to mold candles. The new Rouge Automatique builds on this heritage with a lipstick encased in a sleek, structural, gold chamber. Simple, clever and coveted. An elegant accessory steeped in history. And featuring an innovative new formula with a fine, sensual texture that glides over lips to melt on the mouth like second skin…



The collection comprises shades (and names of classical and more modern fragrances) for everyone. [Wherever there is a highlighted link below, I have linked a review of the accompanying perfume]:

Unforgettable Beiges

• 100 Après l’Ondée
• 101 Voilette de Madame
• 102 Ne M’Oubliez Pas
• 103 Chant d’Arômes
• 104 Jicky
• 105 Vol de Nuit

Passionate Reds

• 120 Coque d’Or
• 121 Rouge d’Enfer
• 122 Liù
• 123 Habit Rouge
• 124 Samsara
• 125 Vega

Flamboyant Oranges

• 140 Mitsouko
• 141 Quand Vient l’Eté
• 142 Fleur de Feu
• 143 Nahéma

Loving Pinks

• 160 Bal de Mai
• 161 Cherry Blossom
• 162 Bloom of Rose
• 163 Rose Bengale
• 164 Chamade
• 165 Champs-Elysées
• 166 Shalimar
• 167 Guet-Apens
• 168 L’Heure Bleue

Guerlain Rouge Automatique will be available in April 2011 at $35 at select locations of Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman Marcus, Nordstrom and at Bergdorf Goodman.

Thanks to Donna/POL for bringing this to my attention. List of numbers & names via temptalia. Inside the Rouge Automatique box pic taken by Evachen212 on twitter. Pic of original 1936 ad via maddyloves

Top 25 of current fragrances we can still enjoy!

So often we perfumephiles come together online and discuss how things were different back then and how older perfumes were somehow deeper, richer, better. I always thought this makes us an anachronism! Most of us have not even lived that far back! Of course there is solid argument that the way ingredients' restrictions, mercenary cheapening of the formula, old names pastered onto completely different things and all around derivative creations are cropping up, the future of perfumery isn't too bright. So many fragrances have been discontinued as well, not to mention the crazy fashion of limited editions which leave the loyal fan seriously crestfallen when they finish the bottle with no hope of easy replenishing.
But in this joint project ~inspired by Perfume Posse's call to readers and my friend Denyse~ which we undertook with the Non Blonde, the Smelly Blog and Savvy Thinker, we tried to focus on what is out there still available, still in good form, still gist for our mills. We tried to celebrate the little gems that are awaiting our litte paws to gingerly open and apply!

Compiling lists can be both exciting and frustrating, though. There are just so many things one wants to include, but obviously some form of elimination should take place. I had to eliminate beautiful creations which were limited editions, such as the sublime Fleur de Narcisse by L'artisan. Some older classics which are still around and I loved dearly have changed dramatically with questionable results: Cabochard and Ma Griffe, for starters. Then there are those which are on precarious soil: Alpona is perhaps destined to discontinuation due to the heavy restrictions on oakmoss? The jury is still out. And some like Pontevecchio W by Nobile 1942, although I loved them, just couldn't fit into the alloted limit no matter how hard I tried to cram them.

So without further ado, here is an aplhabetical list of 25 fragrances I really love! By no means comprehensive and not highlighting their historical importance in perfumery (you can take a peak at my take on what marked scented history here). Just what has me always sighing with pleasure, my psyche elated and my mind appreciating, every time I open the bottles. Some are mainstream, some are niche, some are feminine, some are masculine, some are shared.
{Those which are highlighted have been reviewed on Perfume Shrine, the rest will get their share soon!}


1. Angélique Encens, Creed (nose: Henry Creed)
2. Avignon, Comme des Garcons Incense Series (nose: Bernand Duchaufour)
3. Bandit, Robert Piguet, in edp (nose: Germaine Cellier)
4. Carnal Flower, Frédéric Malle (nose: Dominique Ropion)
5. Chant d’arômes, Guerlain (nose: Jean Paul Guerlain)
6. Cruel Gardénia, Guerlain (nose: Randa Hammami)
7. Cuir de Russie, Chanel in extrait (nose: Ernest Beaux)
8. Déclaration, Cartier (nose: Jean Claude Ellena)
9. Diorella, Christian Dior (nose: Edmond Roudnitska)
10.Diorling, Christian Dior (nose: Paul Vacher)
11.Fifi, Fifi Chachnil (nose: Jean Guichard)
12.Film Noir, Ayla Moriel (nose: Ayala Moriel)
13.Fleurs d’oranger, Serge Lutens (nose: Chris Sheldrake)
14.Grand Amour, Annick Goutal (nose: Isabelle Doyen)
15.Iris Poudre, Frédéric Malle (nose: Pierre Bourdon)
16.Jasmin de Nuit, The Different Company (nose: Céline Ellena)
17.L’air de Rien, Miller Harris (nose: Lynn Harris)
18.L’air du desert Marocain, Tauer Perfumes (nose: Andy Tauer)
19.La Myrrhe, Serge Lutens (nose: Chris Sheldrake)
20.Mitsouko, Guerlain in extrait and edt (nose: Jacques Guerlain)
21.Narciso Rodriguez For her, edt and extrait (nose: Francis Kurkdjian)
22.Onda, Vero Profumo (nose: Vero Kern)
23.Opium, Yves Saint Laurent, in edt (nose: Jean Louis Sieuzac)
24.Vetiver Tonka, Hermessences (nose: Jean Claude Ellena)
25.Vol de Nuit, Guerlain, in extrait (nose: Jacques Guerlain)

Which fragrances comprise your top 25 list?

Please don't forget to check out the lists on The Non Blonde, Smelly Blog and Savvy Thinker as well.

Pic courtesy of jilly1964/photobucket and manipulated by me