Jean Paul Gaultier Divine: fragrance review

Back in August 2023, Jean Paul Gaultier launched Gaultier Divine, the brand's new feminine fragrance, classified as a gourmand marine floral. American actress Yara Shahidi has been selected to represent the new fragrance, imagined as a celebration of femininity. It is signed by perfumer Quentin Bisch and is made of floral, gourmand, and marine notes. For Gaultier Divine the bet was on creating something that young women would want for themselves and everyone would like having them approach them. 

Gaultier Divine capitalizes on the marine semiotics which the Gaultier team has used ever since the cool matelot-clad sailor for Le Male. The marine theme is very tongue-in-cheek. On the one hand the homoerotic nuances of sailors, on the other the salty touch of the new fragrance aimed at women. The fragrance is depicted on women gazing at men at sea. But it's all a tempest in a bottle! The allusion to a scent that would create a similar tempest on those smelling it is not lost upon us. The women playfully cajole and seduce the sailor trapped inside this bottle. It's cleverer than a simple seduction trick in advertising and subtle enough that it does not scream sexist or cliché.

 

Solar fragrances are probably the genre into which I would classify this creation. The term solar fragrance notes (on which I have written extensively) expresses the essence of sunshine and the appeal of endless sugar-spun sands, or the embrace of tanned, warm skin. A perfumer uses helional and mainly salicylates to render this effect, sometimes heliotrope synthetics, too. Flower accents of tiare, frangipani, and ylang-ylang, contribute to this exotic field, alongside mimosa, coconut, vanilla, and salty or marine notes. But not all are used in Gaultier Divine which is as airy as a meringue.

pic borrowed from confessions of baking queen

Calypsone stands here for the iodic facets of oakmoss, as well as watery facets in the floral bouquet of Gaultier Divine, as the interplay between watery and yet non-sweet is beautifully rendered amidst the heart notes. My initial personal impression upon spraying is that someone crossed the bridge between the intensely solar-salicylate chord of Lys Soleia (Guerlain Aqua Allegoria), which was a bit too summery, and the much more delicate treatment of lily-salicylate in Vanille Galante (Hermessences). The latter, although baptized vanilla, is really a lily, the kind with white waxy petals and red stamens, spicy and sweet, yet alluring and mesmerizing. Benzyl salicylate has been the mainstay of this sort of genre, with benzyl amyl and cis 3 hexenyl, the mothership of solar fragrances. I am hypothesizing that Bisch is working his magic in Gaultier Divine with the salicylate molecule Karmaflor he has access to, if only to bypass the rationing of salicylates due to IFRA restrictions, but also to tie it to Mahonial (a lily synthetic) and Nympheal (a watery molecule that has flowery, lotus and lily facets). Lilies do have a salty nuance themselves, as deliciously explored in the once poetic Lys Mediterranee (it has now been tampered with somewhat).

The base is crafted through the synergy of mainly vanilla and benzoin, with subtly caramelic facets and a clean musk, but always balanced by the salty-lily drenched in the sea breeze chord — never too sweet like many other gourmands. It's the balancing act of a skilled equilibrist.

 

The effect of Gaultier Divine is therefore beautifully crunchy. A little bit salty, it resembles munching on savory toffee with fleur de sel snippets scattered in it, resisting to the tooth, like...exactly, an airy meringue. A success!

 Available as eau de parfum.

 

Hermes Eau de Basilic Pourpre: fragrance review

 Hermès launched another vegetal, light, and airy fragrance in its Cologne collection in July 2022. Eau de Basilic Pourpre represents a sunny and summery Mediterranean scent, inspired by basil at a farmer's market, a very common occurrence in open air spaces in the south of Europe and temperate climate Middle Eastern countries. 

 

The composition was created by in-house perfumer Christine Nagel, who describes it as an instant burst of pleasure and freshness. Rather than imitating the scent of basil itself, the perfumer relied on her memory of a smell she once experienced and the impression she remembers.

 The fragrance of Eau de Basilic Pourpre focuses on basil's invigorating and herbal scent, combined with light touches of bergamot from Calabria, geranium (in its geraniol rosy-green-minty facets), a hint of patchouli, and warm peppery-clovey spices. Purple basil is the main ingredient, as it takes center stage in the composition.

The spicy component in Eau de Basilic Pourpre is recognizable as soon as the bottle is sprayed. It's an invigorating scent that many people smelling it identify as mint, actually, but that is probably because they cannot pinpoint accurately, over-acclimatized as they are to functional scents from toothpaste and chewing gum. Which is strange in a way, because people around the Mediterranean are well accustomed with the scent of potted basil - but there you have the poetic interpretation we were talking about stirring Nagel's imagination and creativity. The variant used or the combination of spicy notes is not immediately a thought of a basil salad and that's what makes the scent very wearable. In fact it also bonds with the rest of the heritage in that it replicates elements of the dry-down of the original 1979 Eau d'Orange Verte, (also known as Eau de Cologne Hermes); that impression of a hesperidic peel being clawed on with a cruel fingernail. Nagel plays homage, clearly. 

 

After the initial spicy jolt the scent development of Eau de Basilic Pourpre calms into a chord that recalls the classic Cologne structure with clean musk and the distinction of a floral note; in this case that's geranium, making it perfectly unisex and to most women leaning unto masculine because of the distinct lack of sweetness overall.

Prada Paradoxe: fragrance review

 It was a full seven years since Prada introduced an entirely new perfume for either gender, exploiting its established lines all this time. To my disappointment, the new women's pillar fragrance, Prada Paradoxe, fell short. It's a women's fragrance, yes, like periods are womanly, and it's clean like we're supposed to smell, sanitized.

journaldeluxe.fr

But that's a pity, as it could be so much more. Especially from a pink colored bottle and box, one expects a touch of irreverence, as they did with the wonderful gourmand of Prada Candy - perfect from start to finish, the witty campaign most of all.

In her directorial debut, Emma Watson was said to embrace all her multiple dimensions – the artist, the activist, the actor, the woman – "in a dynamic, liberating film that captures the empowered spirit of Prada Paradoxe."

 

The usual suspect, Daniella Roche-Andrier, isn't behind this Prada creation. Three other perfumers are credited with creating Paradoxe. Usually, this fills me with trepidation. Surely one vision split in three, fixed here and there, means that rather than a collaboration of creativity, it is a project that needed multiple sessions in the drawing room to discuss faults and effects? I might be judging too harshly. The perfumers are certainly renowned and respected. I feel this is more of an odd corporate decision on the part of L'Oreal, who own the license for Prada fragrances, after taking over from Puig.

 fubiz

The initial olfactory impression of Paradoxe by Prada is equal parts fruity and floral, nectarous with orange blossom, with a resemblance to both My Way and Libre by YSL, oddly enough.

It then breaks apart and becomes sweeter and somewhat muskier, without abanding the shampoo cleanliness of its core message. Its creamy musk with touches of soft suede is held on the skin for a long time, but the fruit dissipates. Yet with so many floral woody muskies on the market at the moment, what is the purpose of another one in Prada Paradoxe that becomes less than the sum of its parts?

Oh my deer! by Baruti: musk reimagined

A dirty mind is a joy forever, they say! The newest Baruti perfume, Oh my deer!, a play upon the expression and the deer musk ingredient prized in perfumery, started as an exercise in recreating the scent of deer musk. That ages old animalistic substance of mythical dimensions which lend such a sensuality to perfume that all scent is feeling...

The accord was quickly done, but releasing it as a standalone fragrance felt boring and redundant, so a whole composition was built around it.

Focusing on contrasts, the perfume opens very bright and radiant, then slowly morphs in this sensual enveloping scent that provides excitement and comfort at the same time. Just like the song The Honeymooners by Lucky Jim says “My body be your focus, your labor be my joy,“ or simply put: No pain, no gain.

 The new scent, Oh my deer! is presented as a beautiful mess by its creator, the perfumer Spyros Drosopoulos – "sexy, sensual, and a little bit kinky."

What can I say? I'm sold. :)

The olfactory notes of Baruti Oh my deer! include spicy accents of black pepper, Sichuan pepper, as well as aldehydes and metallic notes. It then radiates with a lily-of-the-valley accord, before seguing into the warmer embrace of incense, amber, vanilla, a soft barnyard accord, and lots and lots of musk...

Elizabeth Arden Green Tea: fragrance review & story

Elizabeth Arden Green Tea is one of Francis Kurkjian's timeless success stories, which built his reputation for effortless light diaphanous fragrances, in turn setting the record for his own Maison Francis Kurkdjian creations that sparkle and trail like gauze in the morning sun. Yet Green Tea is a case where one perfumer imitates another. 

 pic via pinterest

The sophisticated and intellectual Jean Claude Ellena created L'Eau Parfumée first as a room spray for Bvlgari boutiques in Rome in the 1990s, and as a stand alone fragrance around the world later. He came up with it while playing with Iso E Super and jasmine chords, creating an original accord that he called "green tea." He states so in his writings, that he chose the name because he was impressed by the Japanese green tea ceremony. He wanted to recreate that feeling of comforting serenity, that precious luxury, the one of seemingly endless time. Or at the very least of meaningful time. He was mindful before mindfulness was a thing. 

Ozonic with a green bamboo note, and lemon accords that do not bring images of classic Eau de Cologne, thanks to its green grassy shade, Green Tea takes you because of its name in the highlands of Darjeeling and Sikkim, on the backs of elephants. It perfectly makes me at once calm down and feel like the draining energy of intense heat is not a worrisome burden anymore. There is the promise of spice and botanical stuff but it's just that – a hint, a soupçon of a taunt, never fully materialized. It remains cool and collected, not passionate.

Delicate, fresh, drumming like light percussion, airy and tonic, Green Tea by Elizabeth Arden is welcome coolness in the heat, which is much appreciated for casual occasions and daytime. But if you're the type of person to eschew evening fragrances in the summer months, this could easily fit in your wardrobe.

It's also a startlingly good steal on online stores, demanding very little. 

Fragrance notes for Elizabeth Arden Green Tea:

Top notes are Lemon, Bergamot, Mint, Orange Peel and Rhubarb

Middle notes are Jasmine, Oakmoss, Fennel, Musk, Carnation and White Amber

Base notes are Green Tea, Jasmine, Oakmoss, Musk, Celery Seeds, Caraway, Cloves and Amber

---

Elizabeth Arden True Love: fragrance review

 True Love is a classic Sophia Grojsman composition in that it possesses three main constituents: a clean, groomed outlook with lots of musk, mainly Galaxolide; a peachy fruity component that blends with the skin; and heaps of sillage with tremendous lasting power. Scents to be noticed and commented upon.

For something so quiet and soft, True Love is a very impressive performer, I can attest.

The scent of True Love (1994) combines elements of two beloved fragrances that followed it: Nivea eau de toilette, which I have reviewed in the past, and Irisia by Creed, which is a more chypre take on the soapy floralcy of this one (supposedly a 1960s composition, but in reality much more modern). It has elements that make the Dove soap, the classic white creamy bar, so lovely to smell and use.

True Love projects quite linear, starting with a whoosh of soapy cleanliness and segueing into an abstract lactonic floralcy of no discernible edges. It's soft all around, like a pink angora sweater, and cooling like a glass of pink champagne. Sarah Horowitz capitalized on the concept with her Perfect Veil, a cult item of a scent around the millennium based on the combination of citrusy sparkle, soft clean musk, and a smidgen of vanilla for sweetness - a gauze of a scent theoretically, something that lingers, does not appear too perfume-y for the sensibilities of the women of the late 1990s, yet is still quite the beast.

 

Do not expect much from the bottle itself. It's a plain cylindrical style in glass, capped by an unassuming plastic cap to correspond. Nothing to write home about. But it's what's inside that counts. Elizabeth Arden's fragrance bottles and compositions tend to look unassuming and prosaic on the surface. 

Online discounters often offer Elizabeth Arden fragrances at exceptionally low prices, considering the quality, lasting power, and decency of the liquid inside. It's a brand worth seeking out.
 

Bourjois Kobako: fragrance review

Kobako means "small box" in Japanese, as far as I know. But try adding a katana-blade symbol over the first "o," and it turns into Kōbako. Then it gains the nuance of a small box for solid aromatics used in the incense ceremony in kōdō (香道, "Way of Incense"); the ritual burning of incense to count the time. Such is the case with Kobako by the classic French brand Bourjois. 

A composition that initially hails from 1936 and the creative genius of perfumer Ernest Beaux, but which survives to this day in a contemporary Parfum de Toilette version that was first issued during the 1980s in the cristal taillé style bottle and the maroon box photographed below. The actual launch date for the modern version is 1982, and I doubt that the two editions have much in common, both stylistically and artistically. There was too much water under the bridge by then.

photo by Elena Vosnaki

It's interesting to note that one of the connotations for the word 'box' is the one used in slang, in many languages, for female genitalia. Indeed, again as far as I have been informed, kōbako in modern Japanese slang refers to that as well. But the scent in question is not an animalic or intimate smell that would polarize at all. In fact, it's this discrepancy that prompted my review.

The current fomula is not the one from the 1930s, so the description pertains to the 1980s mix. 

The domineering feeling is one of soap, like an old-fashioned soap for men, with cinnamon and sandalwood, and that creamy feeling that generations past associate with comfort and hot water. The florals used in the heart of Kobako are not discernible; they mix and mingle and tear apart again. There is definitely rose, which mollifies the formula, and probably a segment of something white-floral for a bit of clarity (possibly a part of lily of the valley aroma chemicals to give diffusion and expansion.)

Kobako combines these elements in a naughty, playful, almost haphazard way - the masculine backdrop with the feminine florals and the aldehydes - to render a juxtaposing composition. It hides its dark corners, but it's not entirely clean either. It has the versatility to make itself wearable all year long and never bother or disappear.

It feels fresh and spicy one minute, metallic and powdery the next, with a segment of dry patchouli in the back. What is this scent, I ask you? It consistently garners some comment or other, always in a positive way. It might not be the most accepted fragrance or the most derided - it hinges on that razor-sharp axis - but it's worth sampling at the very least. Some of you will end up wearing it when you won't know what to wear for the day, I promise.

The woody element in the back and the soapiness render Bourjois' Kobako very easy on the skin. There is not enough spice, although cinnamon is mentioned. I do not detect it as such, more of a smidge of clove, which is faint. It's also quite musky, in a good way, not the screechy white musk from laundry detergents, but not dirty either. It just melds with the skin and holds on to it.

Milano Fragranze Naviglio: fragrance review

 Finding one's perfect soapy fragrance is a question of defining the scent of soap in the first place. Will it be the classic Camay and Lux soap of yesteryear, which smelled of roses and aldehydes? Will it be the original Dove with its iris-musk aura or its newer iterations with fruits and coconut? Are we talking about chamomile and the botanical smells of pine and lavender, perhaps of jasmine and flowers, allied to powerful powdery aspects, or are we concentrating on fatty aldehydes known from Aleppo and Marseilles soap which smell like clean laundry on a line? I'm personally quite fond of the latter, to be honest.

The promise of Marseilles soap, in its own particular way both sweetish and fatty-acrid, is strikingly fulfilled in Naviglio by Italian niche brand Milano Fragranze. It does smell soapy, really soapy-smelling! The perfect scent for capturing summer cleanliness, but also great for year-round, when you want to project that pristine white, bright impression that is deliriously happy, like lily of the valley bells peaking through the grass on a warm day.

Although we're prepared by the brand for a marine fragrance, with the mention of the canals outside Milan, the aquatic notes here are not the sort met at the seafront, salty and/or with whiffs of organic matter decomposing. In Naviglio, they instead recall the clean ambiance of a humidifier, the lovely sweetish scent of water ponds, and dewiness on a climbing ivy. This effect reminds me of two quirky little scents, Rem by Reminiscence and Ivy by the Fragrance Library (Demeter). It's captured perfectly here, and alongside the soap, it creates a charming, easy-to-wear fragrance. 

Bonus points for its incredibly long-lasting quality. It radiated on my skin for the full 12-hour mark!

Chanel No.5 L'Eau: fragrance review & marketing insights

 Chanel No.5 L'Eau, endorsed by the debutantes of the Chinese press, has been hailed as an innovation, but it's really "new old school". And I'm stating this in a positive light. It's a very likeable fragrance by Chanel which retains the spirit of the classic with a very contemporary sensibility of new beginnings and a freshness that differs from the exigencies of the 1920s, a century later. But its composition is not innovative, rather it makes abstract and elegant (in the mathematical sense) what has been passed down from tradition, in order to appear new. 

To wit, the use of aldehyde C8 is an addition that is not particularly modernist, nor is Australian sandalwood or the fractional-distillation ylang ylang that Polge père (Jacques) and Polge fils (Olivier) have been surely contemplating using for a couple of years now. The balancing act of the fragrance lies in judging how the citrusy freshness extends and rejuvenates the rose in the heart. And how an aldehydic fragrance appears non stuffed, nor "old lady perfume" (explained).

The core of No.5 L'Eau is shifted from the densely ylang and perceptible musk chord that dominates the modern varietals of No.5 to the delicate, wisp-like chord of citrus and rose. Almost a skin scent. By definition the concentration is light, ethereal, reflected in the choice of Lily-Rose Depp as the face of the ads. But why an ethereal version with a youth as the face?

It all started in the 80s when then in-house perfumer, the erstwhile Jacques Polge, created the first real "tampering" of the authentic formula to bring it up to par with the powerhouses of the decade of excess. When you have to keep your footing in the market that saw the original typhoon of Dior's Poison and the lead density of detonator of amber waves that was the original Obsession by Calvin Klein, you have to have a classy and elegant formula boosted to its logical limit. Ergo No.5 received a generous helping dose of the sandalwood synthetic Polysantol which effectuated that smooth, lactic boost that was missing from the earlier versions. No.5 Eau de Parfum is possibly not the "truest" No.5 but it is a satisfying edition that is made with great care.

Chanel continued to keep a very tight, and careful, modus operandi on any and all subsequent editions of No.5. I distinctly and fondly recall the No.5 Elixir Sensuelle which boosted the soapier smelling and muskier elements to render a less faithful but still sexy-as-hell body gel. It encapsulated what Coco Chanel herself had meant for No.5 to symbolize: a clean woman that wasn't at odds with her natural scent. The idea that women could be both sexy and not dirty. After all, her inspiration was a famous cocotte friend who smelled "clean", contrary to society women of the times "who smelled dirty" according to the French designer herself. 

The logical extension could only be manifested in something like Chanel No.5 Eau Première. Indeed praised by almost everyone in the industry for adhering to the original concept, without deviating too much, and at the same time bringing forth a new sensibility, Eau Première was critically praised by critics and bloggers, as well as connoisseur wearers only to be daunted at the fragrance counter by a relative indifference in its modern message. Eau Première, fabulous though it was, couldn't address the needs and wants of a youthful audience who knew No.5 from its legendary course and urban fashion clout, but did not feel confident in pulling it off in real time.

Unlike many, maybe even most, flankers by Chanel, such as Coco Mademoiselle and Coco Noir (extending and renewing the fragrance concept of Coco Eau de Parfum), which had little relation to their predecessor, No.5  l'Eau inherited enough of the original's nucleus to serve as a valid reimagining on the original idea.

Related reading on PerfumeShrine:

Coco by Chanel: fragrance review

Chanel No.19 & Heure Exquise: Twin Peaks

On Classifying Chanel No.19 & perfume review 

What's the True Story of Chanel No.5?

Cultural history: Exposition Chanel

Chanel No.5 Through the Years

Chanel No.46: fragrance review & history

I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire: Imaginative Fantasies

Chanel Les Exclusifs Misia: fragrance review [And a collective Chanel Les Exclusifs link.]

Thierry Mugler Alien Goddess: fragrance review

The Thierry Mugler news announcement for Alien Goddess, the latest fragrance in the Alien collection, was met with more eyebrows raised on the choice of Willow Smith, daughter of Hollywood actors Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith, than the anticipation for the next chapter in the beste-selling Alien saga by Thierry Mugler. The brand admitted they targeted Generation Z — a younger population yet to meet Mugler as a brand — with their choice. She was asked "to embody this new vision of femininity that is strong, powerful, inclusive, and edgy," as reported by the brand. Nevertheless, smelling the new fragrance and seeing the visuals, I see nothing strong (it's much weaker than usual Mugler fare, which are dynamite), nor powerful, nor edgy.

The expectation of a very impressive fragrance is rather lost on us, although the formula smells OK. I'm sure it will gather compliments; unlike Aura, Mugler's previous pillar launch, which is so divisive that people either love it with a passion or hate its oddly green, sweet tentacles. Alien is also met with opinionated detractors and fervent fans alike. 

The composition based on the ever popular "tropical, sunscreen lotion smelling perfume accord" is built on flowers like tiare gardenia (which contains esters giving a fruity nuance) and possibly a bit of frangipani/plumeria, with the crucial bit being a hint of lactonic perfume notes like coconut (γ-decalactone) or better yet, the effect of coconut milk (Guerlain's Coconut Fizz is spectacular in this one). And this whole notion bears as little relation to Mugler as possible. His Amazons do not sunbathe. They're in the desert of an alien planet.

Mugler's  Alien Goddess is faring better in that tropical department, as it's not at all stifling and stuffy, as some of its category are. It's actually pretty delicate, maybe too delicate, fresh like pineapple slices, and balanced in the sugary department, especially for a representative of Thierry's collection of mega-bombs. I suppose L'Oreal has been somewhat diluting the density, adjusting the standards with the rest of the market aimed at kids brought up on their mothers' fruity-florals during the 2000s.

It's really OK for a tropical composition, with a vanilla embrace that is immersed in clean, creamy musk. Soft really, and very inoffensive — airy, never too much, but in a way this negates the brand ethos. So there you have it: A bit not good in a rather predictable mix. If you awaited Lilith, she's not coming to dinner...

Pierre Cardin: Choc de Cardin, Paradoxe, and Rose Cardin fragrance reviews

  Regarding Pierre Cardin fragrances, his first officially documented release has been Pierre Cardin pour Monsieur in 1972 and Cardin for women (Cardin de Pierre Cardin) in 1976. However the official Pierre Cardin website does not mention them and begins the story from Choc de Cardin. Now that the great designer has passed, they will be the subject of speculation and furtive bidding wars on auction sites. Celebrated for his avant-garde style and Space Age designs which, alongside those of Courreges and Paco Rabanne, Cardin catapulted the fashions of the 1960s, and partly made that decade what it is.

Choc de Cardin in 1981 was indeed for many their first distinct memory of a Cardin-signed scent. The evolution of a citrus cologne given a shadowy chypre mantle in the way of Diorella and Le Parfum de Thérèse, Choc is neither shocking, nor chocolate-evoking; it's as French as it possibly gets, and in many ways "a forgotten masterpiece" worth hunting down. Seriously, if only warm weather fragrances were that nuanced and that balanced nowadays.

 Rose Cardin from 1990 also has many fans. Indeed the latter is among the few rose-centric fragrances which has something to draw me in, maybe because it does what niche fragrances today do at tenfold the price. Created by the same perfumer who gave us Choc de Cardin, Françoise Caron, it's noted for its sureness of execution more than its innovation. The rose is fanned on coriander, which puts a fresh and rather soapy spin on the blossom's nectar, and on patchouli, which makes it seem like it's endlessly unfurling, but softly, not angularly, with a smidgen of incense and musk.

In the meantime, in 1983 Paradoxe by Cardin was launched. This was a sandwich of two main ideas by Raymond Chaillan, who also created Givenchy III: the fresh, sour and bitterish top note of galbanum and green gardenia, and the animalic-leather growl coming up from the base in between lovely florals, all womanly and plush. It's enough to make a (chypre loving) girl dream.

As my colleague Miguel put it, "Paradoxe is an assertive chypre and it's almost an academic example of that style. From the top we get a freshness that is aldehydic, green and citrusy. The galbanum note is very evident and grounds a certain fizziness from the aldehydes and bergamot.[...] This is not a powdery scent at all. It is crisp, transparent and angular. This angular aspect is worked mostly through the hardness of the somewhat ashy base notes."

These are fragrances that collective memory passed them by, but they need to be rediscovered.

 

Halston Classic: fragrance review & footnote on Netflix

 Adapted from the 1991 book Simply Halston by Steven Gaines, a TV mini-series of five episodes was ordered by Netflix in September 2019, and it premiered on May 14, 2021, starring Ewan McGregor in the eponymous role of Roy Halston Frowick. The man who invented himself came from a dreadful Midwestern background, a childhood spent in a farmhouse with an abusive father who yelled, and a mother who was cheered up by the boy's own handicraft, a feathered hat. So he started as a milliner. Much like Chanel, for that matter. As exhibition curator Patricia Mears notes on Halston's style, “One of the great aspects of his success was his ability to balance beauty and modernity." Nowhere is this more evident than in his eponymous fragrance, Halston for Women, also referred to nowadays as Halston Classic.

(pic via)

 There is a great scene in episode three, Sweet Smell of Success, in which Halston sits down with a respected woman perfumer, called Adèle, played by Vera Farmiga, to talk about developing his first fragrance, Halston. He is asked to select things which are meaningful to him. In the script, the designer selects orchids, because they're beautiful; tobacco, because he's constantly drawing from a cigarette; and his lover's jockstrap, because he's a semi-closeted gay man. (We're even shown the alleged perfumer sniff the used jockstrap deeply at some point...) At the time, the lover referred to was Victor Hugo, a Venezuelan student who arrived at Halston's studio to work as an assistant, and who became his lover for a decade.

But great as the perfume-making scene might be dramatically, giving a glimpse into the consulting process with a client—replete with tiny bottles of essences and blotters being dipped into them and sniffed—it fails to convey the true spirit of the fragrance in question. It was a tall order no doubt, as a passing mention of three things that seem to serve as symbols, rather than tales in themselves, is no more revealing than the fragrance industry's recent tendency to drop three notes to consumers and expect them to get crazy over their newest launch. There was definitely ground for exploration and tense dramatic antithesis, serving as a psychological outlet for the hero, letting us glimpse his repressed emotions, but it's mainly that. There is no really controversial element in the actual perfume, as I recall. It's actually one of the starchiest and loveliest of the classic chypres of the 1970s.

 The formula was developed with one of the truly greats, but not by a woman—by a man. Bernard Chant is a legendary perfumer at IFF, who is revered for the majority of Aramis men's fragrances and most Estee Lauder women's fragrances, from the starchy aldehydic Estee to the big floral Beautiful, as well as seminal chypre fragrances such as Cabochard Gres, Clinique Aromatics Elixir, Imprevu Coty, and Lauren Ralph Lauren. Halston Classic was one that cemented his good taste and excellence of execution.

There is something creamy, warm, and intimate about Halston Classic, although one would never in a million years classify it as animalic. But it's definitely a product of its time, still relevant after all these years because it's streamlined, feels high class, and exudes good taste. One can never offend in Halston, but it's much more memorable than innocuous "office friendly fragrances." The oakmoss, while there, is never in your face, much like the case with Caleche, making it an easy-to-adopt woody chypre, even for chypre-phobics.

Official perfume notes for Halston for Women (Halston Classic)

Top notes: Green Leaves, Mint, Melon, Bergamot, and Peach
Middle notes: Marigold, Carnation, Cedar, Orris Root, Rose, Jasmine, and Ylang-Ylang
Base notes: Oakmoss, Amber, Vetiver, Incense, Patchouli, Sandalwood, and Musk

Emanuel Ungaro Diva: fragrance review & reminiscences

People sometimes say things are not what they used to be, and in the case of fragrances, they're unequivocally right. Despite a certain glamorization of the past, which usually indicates dissatisfaction with the present, the fragrance game has changed radically in the past 20 years. Not necessarily for the worse overall, but the bite and edge of fragrances in the mainstream sector has suffered indeed. Some of them, nevertheless, show a predisposition for resisting. Diva by Ungaro seems to be one of them, apparently surviving relatively unscathed. It's still a glorious chypre with an indestructible "hear me roar" bawl that can be heard from the rooftops

(pic via)

I was offered a bottle of Emanuel Ungaro's Diva when I was 19. By my young boyfriend, no less. In today's standards, that would be the equivalent of being offered a petal dress in organza silk, combined with diamond-encrusted earrings to match, to wear to a black-tie ball. Talk about a glamazon! Those were different times, though; we weren't afraid to be adventurous with fragrance or over-apply occasionally. 

Jacques Polge, the legendary perfumer who is the father of the current in-house perfumer at Chanel, Olivier Polge, made sure to include everything and the kitchen sink while composing the byzantine formula of Diva back in the early 1980s. There is the standard big, voluminous, and arguably synthetic rose of the1980s, immortalized in creations such as L'Arte di Gucci, Knowing, and Paris (YSL). It's balanced with a big dollop of patchouli and oakmoss, which give a very distinct aloof quality to the flower, eschewing the prim and romantic allusions of those blossoms and instilling a glamorous and somewhat demanding vibe. You can definitely see how it was an offer of supplication from a boyfriend to one's mistress...

 This wonderful and classic chord is then cleverly wrapped in a honey note, which only sweetens it just so, and a string of animalic notes, from civet to musk (it's almost YSL Kouros-like in its intimacy of warm naughty notes under the clean starchness). It is these elements that help make Diva congenital even to warm ambery perfume lovers. People who like Paloma Piccaso Mon Parfum but find it a bit harsh might find the Ungaro fragrance more simpatico to their sensibilities; it's worth trying and comparing to see the common lineage at the very least.

There is warmth and plush in Diva, as well as a dollop of other flower essences than rose, which enhances its femininity, and it all makes it less of a boardroom fragrance, unlike the way Knowing can appear austere and buttoned-up, especially nowadays. This quality brings it effortlessly into the salon and the boudoir. It's ladylike but still naughty; in the case of Diva, the lady is a tramp. And hey, even Lady Gaga reworked the classic song, so fragrance lovers should probably seek out Diva and give it a spin. It's worth exploring anew.

Agent Provocateur Blue Silk: fragrance review

 Blue Silk, part of a flanker duet launched in 2018 by lingerie brand Agent Provocateur (the other being Lace Noir) is credited to Beverly Bayne, shifting from the usual Christian Provenzano creative umbrella. 

The company presented it thus: "Making a sensuous entrance into the Agent Provocateur fragrance collection, Blue Silk is an unforgettable perfume, feminine, provocative and deeply romantic. Piquant top notes of woody, rosy pink pepper, revitalizing citrus from lemon and mandarin and exhilarating, fresh juniper combine with floral middle notes from classic rose and rich, sweet, precious jasmine, alongside the honeyed peach tones of nectarine and the warmth of spicy cinnamon. Leaving a lingering feeling of deep, almost smoky sensuality are the base notes of hypnotic musk, cooling, earthy vetiver, creamily sweet sandalwood and the vanilla, praline-like tones of aromatic tonka bean."

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What is uncanny about Blue Silk is its delicious top note of bright and lightly sweet spices. It almost creates the impression of the opening of YSL's discontinued Nu eau de parfum, a fragrance overseen by Tom Ford (and this is telling in so many ways.) The spices are almost rejoicing, they never come across as sharp like the air within the spice cabinet. The composition is redolent of the steamed puddings of Jungle Elephant, but done in miniature form; there is none of the bombastic sillage of Kenzo's mastodont. 

The muskiness surfaces like a silky undergarment peeked through a crepe dress; it does feel silky and soft, very wearable and romantic, melding with the wearer's skin, and creates erotic imagery without prompt. Priceless.

As with most Agent Provocateur fragrances Blue Silk is available in 100ml Eau de Parfum at advantageous prices online and is highly recommended.

Kenzo Parfum d'Ete: fragrance review & reminiscences

The first encounter I had with this unique ethereal green floral fragrance was with its predecessor in the misty glass and plastic bottle with the huge dew drop on the leaf that served as cap. The 1992 Parfum d'été. 

 

It was an eventful summer for me, with lots of glorious escapades that marked my youth, and the company of this delicate green jasmine that sang on the verdant throes of lily of the valley was the perfect embodiment of that carefree summery disposition which remains a wonderful memory. Back then, all I knew about Kenzo was that he was a Far Eastern designer who resided in Paris. And the fragrance in my mind seemed to embody both ends of the spectrum, being light and cerebral, like I imagined the Japanese to be, judging by their elaborate tea ceremony, and at the same time insidiously sensuous and subtly sexy in a carefree way, in the way models on the French Elle magazine spreads used to sprawl under the sun in the French countryside; I used to devour those magazines. Alongside Kenzo Homme, a revolutionary aquatic for men with an algae-woody backdrop, for a long time these two represented the new fresh breath of air that the Far East blew into the perfume scene, for me.  

Enter 10 years later and the 2002 edition of Parfum d'été substituted my lovely bottle with a more architectural, sparser design. At first, I was afraid that the repackaging was worse, and therefore the experience would be tarnished as well (though reformulations were not as big, nor as well known as nowadays, but the aesthetic was part of why the first edition had caught my eye in the first place). Thankfully I was soon proven wrong. The spicy green top note remains, as if a drop of galbanum had been dropped into a giant vat of lily of the valley materials with a side helping of my beloved hyacinth; cool, dewy, and sharp at first, delicate and whispering later on with musk remaining on the skin for a long time, though subtly perceptible. 

As fresh as tomorrow! If only we could graft this mood onto ourselves as well, sometimes...

Diptyque Fleur de Peau: fragrance review

The Diptyque story began in 1961 Paris at 34 Boulevard Saint-Germain with, at its heart, three friends driven by the same creative passion, who chose a Greek word which means a dual panel painting. Illustration was the very core of the founders, as Christiane Gautrot was an interior designer, Desmond Knox-Leet, a painter, and Yves Coueslant, a theater director and set designer. From then on, inspired by their Hellenic treks along the Greek peninsula and its mountainous terrain, and from their country cottage on the picturesque Mount Pelion, buried amidst thick fig trees all the way down the sea front, they launched several classics, from Virgilio to Philosykos. 

But the brand also presents a later day constellation of contemporary stars, like Eau Duelle and 34 Boulevard St.Germain. Picking just one is an Herculean task. The most sensual in the current rotation however is an easy choice. None other than Fleur de Peau. 

 Fleur de Peau relies on that rarity of the "musky idea": it harnesses the vegetal musks from angelica archangelica and ambrette seed oil, flanking them with ambrettolide, a macrocyclic musk which shares properties with ambrette seed and aids diffusion and lasting power. Thus the somewhat nutty, with a hint of berry, slightly sweaty and oddly metallic fusion of the properties in those fine musks gains the upper hand and makes Fleur de Peau very sensuous. 

Backed up with classic starchy iris, and carrot seed, which aids the earthy, starchy effect, it creates a cocoon of scent on the skin; it's as if the Platonic idea of sensuality has landed on our shores. The delicacy of vegetal musk with the central chord of pink pepper and rose recalls the refinement of Les Exclusifs de Chanel No 18 Chanel, and Musc Nomade Annick Goutal, two other fragrances with ambrette seed oil tucked into their heart of hearts. A quiet sensuality that does not plunge its décolleté low.

 

Fleur de Peau is soft, tenacious, with a discreet but perceptible sillage, radiant and glorious indeed. One of the better launches by Diptyque in recent years.

Frederic Malle Portrait of a Lady: fragrance review

 Portrait of a Lady in the line Editions des Parfums Frederic Malle is named after the homonymous novel by Henry James from 1881; a romantic detail which never fails to stir the imagination as related to fragrance. The novel tells the story of Isabel Archer, a young American heiress who "affronts her destiny". Dealing with one of James' recurrent themes, an American in Europe (as in Wings of the Dove), and the differences between the two cultures, The Portrait of a Lady is a tale of the conspiracy to separate Isabel from her fortune, and subsequently  the value of autonomy and accountability.

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The olfactory inspiration however has little to do with ladies, and lots to do with the burgeoning trend, set years before with Serge Lutens opening Les Salons de Palais Royal (find the perfume addresses of Paris here), of Arabian-inspired perfumery. Portrait of a Lady, by perfumer Dominique Ropion, deals with a rose note and spices in a new, contemporary way that varies between the oriental and chypre theme with patchouli, natural and intense, dominating the heart of the composition.

It is interesting to compare and contrast two rose-centric fragrances in the Malle collection, Portrait of a Lady and Une Rose. The Damascus rose makes itself felt in the former, while Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle Une Rose, created by Edouard Flechier, contains a record 1% of the expensive absolute of the Rose de Mai, a more crystalline, more citrusy variant, which is hereby allied to a chord smelling like truffles to give it an earthy, fleshy quality.

Rose and patchouli is a classic combination, memorized by every amateur perfumer like a mantra, and used by every professional one, revered for the ability of the latter essence to make the former seemingly bloom out in all eternity; keeping it moist, green, fresh, and yet at the same time dark, thorny and dangerous. L'Artisan Parfumeur's Voleur de Roses is a great example of the synergy of the two, with a minty, camphoraceous patchouli creating something totally unexpected for a rose fragrance, which is so often left to smell prim and proper like bath products.

The damascones present in rose, also make up a significant part as the component of the smell of raspberries, as well as tobacco. The tying of Turkish rose with raspberry in Portrait of a Lady, and underscoring it with honeyed facets and smoky incense, creates ooomph. Volume, projection, a flaming red tongue wagging to everyone in the vicinity commanding respect. 

This is no shy lady. Beware! Her skin is ivory, the rose is blood red, her person is on the cusp of hot and cold. Like in the song Herrin de Fueurs, she has "hair of copper, like a chestnut tree in flames" and "name and blood from the innermost of the earth."

 

Fragrant notes for Portrait of a Lady:  Turkish rose, raspberry, black currant, cinnamon, clove, patchouli, sandalwood, incense, ambroxan, benzoin and white musk

L'Artisan Parfumeur Mure et Musc: fragrance review

Berries are an especially pliant fruity note in perfumes; no less because a certain group of synthetic musks has a berry undertone. The classic Mûre et Musc by L'Artisan Parfumeur paved the way in as early as 1978. The passionfruit focus of Escada's own Chiffon Sorbet didn't come out of the blue either: Guerlain's Nahéma (1978) brought a saturated fruity mantle to the central rose lending sonorous timbre. 

 

The idea for using this fruit in fragrance was conceived by Jean Laporte, the founder of the small niche brand of the pioneering group of artisan perfumers of the 1970s, L'Artisan Parfumeur. His little wonder of innovation from 1978, Mûre et Musc, still seduces its audience just as much over 40 years later. Discreet and gentle, Mûre et Musc was almost hippy-ish in its innocent naivety. The fresh tanginess of citrus (comprised of lemon, orange, and mandarin with a hint of spicy basil) complements the blackberry, enhancing the sweetish trail with a musky base note that lingers for a very long time on skin and on clothes.

Flanked with raspberry ketone, blackcurrant bud, and Galaxolide (a clean smelling musk), this structure would be simple, direct, innocent, sweetish, and tart in equal degrees, and captivating to those harboring the same memories in their heart of hearts! He succeeded with Mure et Musc, a huge cult phenomenon which gave rise to a constellation of berry musks that took the market by storm and formed the springboard for many young girls to jump into the realm of fine fragrance.

But why did it become so special in people's minds that even drugstores came to order their own blackberry-musk mix for their not-especially sophisticated clientele? "Its cottony-fruity notes that melt flawlessly to the skin. It's a close-to-the-skin perfume, which brings people in," to quote Jean-Claude Ellena who oversaw the commemorative editions that reprised the theme decades later for the, now owned by a conglomerate, L'Artisan Parfumeur. The original's cute innocence and come-hither subtlety still beguile the young at heart.

 

 

Penhaligon's The Favourite: fragrance review

The Favourite is the latest fragrance by British brand Penhaligon's and the story behind it is inspiring. It involves as its protagonist Sarah Churchill, the Duchess of Marlborough (who had an intriguing story), and allegedly the favourite of Queen Anne's in 18th century England. They were formidable women, full of inner strength and conflicting passions, which history does not fully gives credit for. The fragrance is not entirely matching to this background, being more delicate and traditionally pretty than anticipated, though that's not necessarily a problem for those intending to wear it. 

An English courtier, Sarah rose to be one of the most influential women of her time through her close friendship with Anne, Queen of Great Britain. Sarah's friendship and were widely known, and leading public figures often turned their attentions to her, hoping for favor from Anne. By the time Anne became Queen, Sarah’s knowledge of government and intimacy with the queen had made her a powerful friend and a dangerous enemy. She was also married to the general John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough, hence her title, so she was accommodated in powerful relations from all sides, one could claim.

photo by Elena Vosnaki

Perhaps the big velours bow in light, sugared almond pink on the bottle is best translating this effect. It's a cloud of fragrance surrounding you with prettiness, light yet persistent, like a ray of sunshine on a warm morning. Innocuous yet pleasant. 

The formula by perfumer Alienor Massenet lies on a fruity floral chord, with an appealing and sunny aspect of what comes off to me as litchi at first. It's beautifully rendered, never too sweet, never air-headed, on the contrary tender and soft and leading to a beautiful garland of violets. These violets walk hand in hand with the rose in the heart; their temperament is balanced and they do not lean either candy-ish, nor vegetal, like violets swathed in their foliage which hides their character into verdancy. The violet-rose combination in The Favourite by Penhaligon's feels like the softest swan down puff for powdering your nose, which is apparently what lots of the ladies and gentlemen of the era were doing. Of course analytical chemistry is what we have to thank for the perceived association of violet molecules, ionones, being considered powdery and smelling cosmetic-like in the last 120 years. But it's a small historical detail that would distract from the ethereal character of The Favourite. The copious musk and mimosa/benzaldehyde components, that bring forth an intimate underground for the floral fruity core, are the finishing trail which reveals it was not all fun and games at the royal court. 

Read more on the Perfume Shrine:

Ionones and the Notes of Violets

Best Violet Fragrances Guide

Top Rose Fragrances & Rose-Scented Products

Mimosa and Cassie: Perfumery Material

Penhaligon's fragrance news & reviews

Gucci Memoire d'Une Odeur: fragrance review

A comrade of mine in fragrance said, taking the 2019 fragrance launches in retrospect, "In today’s world, chamomile will never be a major perfume trend, unless this world does a 180 degree turn. It’s not that its extracts smell bad: it’s the mythology that comes with it. The most successful things in modern perfumery are sensual — white flowers, sweet stuff. Chamomile, with its tea and eczema cream connotations, is about as sensual as baby's colic. So, no sex in chamomile, but a lot of other things — calm, serenity, memories (hence the name of Gucci’s perfume.) Memories of that field behind Grandma’s house, of that distant time someone special took such good care of you." She was talking about Gucci Mémoire d’une Odeur, i.e. memory of a smell.

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The fragrance was an innovation based on a concept by the new creative director at Gucci, Alessandro Michele, whom we have to thank for the innovative outlook that gave us recently niche-quality smelling Gucci Guilty Absolute for men and the worthwhile Gucci Bloom collection of scents.

 “Everything comes from my obsession with scents: my memory is primarily olfactive so, for me, my sense of smell is my memory. I thought that, deep down, perfume is that thing that even with your eyes closed, brings you to a precise moment in space and time. When we began to work on Gucci Mémoire d’une Odeur, I tried to imagine the recollection of a scent that couldn’t easily be identified; a hybrid scent that resembles memory as much as possible”..

Gucci Mémoire d’une Odeur is an elixir that transcends gender by its individuality, to establish a new olfactive family, Mineral Aromatic. The transcendent accord features unexpected and enigmatic ingredients, and is defined by a note of Roman chamomile.
Alessandro Michele envisioned this particular flower inside the scent, blended by master perfumer Alberto Morillas.

The famous perfumer mentioned upon launching that ”the musky mineral accord is the keystone of the fragrance: it links all the other olfactive elements together with pure softness. I had to think quite carefully about why Alessandro chose chamomile. When I started to work with the scent of chamomile itself, then I understood. “No one had done it before. Chamomile is known all over the world. Everyone has smelt it at some point, but as a dream, a memory of childhood, something timeless, and never in a fragrance. This flower is much underestimated and is a plant with an exceptional olfactive signature.”

 I'm thinking that the world has since indeed done a 180 degree turn, nothing is the same anymore, and the feeling of someone taking good care of us is such a precious, precious thought that Gucci's Memoire d'une Odeur has become sort of an amulet against evil. Its softly musky, clean trail is a promise of a happy ending in a tangled bedtime story.

Memoire d'une Odeur by Gucci is a special breed apart, even among modern fragrances. A most refined, botanical take on the clean whisper of a scent of woods and chamomile that can be so popular for discreet company. The scent is best retained on fabric (and paper); it tends to seemingly vanish on the skin in a short time which prompts complaints from consumers. In reality it's still there, but the big musk molecules are too large to be perceptible by some individuals.

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 The sparse bottle is inspired by a vintage Gucci fragrance bottle discovered by Alessandron Michelle and used for Mémoire d’une Odeur’s bottle. Grooved like a column from an ancient world, the bottle casts a refined silhouette in heavy transparent light green glass, crowned with shiny gold cap. Printed gold foil frames the label, revealing the Gucci logo together with the name of the fragrance.

“The packaging comes from the past, inspired by an old Gucci perfume from the early 90s. I didn’t want the bottle to take on a shape or size that is too feminine or too masculine because the perfume could be very much for women or very much for men,” said Alessandro Michele.

What can we say? We're smitten.