Lancome Poeme: fragrance review & musings

 

Even after thirty years since the launch of Lancome's Poême ads in glossy magazines, those images with poetic lines and the expressive face of actress Juliette Binoche (well known from The Lovers on the Bridge, Three Colors: Blue, The English Patient and the adaptation of Wuthering Heights), as shot by Richard Avedon, are etched into memory and continue to produce sighs of elation from perfume lovers around the world.

 According to the official launch, "Poême is a scent of contrasts: the icy transparent notes of Blue Himalayan Poppy embrace the intoxicating Desert Datura Flower and warm Vanilla, creating something vibrant, sensual, and long-lasting." At the time, no one had any solid information to doubt perfume blurbs coming from sales assistants. Nowadays the information is so vast and nuanced that it might even kill information. No one would be so trusting now. Instead of blue, the deep crocus-hued yellow of the carton box tells the story. The fragrance smells yellow, sweet, dense — it is mellifluous. The reality is that Poême is a scent choke-full of orange blossoms, honeyed and rich and plush. 

Perfumer Jacques Cavallier Belletrud took a well-known ingredient and skyrocketed its effects with the touch of a true illusionist. Mimosa is also a component that contributes to its plush yet non-carnal effects. 

   "Parfois les mots ne disent pas tout…" — "Sometimes words don't say it all..." 

 Sunny like a warm afternoon spent in the glow of a happy encounter with a loved one. Lyrical like a musical piece floating in the air from a nearby impromptu street orchestra. Delicious the way floral fragrances can be, Lancome's Poême is dense without veering into the saccharine territory of modern fragrances. It's honeyed, dripping with sweetness, yet not the edible kind, rather the nectar hidden under the pollen and the stamen, ripe for harvesting by thick bumblebees, the kind we don't readily see anymore. 

Poême is wildly optimistic and makes me deliriously happy when I can taste it in small quantities, preferably when someone else is wearing it. The inclusion of lactone/ketone notes in a fruity-floral context adds a hint of peach smell to the scent pyramid, while velvety vanilla softens the explosive floral heart and lingers for hours or days on clothes. The hour of the golden encounter is perched in -seeming- eternity. A hint of narcissus and of miniscule spice adds to the fascination.

Balmain Carbone 2024: fragrance review

 

Les Éternels de Balmain perfume collection, which the new Carbone is part of, is the house’s first offering since officially launching Balmain Beauty in September. Several classics by Balmain are re-introduced, such as Vent Vert (a modernisation of the couturier's first legendary green fragrance from the 1940s and the favourite fragrance of the then young Brigitte Bardot), Ivoire (1979), Ébène (1983), and Carbone (2010), albeit all with a changed formula, equating to a different scent. 

 The latest edition of Carbone (2024), part of the Musk family, is described as Balmain's new creative director Olivier Rousteing's "baby," and when such pronouncements are made you know there is something that has definitely changed in an older fragrance being re-issued. The new Carbone from 2024 is therefore described as "the heady mix of tobacco, suede, cumin and rose and is already beloved by Beyoncé, Dove Cameron and Olivier's mother." Dove Cameron has been video-scoped sporting the 1945 Balmain clutch bag containing the Carbone fragrance to let this seep in. 

 Carbone 2024 by Balmain is a fragrance that drives the quest for identity. "Housed in a lacquered signature black bottle, it reflects all facets of individuality with an assertive duality of maximalist musk and minimalist rose. The fragrance features white musk, rose neoabsolute [sic], suede, patchouli, sandalwood, and cumin, creating a complex scent where pure and carnal elements unite," states the brand. It's not easy to come up with a novel rose these days, when roses have been typified into two main camps. On the one hand the rose-patchouli-oud mélange of the Arabian tradition meant for westerners who want some bang for their buck and the promise of 1001 Nights enfolding in their evening life, as begat by the commercial and critical success of Portrait of a Lady. To me the new Balmain feels like an effort to bridge both categories above; it's soft, but also retains a more shady tonality. It's not entirely masculine, but it's not froufrou feminine either. Although one might consider it dangerous because of the cumin mentioned in the pyramid, it is not dirty, really, it just has a sensuous quality to its rosiness; it's not the screechy kind. It is not ground-breaking either. 

Balmain's Carbone 2024 is intended to appeal to a very wide demographic, case in point being promoted via celebrities that people want to emulate. And this is maybe its major flaw: When trying to please everyone, one doesn't excite anyone enough.

Balmain Carbone 2024 Fragrance Notes: White Musk, rose, suede, sandalwood, cumin, patchouli

Zadig & Voltaire This is Her: the mysterious jolt of Ambroxan and Lactone

 

Cecilia Bönström, artistic director of Zadig & Voltaire, told wwd at the time of This is Her! and This is Him! launch that the idea was to break from what already existed on the market and "to find a balance of something really clean and something darker, more mysterious." The woody, floral, and gourmand This is Her!, signed by perfumer duo Sidonie Lancesseur and Michel Almairac, contains notes of pink pepper, Sambac jasmine, silkwood blossom, milky chestnut, whipped cream, vanilla, cashmere woods, and sandalwood. 

photo borrowed from pinterest

It's all very soft, tender, plush... creamy, like a dessert or maybe a body lotion? I think therein lies the riddle. Although This is Her! masquerades as a gourmand fragrance with all those sweet and edible references in the given notes, in reality, the composition reveals one characteristic that is overlooked. The lactonic impression is, in reality, translating as... metallic. Clean and a little bit shrill. With lots of starched musks (Cashmeran adding a shredded sensibility of salty epidermis) and a layer of abstract floralcy the way Noa by Cacharel or Classique by Gaultier are abstractly plush, feminine, soft, and dreamy. 

 Any woodiness (Ambroxan mainly) is interpreted the way Artificial Intelligence would interpret the picture of woods. Indeed this is all due to the Ambroxan that lies hidden in the formula and the Cashmeran (cashmere woods) in the given notes of the pyramid, with its salty-clean musky-woody appeal. This is part of the charm, as most women would object to much woodiness in their everyday fragrance; they tend to associate it with masculinity or sobriety. But formulas reminiscent of body lotion with musky garlands and irone-rich laces? And a little bit vanilla? They're mad for them! 

The whipped milk construct is especially comforting presented as such, since the term "milk" might refer to edible milk pudding, but also body milk products. Milk also connotes life-sustaining breast milk, the Milky Way, and even droplets of semen in outré works of art bordering on pornography. The mental interplay between "deserving to indulge" but also "deserving to pamper myself" is, in my opinion, the crux of the matter, what makes This is Her! so commercially successful. The eyes interpret the white contours, the startling black lettering of hip and cool upon this unspoiled canvas, the mind reads the indulgent presentation of olfactory effects, and then the nose and skin recognize immediately the familiarity of skin-scent effects that work their well-known magic, acting as an insulating cocoon against the cruel world outside. That's how you build a best-seller for the masses, apparently.

Fragrant by Mandy Aftel: perfume book giveaway

More of a biographical mapping out of the discovery of a new career path and the richness with which it has gifted its author than a mainstream guide, Fragrant: The secret life of scent by Mandy Aftel is a fascinating journey into four key materials (cinnamon, incense, mint, jasmine and ambergris), their mystical significance, their aura, their historical pathway and with it the trajectory of natural perfumery. The book takes the form of a meditation on the sensuality and pleasure that natural materials offer, divided into 5 parts corresponding to each material) and a plea for the embracing of their sensuous capabilities in our increasingly sterilized world.

Aftel's Essence and Alchemy is already a perfume book classic, aimed at the fragrance enthusiast with the desire to learn (it includes a hands down approach to learning to build fragrant chords with natural essences and a classic fragrance pyramid structure tutorial a la Jean Carles), while Fragrant: The Secret Life of Scent is less of a traditional guide. Instead Aftel muses on several points on scent while adding tidbits that are always interesting and a handful of recipes for edible stuff that would make you see things in a new light. For that reason it would appeal to the novice, as it does not require special knowledge in order to follow its beautiful prose, but also to the more accomplished fragrance collector as a tome to stand proudly in their library.

You can order the book on Amazon at a special price.

I have a new hardback copy to share with a lucky reader. Please enter a comment below to be eligible. Draw is open internationally till Friday midnight.

Fragrance & Heat: Allies or Foes?

"Heat enhances the perception of fragrance," says Karyn Khoury, senior vice president for fragrance development for Estée Lauder Cos., who wears fragrance every day. Empirical data confirms this. Heated skin is skin which aids diffusion of smelly components and that includes both those which come naturally to us (apocrine gland products) and those which we put on ourselves on purpose. That might create a conundrum; does our body become "smelly" as in repulsive, or "fragrant" as in attractive? This double-edged sword needs some careful sharpening in order to cut to the chase in the best possible manner.

via

Marketing lore has cleverly played upon our most subconscious fears pertaining to smell. The implied innuendo of the much mentioned argument against a signature scent ("after a while you literally won't be able to smell it") is "think how horrible that will be on those around you!" A notion which isn't totally undramatic or unrealistic for the hotter months of the year. Notice too how sly they are into leaving it be hinted, without actually blurting it out: Because if you won't be able to smell it, why buy their product again anyway? It is exactly the perception of our human smell as such an intimate, personal thing, that the fear that the way we project our Homo sapiens projectiles might be repulsive to those around us is founded. It just wouldn't be the same with a visual example, something that can be tested with our eyes (this is why, for instance, recommendations for heatproof makeup products do not fall on deaf ears, like with the excellent one by The Non Blonde); and the fragrance industry knows it. After all, visual clues, illusionists' ones excluded, are unquestionable: either something is blue or it's not. But what is "good" and what is "bad" in olfactory terms? The confines are broader. And thus the perfume sale is sealed, transforming a possible "want" into a definite "need"!

Fragrance wearing is not an opaque layer of smell that stays the same throughout the day, thus inflicting odor perception blockage like it would if you were sitting in a chemical factory working every day to the same effluvium. Apart from the natural evaporation that would naturally occur, heat notwithstanding, fragrances are constructed in a purposeful way so that different elements come to the fore with warmth, friction or simply rate of evaporation of the molecules in question. Usually we refer to this as the classic "fragrance pyramid" of top notes, middle notes and base notes. Although not all fragrances are built that way (indeed, most are not nowadays), there is still a structure even in linear scents that creates a less or more intense scent that you catch whiffs of throughout the day.

Think about it: How many times have you surprised yourself by smelling your fragrance amidst a daily chore and thinking "this smells good"? Clearly, your nose blunts a bit after the initial swoosh, intense enough hence the occasional sneeze when first putting it on, but the peaks of scent are there to remind you of its presence and this nicely varieties with the weather conditions: now you catch it, now you don't; but you're not totally oblivious unless you're performing brain surgery, in which case what the hell are you distracting yourself with sensory stimuli for?

Citruses in particular share olfactory molecules with sweat thus rendering the scents complimentary to a heated body; we just hope it's clean sweat we're talking about! Some of the traditional Eaux de Cologne fragrances have become a classic exactly for that reason.

Guerlain has this down pat with their many excellent colognes such as Eau de Fleurs de Cedrat, Eau Imperiale and Eau de Guerlain, as do Roger & Gallet (their classic Farina-recipe cologne as well as the modern variations on the theme) and 4711 with their uber-classic formula. Goutal's classic Eau d'Hadrien is another hesperidic case in point, as ell as their slightly "darker" (but still quite sunny) Eau de Sud.  If you want to go upscale, look no further than Tom Ford's Neroli Portofino or Chanel's Eau de Cologne. Eau de Rochas used to be a beautiful composition with a twist thanks to a smidgen of patchouli under the freshness. The Roudnitska-authored Eau Fraiche for Dior (from the mid-1950s) was a spectacular case of a fresh scent which stood on an otherwise rich base of moss and warmer notes.

via

There are other elements however which can match our heated bodies and cancel out the dreaded "argh" factor of the clammy feeling. Lactones, molecules with a "milky" scent produced naturally in our bodies too as a result of protein decomposition, are also present in our apocrine products and in perfumery these ingredients are reflected in scents reminiscent of peach, apricot or coconut. Some fruity floral fragrances can be nice in the summer, as long as you don't carry it too far, becoming the Pina Colada yourself, instead of drinking it.
Things like monoi de Tahiti, tuberose, frangipani and ylang-ylang might be a siren song from creamy scents loving people. There's the traditional approach of scents mixing lush flowers and suntan lotion (Monyette, Bronze Goddess by Lauder, Guerlain Terracotta le Parfum, Kai etc.) and there's the quirky road-cut, like in Manoumalia by Les Nez or Amaranthine by Penhaligon's; these are both fragrances which literally "bloom" in the heat.

 Or there is the contrary approach; instead of complementing by mimicking, go for the opposite, cancel out by opposing. Powder-dry pitted against the muggy, sharp green instead of overripe apricot-yellow.

Chypre fragrances in general (a family built on the triptych of bergamot-labdanum-oakmoss) is a category which needn't be avoided in the summer. Their place of origin, reflected in their name (Chypre is French for Cyprus, the Mediterranean island) indicates that they were inspired by warm conditions and sunny skies. Thousands of women in Greece wear Aromatics Elixir by Clinique and the trail they leave behind is nothing short of beautiful and weather appropriate. I told you elsewhere that I personally go for Bandit EDP and Chanel No.19 EDT, so I shan't repeat myself.

Obviously you'd need to carefully monitor dosage and way of application, if you're to produce a similar effect, but, what I'm saying is, it can be done. Similarly you can pick chypre fragrances which focus on the drier, powdery smelling and more volatile elements instead of the heavier or animal-derived ones. Beautiful examples include the enigmatic Diorella, the ever crisp Cristalle by Chanel, the sylvan Coriandre by Jean Couturier, the dry as a bone Ma Griffe (Carven), the aristocratic Caleche by Hermes, the bitterish Eau de Campagne by Sisley which ushers the wind from the meadows …


Gentlemen who wear Chanel pour Monsieur, Neroli Sauvage by Creed and Guerlain's Vetiver do so for a similar reason to us ladies who don our more angular fragrances in the heat. The greener and cooly resinous scents (from vetiver, from galbanum, from angelica … ) naturally produce a refreshing feeling without resorting to the cliche of Calone (a synthetically produced note that smells of melon and defined the 1990s thanks to its use in "marine" scents).  Sometimes there's even an electric fizz and iodine rash into them; to wit, Goutal's Vetiver.

Some crisp leather perfumes can also be a great weapon in the arsenal of a discerning gentleman (ex. Gomma by Etro) as can be some airy incense fragrances (Kyoto by Comme des Garcons, Passage d'Enfer by L'Artisan Parfumeur, L'Eau Froide by Lutens). But perhaps the most dramatic shift in an incense scent happens to Etro's Messe de Minuit, an eau de cologne that really assumes its true character in the context of southerner, balmy nights, as it sheds its creepy, cool stony cathedral aspect to speak of hot tiles roasted in the sun and of resinous myrrh.

The game has plenty of choices: Eau de Monsieur by Annick Goutal, Encre Noire by Lalique, Malle's Angeliques sous la Pluie and Vetiver Extraordinaire. Several "fig" scents such as Philosykos, Premier Figuier (L'Artisan Parfumeur) or Figue Amere (Miller Harris) can be just as cooling as "sea notes" but with more intriguing points, revealed only on a hot day (like savory and fruity facets) keeping you glued to the plot even more than the average Agatha Christie paperback ever could.

The heat is on!


Please share your transformative heat-induced scent-shifting tales in the comments.

Ormonde Jayne Nawab of Oudh: fragrance review

I remember walking around an exhibition on Moghul India at the British Museum, resplendent in the opulence we associate with this particular region and time. The curlicued rupees bearing intricate names alongside triangular flags, ears of wheat and fishes were not strictly limited to Moghul rule, the curator explained; the Nawabs had seized control of their own regions by that time, issuing their own coins, but continuing to cajole the Mughal emperor by keeping his name on the currency. Similarly the latest India-inspired Ormonde Jayne fragrance, Nawab of Oudh, draws upon two different wells: the silk Banarasi saris of India, with their Moghul motifs and their heavy gold work, on one hand and the mystic Muslim tradition of roses and oud resin rising in the air from a censer at the mosques of Persia on the other.

Source: Uploaded by user via Melissa on Pinterest

Understandably, given those references, the perfume smells the way a metallic brocade looks: lush, rich, opulent, draped for elegance. But the artistry of perfumer Geza Schoen makes it modern and wearable too. Despite the by now tired trope of "oudh",  the note so often smelling more like a pack of Band-Aids than the exotic resin obtained by the pathological secretion of the Aquilaria tree when attacked by a fungus, there is none of that contemporary nonsense in Nawab of Oudh. There is a powdery, soft like cat's paws, ambery trail in the drydown, reminding me of Private Collection Amber Ylang (E.Lauder), which envelops the higher notes of green-citrusy brilliance into a cradle of plush. The distinction between phases (drawing upon the classical pyramid structure of perfumes) is here apparent, at least in a binary pattern: the introduction is distinctly separate from the prolonged (really impressively prolonged) phase of the drydown. In essence we have the interplay of raspiness and velvety softness, aided by the texture of the rose. Oud-laced roses have become a dime a dozen lately in niche perfumery, but I will withhold a place in my heart of Nawab of Oudh because it's so extraordinarily beautiful indeed.

And the name? How did it evolve and how does it unite those two worlds, India and the Middle East? Awadh or Oudh was a prosperous and thickly populated province of northern India (modern Uttar Pradesh), its very name meaning "capital of Lord Rama", the hero of the Ramayana epic. Its turmoiled history began with becoming an important province of the Mughal empire, soon establishing a hereditary polity under Mughal sovereignty; but as the power of the Mughals diminished, the province gained its independence. The opulence in the courts of the Nawabs (ruler kings of the Awadh, originating from a Persian adventurer called Sa'adat Khan) and their prosperity were noticed by the British East India Company, resulting in their direct interference in internal political matters, which reached its zenith in the eventual total loss of power by the Nawabs in 1856.

The official info on the scent by Ormonde Jayne runs thus: "Nawab (Ruler) of Oudh is a province of central India. Our perfume is inspired by the Nawabs who once ruled over it. It is a potent blend of amber and rose with a soft oudh edge. Yet surprisingly not one ingredient stands out from the others. It achieves a perfume synergy that defies traditional analysis, releasing a pulsating pungency, brooding and hauntingly beautiful, a rich tapestry of fascinating depths, a jewelled veil to conceal its emotional complexity and extravagance."

Notes for Nawab of Oudh:
Top: green notes, bergamot, orange absolute, cardamom, aldehyde.
Heart: rose, magnolia, orchid, pimento, bay, cinnamon, hedione.
Base: ambergris, musk, vetiver, labdanum, oudh.

Nawab of Oudh along with the rest of the "Four Corners of the Earth" collection by Ormonde Jayne, inspired by Linda Pilkington's travels, is exclusive to the London Ormonde Jayne boutiques at 12 The Royal Arcade and 192 Pavillion Road and at the Black Hall perfumery at Harrods.

Lady Gaga Fame: fragrance review

With the Fame fragrance we witness a grossly missed chance and a Shannon entropy in one: whereas we could have had a Maleficent or at the very least a Pippi Longstocking, we get Cinderella ("please make the good prince notice me"), all bets off in a mathematical variability into the consumer's collective unconscious. Fame by Lady Gaga operates on a false signal, emitting something else than expected, breaking the communication circuit in half (visual cues, olfactory profile) and redirecting half of the message into the void. No wonder the Gaga perfume is the no.1 best-seller at the local Sephora as of this moment; perfume briefs these days are directed with a slew of semiotics experts and communication analysts behind them.

Lady Gaga Lady gaga FAME

via fanpop.com

The official blurb mentions the structure being built on three main accords, instead of the classic fragrance pyramid: dark accord, sensual accord and light accord. The fragrance, though not at all unpleasant (I bet if it was issued by another less "controversial" celebrity, we wouldn't expect so much to begin with and might be pleasantly surprised), ultimately runs the gamut of predictability: Fame by Gaga begins fresh grape-berry-apricot with more sweetness than anticipated from such a menacing presentation (the bottle looks like it is caught in fangs or in the pliers of a lifting machine at some enchanted factory making human replicas, someplace, an idea reinforced by the commercial), segueing into a "clean" layer of "white flowers" we've smelled in our fabric softener and plug-in home fragrance.

There's even the parting hint of smokiness for the allusion to mystery, as if something pretty needs an injection of something else too to register as coming from the meat-dress wearing celebrity or it wouldn't fit at all.

The nifty detail of the black juice inside which doesn't stain clothes or skin, as it instantly vaporizes transparent, isn't totally new either: Boudicca Wode (and not Boedicea the Victorious as I had erroneously mentioned before!) had explored the path first with her blue-tinged eau de parfum.

On the whole: Color me unimpressed.

Cool artwork though by Steven Klein. Can't knock that.

Maison Francis Kurkdjian Exclusive Perfume BG 754 Perfume: new fragrance

Maison Francis Kurkdjian, Alexander McQueen and Christian Louboutin amongst the luxury brands that are celebrating Bergdorf Goodman 111 years anniversary in September.

"The luxury retailer turns 111 years old this year and will celebrate with a series of special events including a documentary film, a book and an anniversary collection of more than 100 exclusive products. The celebration will kick off Sept. 6 during the fourth annual Fashion’s Night Out with designer appearances and the debut at retail of the anniversary collection. Among the brands that are creating special merchandise are Alexander McQueen, which designed a ruched velvet dress; Christian Louboutin, which is doing pyramid-studded platforms; evening looks from Oscar de la Renta and Akris, and even an exclusive perfume called 754 from Maison Francis Kurkdjian."

pic via FK facebook, thanks to Tomassina/mua for finding this info nugget

Perfume Term: Linear Scents ~Deceptive Simplicity

One of the most common criticisms of a boring, unexciting fragrance among people who actually enjoy perfumes in general is that it is "linear", a scent that starts smelling one way and continues smelling that way till you can't smell it any longer. This description approximates to many people's minds a transliteration of the visual "dead line" on a hospital heart monitor; no highs or lows, just a uniform trajectory to nothingness... But is it always such a bad thing?
Occasionally you love a specific phase of your perfume (increasingly this is the top layer upon spraying, since contemporary fragrances try to capture the short-term, antagonism-driven attention span of the mall buying consumer). Don't you sometimes wish it would last throughout the entire duration of the scent's lifetime on your skin? Why are linear scents so scorned?

Perhaps because historically the first ~and most successful commercially speaking~ linear scents were of American origin (composed by European noses, such as Sophia Grojsman, Josephine Catapano or Ernest Shiftan, in US-labs for US companies catering to an international market). This is a kind of reverse snobbism on the part of perfume aficionados who favor French-ness over apple-pie & Coke homely runs. I hypothesize this is to blame for the en masse disregard of linear scents as a sign of crudeness, non sophistication, of "easy cuts". Classic French perfumes (for instance Bal a Versailles by Jean Desprez) usually follow the classic pyramidal structure of a fragrance which starts one way, progresses another to end on a quite different route than anticipated.

But having a dependable scent effect from start to finish is not to be dismissed so lightly; sometimes one needs to rely on a constant, as "what you smell is what you get"; the equivalent of the jeans & T-shirt girl with no makeup on, who men know will look exactly the same the morning after as when you bedded her. This applies just as much as other times we're seduced by the evolutionary arc of a complex perfume (the scents I call "morphers"), one which changes moods and messages as the hours go by; the romantic equivalent of a mr.Grey, if you will.
Constant olfactory emission of a specific impression is also an important -and technically necessary- aspect for other scented products besides fine fragrance; imagine if your air freshener, your depilatory or your hair dye had an undulating scent profile that would smell like one thing on minute #1 and another thing on minute #12. With these products stability of olfactory effect is crucial. This is where linear scents come in!

The basic principle
The nuts & bolts of linear scents creation generally relies on composing using similar volatility materials: i.e. either all high volatility ones (which results in a very fleeting effect, comparable to old, traditional cologne, that is not usual in modern perfumery) or all low volatility ones (resulting in a very dense, thick effect; this is often the case with resinous and balsamic formulae). The idea of volatility as a compass into composition comes from perfumer Jean Carles who in "A Method of Creation in Perfumery" put volatility of materials as the key quality on how to evaluate an aromatic material. Hence his introduction of the "fragrance pyramid" as a tool into educating the public into how perfume composition works in the classic manner, thus popularly diving the notes (a "note" is the characteristic odor of a single material) into "top notes", "heart notes" and "base notes".  As we have already showcased, the fragrance pyramid, much as it is touted as the be all and end all of perfume construction in pop culture filling beauty mags & generic online sites for the uninitiated, is not the only way of composing a fragrance.

The diverse character and origin of linear scents
Linear scents don't necessarily comprise solely eaux de Cologne or thick, primeval orientals, as mentioned above, depending on volatility of materials alone. For instance APOM Pour Homme by Maison Francis Kurkdjian has a tenacity and scope beyond a classic Eau de Cologne, but the effect is the same from start to finish: a clear orange blossom freshness put on speakers. White Linen  by Lauder is another; the projection of soapy, waxy aldehydes is piercingly sweet, retaining the character throughout the duration of the scent's life on skin or cloth, even though the fragrance consists of several elements that are interwoven masterly. Eternity by Calvin Klein is another one, as is Alien by Thierry Mugler or Montaigne by Caron.  Some fragrances created by true perfumery masters such as Jean Claude Ellena are technically linear: Poivre Samarkande, Ambre Narguilé, Vetiver Tonka and Rose Ikebana, all Hermessences exclusive boutique scents and haute in both concept & marketing project linearly. So does the stellar Terre d'Hermes. More esoteric fragrances, boutique-circuit or niche, also exploit this technique: The delicious Tonka Impériale by Guerlain is another linear perfume, as is Philosykos by Diptyque. Even older fragrances composed with none of the modern linear aesthetic end up smelling almost the same from start to finish: Bandit by Robert Piguet, thanks to the utilization of "bases" by its perfumer Germaine Cellier, ends up on a rather uniform trajectory from the stupendous beginning to the impressive end.
Perhaps an important differentiation would be not to confuse "linear" with "flat"; linear scents can project volumetrically instead of multi-dimensionally, but they possess the technical skill to retain interest by their abstract main accord that elevates them from mere "imitation" of a smell into an arresting sensory assault.

The technical twist
By focusing on the evaporation process rather than the odor character, it becomes possible to create a fragrance that can essentially maintain a uniform composition as it evaporates. Where it becomes really interesting is that the evaporative weight losses of these aroma materials are proportional to their vapor pressures (the vapor pressure calculated by Raoult's law which states that the vapor pressure of true solutions is dependent on the proportion of each component in the blend). Therefore it is easier to achieve linearity if the materials used have similar vapor pressure. Of course this means that some odor types are more suitable for this exercise, thus rendering linearity often a compromise on olfactory quality for technical performance. You see, sometimes the complaints of fragonerds are not entirely out of place!

But how can the vapor pressure of materials be manipulated into behaving as desired? Simple, though not as easy as one might think: by changing the solvents. Carrageenan and chlorophyllin gel bases were previously used in scented products where linearity was crucial (such as home fragrances), creating a sort of gelatinous non evaporating surface upon application decreasing the fragrance release with time, though the addition of nonionic surfactants was necessary for the aromatics to become soluble in the gelatinous base itself. This is also one of the reasons why all natural perfumes are so rarely constructed linearly: the restrictions in use of materials and solvents makes for a tougher process into linearity; the raw materials themselves are full of nuance and they are often crystalline or viscous presenting solubility issues.

A variation on the linear scent is the "prism"/prismatic fragrance, whereupon you smell a humongous consistent effect all right, but when you squint this or that way, throughout the long duration, you seem to pick up some random note coming to the fore or regressing, then repeating again and again; a sort of "lather, rinse, repeat" to infinity. A good example of this sort of meticulously engineered effect is Chanel's Allure Eau de Toilette (and not the thicker and less nuanced Eau de Parfum) where the evolution of fragrance notes defies any classical pyramidal structure scheme. There are six facets shimmering and overlapping with no one note predominating.

In short, the engineering of a perfume is sometimes much more technically and intelligently labored than appears at first sniff. Linear scents are never "simple", so to speak. Preferring a perfume that takes you into a wave of highs peaks & low valleys of differing "notes" is not in itself the mark of connoisseurship that it is touted to be. Let's give the best of the linear scents out there their due and let's respect their stubbornness of character for what it is, rather than merely lack of merit or of complexity.

Which are your own favorite linear scents? 


pics via yoshagraphics.com, basenotes.net (posted by hedonist222)

Lady Gaga Fame Black Fluid: new perfume (or When Gaga Goes to One's Head)

Lady Gaga, no stranger to provocation and shock-value has released her first celebrity scent. As you remember we had commented on the initial rumours surrounding Lady Gaga's celebrity scent. But now she has slipped some facts about it on Twitter and an over-enthusiastic fashion editor has also leaked photos of the bottle on the Net. So here it is, Fame Black Fluid by Lady Gaga!

Created in collaboration with Haus Laboratories in Paris, the ad copy of the perfume, mentioning "weird" and "rare" ingredients, is a meta-commentary on the contemporary flowery prose that pertains to new fragrance releases.
We've got Tears of Belladonna, the crushed heart of Tiger Orchidea, with a black veil of incense, pulverised apricot and the combinative essences of saffron and honey drops...the works!

click to enlarge

Another interesting aspect is how the perfume is technologically manipulated to be black in the bottle, yet turn to  invisible once it's airborne. The structure also defies any classical fragrance pyramid structuring, letting the ingredients reveal several different facets prismatically at the same time. The concentration is eau de parfum.
The bottle doesn't look too bad, that metal claw thing on top a menacing touch, though it could be a little awkward while using to spray.

All in all, sounds just like the thing from Lady Gaga! And, might I inject, much better than "smelling like an expensive hooker"...

Structure of a Perfume: What it is, How to Achieve it and the Myth of the Fragrance Pyramid

Consider flipping through a fashion magazine for a minute: Sandwiched between glossy pages of advertising with models in ecstatic surrender to the sheer beauty of any given potion of seduction, you will find editorial guides that teach you that fragrances are classified in olfactory "families" and that they develop like music "chords" into top notes, heart notes and base notes, built into a "fragrance pyramid": maximum volatility* ingredients first; medium-diffusion materials following them after the intial impression vanishes; tenacious, clinging for dear life materials last. That should make it easier, right? Well, not exactly.

 The thing is most contemporary fragrances are not built as neatly and the bulk of fragrance descriptors are written with a marketing consideration to begin with. It's not a plot to mislead, but the industry is still shrouded in mystery, offering a rough blueprint rather than an analytical Google map into the largely uncharted terrain of fragrance composition. After all, look what happens with "perfume notes"; we're given the effect in the press material but the real ingredient hiding behind the fragrance note is something else entirely.

So how does one go about it?

 The Fragrance Pyramid and Other Myths of Mysterious Structure 

 Recalling Pharaonic mysteries more than hard science the term "fragrance pyramid" entered the vernacular as a means to educate the public into how perfumes are actually constructed. It was legendary perfumer Jean Carles (Shiaparelli Shocking, Dana's Tabu and Canoe, Miss Dior) who used this stratagem to explain a perfume to an industry outsider. The "fragrance pyramid" concept embodies the classic three-tiered French structure of such great perfumes of yore as Ma Griffe by Carven (another Jean Carles creation) or Bal a Versailles (Desprez), where the denouement reveals distinct phases resembling a 3-D presentation. You get all different angles while the perfume dries down on the skin; a slow, engaging process to an often unexpected end.

 Consider too one of the tightest traditional perfume structures, the "chypre" (the name derives from the homonymous archetype perfume by Francois Coty, in turn inspired by the ancient blends from the island of Cyprus, i.e. Chypre in French): a harmonious blend (i.e. an accord) of bergamot (a citrus fruit from the Mediterranean basin), labdanum (a resinous extraction from rockrose) and oakmoss (a lichen from oaks). This compact form, like a musical sonata, has a clear progression of themes, from elegantly sour to resinous/sweet, down to mossy/earthy, but all work together in simultaneous harmony, becoming more than the sum of their parts. On top of this basic skeleton perfumers may add flowers, fruits, grasses or leather notes, giving a twist to this or that direction like a shift to a kaleidoscope; this allows them to flesh out the core's striking bone structure, just like makeup accents luscious lips and expressive eyes over solid jaws and prominent cheekbones.

Not every fragrance is built on the pyramid structure (or the "chypre accord" for that matter), nor is it a foolproof guide of deciphering a perfume's message. Guerlain's Après L'Ondée (1906) plays with the contrast of warm & cool between just two main ingredients: violet and heliotrope; the rest are accessories.

 Comparing Guerlain Shalimar (1925), Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps (1948) and Lancôme Trésor (1990) we come across three different styles of composing, of structuring a fragrance: The first is reminiscent of older-style fixation of natural ingredients (lots of bergamot) via the triplet of animal products (civet, an animal secretion), balsamic materials (benzoin, Peru balsam) and sweet elements (vanilla, tonka bean). The second is pyramidal. The third is almost linear, the same tune from start to finish, a powerful message on speakers.

 In linear fragrances the effect is comparable to the unison of a Gregorian chant: the typically fresh top seems entirely missing, replaced by trace amounts of intensely powerful materials boosting the character. Lauder's White Linen or Giorgio by Giorgio Beverly Hills are characteristic examples. Sophia Grojsman was in fact the one who introduced this minimalist style with maximalist effect, composing an accord of 4-5 ingredients that comprise almost 80% of the formula (as in Trésor, based on a formula originally made for herself). This accord was then flanked by other materials to provide richness and complexity. Times have changed, fragrance launches have multiplied like Gremlins pushed into the ocean and consumers' attention span has withered to a nanosecond on which to make a buying decision. No wonder contemporary perfumes are specifically constructed to deliver via a short cell-phone texting rather than a Dickens novel published in instalments in a 19th century periodical. Other considerations, such as robot lab compounding, industry restrictions on classical ingredients due to skin sensitising concerns and the minimalist school of thought emerging at the expense of Baroque approaches, leave recent launches with increasingly shorter formulae. But that's not de iuoro bad either. One of the masterpieces of perfumery, Guerlain's Mitsouko, consists of a short formula! A succinct, laconic message.

 Some fragrances are built like a contrapuntal Bach piece and others like Shostakovich: Comparing a fragrance by Jean Carles or Edmond Roudnitska with one from Sophia Grojsman or Jean Claude Ellena are two different experiences. That does not mean that contemporary perfumes are devoid of architectural merit. On the contrary. Refined compositions like Osmanthe Yunnan or Ambre Narguilé (both boutique-exclusive Hermès, called Hermessences) showcase the potential of this school. Structure is not only given by arranging the volatility of ingredients. It's how each material plays its delineated role into achieving the overall fragrance. Structure is consolidated by using the requisite materials and ratios to provide what is commonly referred to as "the bones" of a fragrance. Most often these materials happen to be synthetic, because they consist of a single molecule (in contrast a natural, such as rose absolute, can contain hundreds of molecules), they're stable and produce a closely monitored effect in tandem with other dependables.

For instance Grojsman's Trésor uses a staggering 21,4% of Galaxolide, a synthetic "clean"/warm smelling note. Jean Claude Ellena is famous for maxing out the technical advantages of woody-musky ingredient Iso-E Super in his fragrances for structure and diffusion.

In the end structural analysis is for the professionals. The wearer can experience the fragrance linearly, circuitously or languidly; it ultimately depends on his/her sensitivity, perception, attention-span and education.

ref: Robert R. Calkin, Joseph Stephan Jellinek, Perfumery: Practices & Principles, 1994 John Wiley & Sons
pic od ad coloribus.com

Tauer Perfumes Pentachords ~White, Auburn, Verdant: fragrance reviews

Indie perfumer Andy Tauer gets inspired by music scales into arranging his newest line of fragrances we're exclusively previewing on Perfume Shrine today on pentachords, that is to say 5 consecutive notes on the diatonic scale. Pentachords® by Tauer Perfumes (White, Auburn and Verdant) are arranged as elusively simple, but not simplistic, harmonies resembling rather pentagram chords: the whole only becomes powerful when each part falls into place. Or think of a pentagram in the place of the classic French fragrance pyramid; "an accord that changes from one corner of the scent’s pentagon over time".

In a way it's minimalism and music theoretics pushed to an elegant extreme, a concept that is refuted by some; Tauer's bravura if successful, a big risk if not. "The compression and limitation an incentive" as he says. How many ingredients are necessary for a satisfying perfume? Tauer can whip up something with only five molecules and the results are satiating enough to fool you into believing there's more than meets the eye; kinda like full-cream premium ice-cream composed by only a handful ingredients, instead of tons of frilly additives.
Andy envisioned them (back in February 2009)  like "a fragrance built around 5 pillars. The line of thought moved on towards a pentachord fragrance. A fragrance, or an entire line of fragrances, built with 5 components only that are one chord, a pentachord." [...] "For me, this is art in its purest form: mirroring nature, bringing it into a concept, and by doing so thinking about it and invite others to think about it and enjoy it."

The long-lasting nature of the Pentachord fragrances (easily 10 hours or more) also speaks of picking elements with deft selection: sorting out the formula must be difficult when you have to ditch something that creates a striking effect, but doesn't translate well in structure or tenacity, and vice versa. You also have to choose good, expensive ingredients to yield their best properties into the concept. Lovers of the familiar Tauer signature will find things to like, especially in Auburn, which takes the ambery depths of his more resinous fragrances to date (Le Maroc pour Elle, L'air du desert Marocain), but I predict he will get new fans in Verdant and White which present striking effects poised between lightness and darkness. They both made an instant impression on me due to their juxtaposition of freshness against meaty earthiness.
All of them could be worn by either sex easily, though you'd have to like soft, gentle fragrances to appreciate White and to handle the metallic-woody top notes of modern masculine fougeres to unlock the secrets of  Verdant.

• White (a floral woody musk) is built on "the clear melody of royal Iris" and you do get it, but it's so much more as well. The concept of Pentachords White fragrance began while the perfumer was jogging in the snowy landscape of the woods near Zurich: "we thought about violet, orris root, ambergris, wood, vanilla", he admits. If this combination sounds inviting, the fragrance should get you all excited!
  The intense beauty of very expensive Irone Alpha (6-methyl alpha ionone) by Givaudan vibrates at the cusp of orris root and violet flowers, creating a silvery, expansive imagescape: A fragrance of either the crack of dawn or the crepuscular drawing of a prolonged cool afternoon, the contrast between light and shadow. The unusual element in the White Pentachord lies into manipulating the powdery, wistful and yet also "fleshy" character of orris into a fluffy embrace, in this case built on vanilla (methylvanillin to my nose, a phenolic aldehyde) and clean musk with a hint of ambergris/ambrox (a beloved "note" in the Tauer Canon for its skin compatibility properties): The subtle, gentle warmth of the latter elements balances the sadness and coolness of the former into an uplifting arpeggio, like the first or last rays of sun flickering on sheets of white. The sweetness of the fruity edges of the irone and the vanilla are most detectable in the middle of the fragrance's progression, while the more the fragrance stays on skin, the more the woody-iris facets of the molecule reveal themselves. It's innocent and supremely soft, but not maudlin. In fact it might have been inspired by a classic hazy scent which Andy loves to wear: Habit Rouge, a cloud transported from the skies on the wings of opoponax. Here Tauer substitutes the core opoponax for the amazing Alpha Irone which dominates the fragrance and creates a comparable "flou" ambience.
  Tauer's White has me hankering for things I did not know I had a hankering for: Jogging in the cold-ringing air at the crack of dawn trying to catch the first rays reflected in the white-spotted trees, warm milk in my thermos, or putting on warm pyjamas in bed, sipping violet pastilles and bringing down my teddy-bears again for a little cuddling session, years after they moved to the attic. It's a truly lovable fragrance that is sure to have many enamoured of it.

• Auburn (a spicy oriental) is presented as "the cupric warmth of cinnamon" and lovers of the compositions where Tauer smacks opposite his beloved mandarin citrus note resins (such as in L'air du desert Marocain, Une rose Vermeille, Incense Rosé) will smile with a smile of cognition: This is familiar ground, pared down to the necessities for this occasion. Amyl cinnamyl acetate gives a cinnamon note, while the amber-tobacco effect reinforces the oriental impression. It feels coppery and juicy. The citrus note is succulent, sweet rather than tangy, reminiscent of Orange Star, the heart sports hydroxycitronellal for expansion and a honeyed linden blossom note, while the background is deep, woody and ambery; a statement fragrance in the mold of modern orientals. Even though Auburn reads pleaurable as always ~Tauer is a master in arranging resinous, labdamum oriental accords~ it feels like already treaded ground and gives me the impression it was the last one to get developed; possibly as a need to tally the line into three different style offerings, or as a choice between some more additions that felt less representative of varying families and were thus kept for the follow-up. But that is only my guess and it does not detract from the fun that loyals to the "Tauerade" base will derive from it.

• Verdant (an aromatic green) represents "the lush green of ivy forests" and if you have ever dreamt of living in one of those country houses festooned with climbing ivy, shading it and keeping it cool, you're right there. The effect is photorealistic, from the water drops gleaming on the verdure, to the tangled growth & soil underneath replete with the gardener wearing leather gloves while trimming the branches. But what is most interesting to me in Pentachord Verdant is that in fact I smell an effect that strongly reminds me of woody vetiver fragrances: a nutty, oily rich, tobacco-laced earthy note which contrasts and compliments at the same time the greenery and grassy feel. It reminds me of Vertofix coeur (methyl cedryl ketone, a IFF ingredient) with its leathery vetiver facets, with an added sweet hay note of coumarin and rum-licorice which goes exceptionally well. The violet leaves come off metallic and bluish at the beginning, a tad sharp and androgynous (in the manner of Balenciaga Paris or Verte Violette), a jarring striking contrast, while the progression veers into warmer, ambery-leathery tonalities that create a warm pipe fantasy. If you like Vetiver Tonka and apreciate the sharp violet leaf freshness of modern masculines/unisex scents, this is a conversational piece to get you started in an engrossing discussion on modern perfumery. I find it a very interesting fragrance indeed.

The flacons for the Tauer Pentachords follow the pentagram design he already has introduced with Zeta, Orange Star and the rest of the latest releases, but in transparent glass with varying hues of coloured labels in white, copper and petrol green. The Pentachords line by Tauer Perfumes is only available at Campomarzio in Rome at the moment. They will launch more widely after the Pitti fragrance exhibition in September 2011.

Painting on top by Claude Monet. Pic of bottles via duftarchive.de In the interests of full disclosure, I got sent trial samples from the distributor.

Season Specific Fragrance Wardrobe & "Rotate Your Scent so You Don't Stop Smelling it": Fiction or Fact?

Surely all of you have heard/read these lines time and again: "You must change your fragrances from season to season to get a better effect". And: "You want to avoid wearing the same fragrance all the time, because after awhile you literally won't be able to smell it - that's just the way the sense of smell works. If you have several fragrances, you can alternate between them and avoid "getting used to" the way they smell. Add fragrances to your collection periodically so you have a nice selection that you can choose from". Great! It's not enough to just find something that suits you; perfume selling stuff, fragrance companies and glossies have persuaded you that it's a most difficult task and you need expert advice ~their advice~ to get the ball rolling. "Feel fresh and relaxed with moisturising body soap and men's perfume",  magazines say."You need to rotate your scents".

Now you need to find several of those, to comply with changes in season, weather conditions, occasions, mood, hormone imbalances and match it to your nail polish shade and your earrings. I'm of course kidding. All this received advice, which has been reiterated for decades to the point we've all believed it, is pure and utter bullshit; a myth, if you will. And I will prove to you why.

The main argument in favour of changing your perfumes from day to day is so your nose doesn't become too accustomed to it and you risk not smelling it on yourself any more". True, it's a scientific proven fact that our nose becomes acclimatised to existing odours after a few minutes so that it's ready to pick up alerting odours. It's the hunter-gatherer's gene: big predator is approaching; that bog is poisoned, better not drink water off it; something is badly burning, could it be the thatched roof on my hut? That said, the artificial corrolation of that fact with perfume use bears little logic. Fragrance wearing is not an opaque layer of odour that stays the same throughout the day, thus inflicting odour perception blockage like it would be if you were sitting in a chemical factory working every day to the same effluvium. Apart from the natural evaporation that would naturally occur, fragrances are constructed in a purposeful way so that different elements come to the fore with warmth, friction or simply rate of evaporation of the molecules in question. Usually we refer to this as the classic "fragrance pyramid" of top notes, middle notes and base notes. Although not all fragrances are built that way (indeed most are not nowadays), there is still a structure even in linear scents that creates a less or more intense scent that you catch whiffs of throughout the day. Think about it: How many times have you surprised yourself by smelling your fragrance amidst a daily chore and thinking "this smells good"? Clearly, your nose blunts a bit after the initial swoosh, intense enough hence the occasional sneeze when first putting it on, but the peaks of scent are there to remind you of its presence: now you catch it, now you don't; but you're not totally oblivious unless you're performing brain surgery, in which case what the hell are you distracting yourself with sensory stimuli for?


I have tried the practice of wearing the same scent for weeks on end myself as an experiment to see whether I would stop smelling it on myself several times (usually involving either Opium, Bandit, or Diorling) and the amount used and enjoyment derived never fluctuated; instead the continuous use allowed me intimate knowledge of the fragrance in question, something which could not be done if I was being fickle continuously. Not all days were the same while going the course, but at the end of each session I was not more oblivious to my scent than when I started. Perhaps getting people to change fragrance all the time avoids exactly this pitfall: they might realise just what utter dreck some of the products on the market are and never return to buy them! But wait, the fragrance industry has cornered that as well: "By the time you get bored with this one, we will have a new collection in the store", a line which makeup sale assistants have been using for ages. It seems like perfumes have become seasonal makeup items as well. Witness the hundreds of flanker fragrances (scents of the same brand coat-tailing on a bestseller's success with minimal change in name and packaging). And the tsunami of fragrance launches in the last 10 years: In the worlds of Oscar Wilde "Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months."

But even if that weren't enough, maketing lore has cleverly played upon our most subconsious fears pertaining to smell. The implied innuendo of "after awhile you literally won't be able to smell it" is "think how horrible that will be on those around you!" Notice how sly they are into leaving it be hinted, without actually blurting it out: Because if you won't be able to smell it, why buy their product again anyway? They could have said, "you're not going to enjoy the scent as much after you put it on day in day out", but they don't, they say "you won't be able to smell it on yourself". Smell, not enjoy. As in "you smell!", aka a negative connotation. Because the perception of our human smell is such an intimate, personal thing, there is the fear that the way we project our homo sapiens projectiles might be repulsive to those around us. It just wouln't be the same with a visual example and they know it. Visual clues are unquestionable unless you're blind: either something is blue or it's not. But what is "good" and what is "bad" in olfactory terms? The confines are broader. And thus the perfume sale is sealed!

One of the easiest ways of cementing the need for a fragrance wardrobe is the concept of "a seasonal fragrance wardrobe". This is mainly because if you notice the bulk of the sales of perfume products happens in the temperate zone and not some sub-Saharan savvanah. The change in seasons in such places is dramatic enough that this seems like it makes sense. And yet we know that sometimes ambers bloom in the summer and florals can be icy and full of luster in the dead of winter. "Heat enhances the perception of fragrance," says Karyn Khoury, senior vice president for fragrance development for Estée Lauder Cos., who wears fragrance every day. "It warms up the skin and intensifies the diffusion of fragrance so you smell it more." (as reported by Beatrice de Gea in The Wall Street Journal) "When spring arrives, women may want to tone down perfumes so they aren't overwhelming. Ms. Khoury often leaves behind the deeper, richer scents of the winter months, such as patchouli and cedar wood, and instead seeks out fragrances with lighter touches—'citrus notes like mandarin, lemon and grapefruit, dewy green notes, things that smell like leaves or fresh-cut grass, lighter tropical florals like gardenia petals' she says." Khoury is responsible for mega sales of fragrance for decades, so she is a decathlon champion talking about running; you know there's a reason.

Historically speaking, the idea of changing your fragrance all the time, the concept of a fragrance wardrobe, didn't appear but very recently, in the middle of the 20th century actually. Perfume lost its prophylactic function in Western society when Pasteur made his discoveries, while it had almost entirely lost its sacred function way before that, so it became a middle-ground between craft, art and product. In Tilar Mazzeo's book The Secret of Chanel No.5, the cultural researcher notes that it was in the 1950s that consumer goods advertising firms started applying the expertise of psychologists, who realised that "any product [...]must appeal to our feelings". The idea that what mattered to consumers were images, especially images of self, was exploited to good effect: Perfume by its very nature explores an idea of self and to instigate that idea into its marketing is genius because it's something that can be used both for the championing of a signature scent ("this is me at its purest form") and for the necessity of a fragrance wardrobe ("these are my different facets, I'm not that simple")! Really brilliant, isn't it? It can also consolidate brand loyalty. Don't believe me or think it's counterintuitive? Just Google Images for "fragrance wardrobe". Oodles of pics of Chanel coffrets with a predetermined selection of mini parfums of their portfolio comes up. Several other houses issue their own "collection" so as to instill a sense of finding the scents you need for different moods and needs within the same brand.

Men who are ~bless their hearts~ such a saner creature in what concerns shopping practices ~apart from cars and electronics of course, but that's another fodder for another day~ consider the concept of having to change your fragrance all the time an exercise in consumerism and a sure indication that women are victims of wallet manipulation. The Western world female of 20-40 years of age is the most ferocious consumer of them all and thus the prime target of advertisers. As displayed on Beaut.ie blog, men just don't "get it". But the women commenting provide all manner of justification! One reason might be that it's so totally fun to play with several fragrances, an epiphany that came to me when I had abandonded my idea that I should only have about twenty full bottles in rotation in case they spoil; why not bring them all out? A signature scent might be a most romantic, evocative idea, but in the end playing with a variety of fragrances allows a certain -otherwise denied- playfulness to surface, a playfulness that is sometimes a springboard of sanity in this tough world we're living in. Other people just have the collector gene in them. I know I'm one. It doesn't matter if it's paper-clips, stationery or perfume bottles of rare compositions, it brings on the completist in you.

But that is one thing and being told that we NEED to do it, otherwise the repurcussions will be unpleasant, are two very different things! I hereby proclaim my right to change my fragrance ~when and how and if I want to~ because it's fun and exciting to me and not because they tell me I have to. What about you?

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: On the flip side of the coin; the indefinable allure of a signature scent

Photo of Faye Dunaway from the set of Bonnie & Clyde. Perfume collection pic via fracasnoir.com. Nude in black & white photo by Willy Ronis.

Laboratorio Olfattivo Esvedra: new fragrance by Pierre Guillaume

News fresh from Esxence, Italy, where the artistic exhibition for niche perfumery is taking place as we speak: Talented perfumer Pierre Gauillaume, well known for his "numerical" personal line Parfumerie Générale (established in 2002), and author of the Huitième Art project, created a new opus, called Esvedra, under the Laboratorio Olfattivo aegis.(An Italian niche line, promisingly established in 2009 with the motto “emotional experiences that come to life through our sense of smell").

The name Esvedra derives from within the geographical confines of the Mediterranean sea: Es Vedrà is a Balearic island a mere 2 km off the western coast of the cosmopolitan isle of Ibiza, in the area of Cala d'Hort. The island is a nature reserve, comprised almost solely of limestone, yet considered of a significant magnetic energy in folk lore. Let's not forget that for centuries the western edge of the Mediterranean was considered the end of the world and that sea tales concerning its many maritime wonders captured the imaginations of poets (producing the Odyssey, the Aeneid) and common folk alike.

The olfactory focus is vetiver, but Pierre proposes a new take, as he says: "It's an irregular vetiver, fractalized which expresses a magnetic green facet, sensual and luminous with accents of lemon petit-grain and coriander leaves". He envisioned it as a perfume that proposes a different structure than the classical top-middle-base notes pyramid, as all of the ingredients are truly contained within the centre of the composition. You could call it linear I guess or core-focused.

Notes for Laborattorio Olfattivo Esvedra: Nevenolide, vetiver, petit-grain from lemon trees, coriander leaves, musk.

Esvedra will be available in Eau de Parfum concentration (12%) in 100ml bottles soon. To buy when available watch this space.

Es Vedra picture at sunset via wikimedia commons

thanks to extrait.it for the in situ reportage