From Cordoba in Spain to the foothills of the Atlas Mountains...Leather tanning is an ancient and refined art and the fragrances which utilize this slightly primitive, animalic scent of the hides have been the fascinating milieu of some of the most sophisticated perfumes in the history of perfume-making. The wild scent of tallow teams with the smouldering, tarry aroma of black birch and the powerful accord of Russian hide gives way to the smoother notes that evoke the matte beige lightness and softness of suede. Giorgio Armani, no stranger to this universe of scent, is supplementing his exclusive collection with one such fragrance, giving an opulent interpretation for modern tastes.
Armani Privé is issuing a new fragrance in the collective opus of sumptuous wooden bottles, set to circulate more widely this spring: Cuir Noir.
Part of the even more opulent collection Les Mille et Une Nuits within the Armani Privé brand, the new Cuir Noir is an olfactory tale that pays homage to the orient and the eternal fascination with the East. This new oriental adventure, just like Oud Royal, Rose d'Arabie and Ambre Orient before it, depicts the perfumes and enchanted atmosphere of the Arabian Nights. The fragrances form a quartet of dreams, inspired by blue desert nights and whispers seeping through ornate arabesque grilles.
The perfumer has tamed the exotic nature of noble and rebellious ingredients, sweetened the sharpness of "gold and spice" and softened smoke and resin. For Cuir Noir the perfumer envisioned a gradiation of ambery shades, from golden blond through reddish copper to deep brown; a soft suede texture; and the velvety creaminess of a liquer.
To accomplish that, the opening was constructed to immediately smell of rose essence paired with Australian sandalwood, set off by a hint of coriander and nutmeg. The progression is more textured with leathery and smoky notes of gaiac and oud alternating. The base is sweet with Tahitian vanilla absolute and benzoin balm.
The new Cuir Noir will be available at select stockists who carry the Armani Privé line.
Le Démon, dans ma chambre haute,
Ce matin est venu me voir,
Et, tâchant à me prendre en faute,
Me dit: «Je voudrais bien savoir,
Parmi toutes les belles choses
Dont est fait son enchantement,
Parmi les objets noirs ou roses
Qui composent son corps charmant,
Quel est le plus doux.» - O mon âme!
Tu répondis à l'Abhorré:
«Puisqu'en Elle tout est dictame,
Rien ne peut être préféré.
Lorsque tout me ravit, j'ignore
Si quelque chose me séduit.
Elle éblouit comme l'Aurore
Et console comme la Nuit;
Et l'harmonie est trop exquise,
Qui gouverne tout son beau corps,
Pour que l'impuissante analyse
En note les nombreux accords.
O métamorphose mystique
De tous mes sens fondus en un!
Son haleine fait la musique,
Comme sa voix fait le parfum!»
—Charles Baudelaire
All Together
This morning in my attic high
The Demon came to visit me,
And seeking faults in my reply,
He said: "I would inquire of thee,
"Of all the beauties which compose
Her charming body's potent spell,
Of all the objects black and rose
Which make the thing you love so well,
"Which is the sweetest?" O my soul!
Thou didst rejoin: "How tell of parts,
When all I know is that the whole
Works magic in my heart of hearts?
"Where all is fair, how should I say
What single grace is my delight?
She shines on me like break of day
And she consoles me as the night.
"There flows through all her perfect frame
A harmony too exquisite
That weak analysis should name
The numberless accords of it.
"O mystic metamorphosis!
My separate senses all are blent;
Within her breath soft music is,
And in her voice a subtle scent!"
—Charles Baudelaire, translation from ReadBooksOnline.net
Let me tell you when I first promised our Elena to review Guerlain Chamade for this blog: December 11, 2008. In fact I still have a copy of my request:
"Just wondering if I may review Chamade and/or Samsara. I've been accumulating material for those two and they are going to be interesting. (You would be surprised by how the Buddhist definition of samsara, considered the root of pain and suffering, is worlds away from what Guerlain is trying to portray.) As for Chamade I may even upload the actual drum beat! (Plus the pivotal moment of the movie.)"
Well, writing a review for Samsara was not that labour intensive. Yet as all of you could tell it took me more than three years to get this review done, and never would I imagine turning the piece into a multi-part marathon.
Why? As some of you might have noticed I have chosen to blog less and less over the last couple of years. Started out as a mild lethargy and gradually morphed into a full-blown hiatus at one point. Have I been busy? Yes and no: I’ve always managed to find time to blog before, even a miniature piece or two.
So what happened? I started to see a huge chasm between the artisanal and the commercial in this business, the art really not lining up with the money. Don’t get me wrong: as a business graduate I know very well that perfumery houses are here for its survival. Yet the interesting side effects of the 2008 financial meltdown are still unfolding among perfumery brands: all major players, for one, are more lean and determined to get a piece of the action. Translation: the bottom line now really counts, more than ever.
To be perfectly honest I’m all for marketing research, and pushing a product nobody wants to buy, at least to me, is the greatest sin on earth; with this being said I can only stand mindless renditions of Marc Jacobs Daisy for so long.
Kindly allow me to reiterate: I’m not against commercial viability; I’m just against mindless plagiarism. I’m not against approachability; I just don’t like philistines all that much. I don’t even mind cutting costs on material and development; I just won’t stand thoughtless slash across the board because nobody was “supposed” to know when materials are downgraded.
I prefer, in all my sincerity, modernization—but I want to do it with standards. If it comes at the costs of cutting excessive corners than, well, what good are brand managers, let alone executives?
Of course, I know there are still passionate, conscientious people working in this industry, working very hard to make a difference. And my thoughts are not in any shape or form trying to disparage the true artists. (Please don’t ask me to name names of this or that—because I simply won’t.) But I decided to listen more since then. And to really start thinking about what makes the legends of the past so great in the first place: after all, those who cannot learn from the past are doomed to repeat the failures.
That’s my ultimate purpose for reviewing Chamade, articulating what made it great in the first place. Perhaps the ideas could be transported and lifted for generations to come, even though the exact ideas might not be in vogue any more.
To me the ultimate reason behind the success of Chamade is quite simple. People cared. Say what you will about French perfumery, its politics: people took the time to think about the genuine dialogue between the product and the culture, how the time affects its culture before coming up with a genuine proposal. Making genuine products with perfectly valid constructs. Again, I know not every perfumer can be Ernest Beaux, nor all fragrance account managers have the immaculate tastes of Coco Chanel, but if the latest release is a very simple xerox of the latest marketing reports (bottled, of course) with zero imagination attached then, again, what good are people arming diplomas from top-notch MBA programs?
Thus by the same token I am still stand behind my favourable review of Hermes Hermessence Iris Ukiyoe (2010). Or Chanel No. 5 Eau Première (2008). And honestly I am even that tough of a fragrance critic—but showing one’s work is a pre-requisite in my book. Kindly allow me to repeat: showing one’s work is a pre-requisite.
Still, back to my story: I started writing this series on Tuesday, March 6—
It's going to be the longest review I've ever written! I'm at the bottom of third page and haven't fully covered the cultural background.
That’s when Elena’s common sense kicked in: otherwise all of you would have to read this series in one, extra-lengthy post. Five parts in one sitting.
(At this point I have to give credit where credit is due: without Elena’s tireless patience in the first place not a single word of this series would come to life, let alone her often thankless edits of my unruly writing. She’s really a trooper.)
The series, once get going, proved to be a quick waltz. Part 1 through 4 was submitted within one day. Part 5 came a day later because I couldn’t find the right artwork: luckily Ms. Danielle Jarvis showed me her piece; otherwise the readers would have to stare at nothing but words upon reading the blooming epilogue.
Before I go I want to share with all of you one more thing about my thoughts on Chamade. I’ve always deduced that Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2 in E Minor, Op. 27, its third movement Adagio, is a musical approximation of its ideas, the romantic mad aches. Try testing the fragrance while listening to the performance below: there’s nothing on earth quite like the pairing.
Thank you all for listening. It’s been a joy from the heart.
A poem records emotions and moods that lie beyond normal language, that can only be patched together and hinted at metaphorically.
―Diane Ackerman
~by guest writer AlbertCAN
Love is the great unpredictable, the original X factor: almost everyone admits that love is a necessity for our survival, yet no one agrees on just what exactly it is. Even the concept itself is an enigma: scholars manage to trace the idea back to the Sanskrit word lubhyati, meaning “desire”; yet its root disintegrates thereafter. The word we now use actually is of German origin and not set until Middle English:
From Old English lufu (“love, affection, desire”), from Proto-Germanic *lubō (“love”), from Proto-Indo-European *lewbʰ-, *leubʰ- (“love, care, desire”). Cognate with Old Frisian luve (“love”), Old High German luba (“love”). Related to Old English lēof (“dear, beloved”), līefan (“to allow, approve of”), Latin libet, lubō (“to please”).*
Perhaps all this confusion is a direct reflection on the often chaotic nature of the heart, how it governs its affairs? Comes with the territory is the gamut of expressions: GuerlainChamadeis surely a memorable grace note in the mankind’s on-going paen.
Jean-Paul Guerlain was certainly amorously inspired when creating Chamade: “I won’t tell you the name of the lady for whom I created Chamade, but she was very beautiful. For me, Chamade was Guerlain’s first modern perfume after Shalimar and Mitsouko. I am still in love with it” (Edwards, 148).
The influence of Chamade on French perfumery is subtle yet fascinating upon a closer second look. Its combination of hedione and blackcurrent, pairing with white florals, was reprised almost a decade later when Jean Claude Ellena created First (1976) for Van Cleef & Arpels, the master perfumer’s initial success. Its green floral motif would even resurface arguably in Chanel No. 19(1971), which Henri Robert was busy developing with Mademoiselle Chanel when Chamade came out, though the soft vanilla base was no doubt stripped away in lieu of a more assertive chypre base.
On a personal note I really wish the structure of Guerlain Chamade played a more prominent role in the recent modernization of the house, for the scent’s stunning bone structure leads to many possibilities: the opening verdancy could easily be morphed into milky greens such as Glycolierral, the ivy oxime that provides so much glow in the opening of J’Adore (1999) by Christian Dior. The fruits could be softened with more transparent floral notes such as fresh sambac jasmine, and woods more ethereal. Yet I’m not sure this is the current emphasis of Guerlain, nor am I certain if Thierry Wasser, the current in-house nose, would want to partake in that direction. Neither am I certain that people are courageous enough to take the time to get it nowadays when everything is going at a breakneck pace.
Chamade is not for everyone, nor is that the underlying idea. The development is complex, the embedded cultural depth required for its appreciation is advanced. Yet those who take the time really appreciate how the fragrance manages to get things right. For this post I’m going to leave the last word to Luca Turin, who calls Chamade a miracle in the original Parfums: le guide―
A smooth green top note introduces a miracle that develops over a few hours, indeed a few days. As the initial breath fades, a powerful white note slowly evolves, polished and seamless, powdery and sculptured, developing with no hint of becoming simpler or thinner. Typically Guerlain in its flattering and tender character, Chamade is an arrogant perfume, pure and far removed from the chic audacity of Jicky and Shalimar. Its tenacity is amazing. One might even think it was composed to be smelt after two days, so put it on at least two house before you ask it to be effective. [Chamade is] a masterpiece of elegance and poetry, one of the greatest perfumes of all time (Edwards, 150).
Photo: Original photography from designer and friend Ms. Danielle Jarvis. All rights reserved by the artist.
Citation
Edwards, Michael. Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances. Crescent House Pub, 1999. ISBN: 0646277944
Turin , Luca. Parfums: le guide, Editions Hermè ( Paris , 1992), p. 37, 38
Morsels of legends, however interesting, may not necessarily be true within the sea of civilization.
―By guest writer AlbertCAN
Upon discovering Chamade yours truly was told that master perfumer Jean-Paul Guerlain conducted over 1,100 fragrance trials. While there is a grain of truth in this story-since all memorable vintage Guerlain fragrances were the results of meticulous modifications- the title of the most fine-tuned within the Guerlain realm officially belongs to Nahema (1979). Guerlain Chamade was developed for years before coming to light, but whether it took over 1000 tries is another debate of itself.
And then there's the bottle: even Guerlain the company can't agree on the same story. Officially it's a heart upside-down, pierced by the arrow stopper, but its creator Raymond Guerlain begs to differ. His actual muse? See below.
The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli, complete with the giant clam shell as the bottle and the young goddess as the stopper. Interesting how life works sometimes.
"Perfume is made mainly so that one remembers the woman who wears it. I like to call it the elevator effect. This is the man who goes to meet his lover—whether it be his fiancée, his wife, or his mistress—who has entered a building before him. She is wearing perfume, and he smells it. Suddenly his heart beats faster and the blood rushes to his head."
—Jean-Paul Guerlain via “Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances” by Michael Edwards (1996)
Of all the approaches to fragrance criticism I’m most dreary of the revisionist approach, pulling a scent out of the context of its time and aiming at regurgitating an ill-advised paradigm. Somehow the critic’s bias shines through more than anything else. Of course, fragrance masterpieces deserve to be respected—and insincere efforts need to be chided—but a fragrance ultimately needs to be judged based on its genre and its cultural context. It’s not a fragrance critic’s job to ignore the innovations set forth by a classic fragrance, nor forgetting to mention the classicism within a new launch. They are simply two sides of the same coin in perfumery.
After more than four decades Guerlain Chamade is of course deservedly termed a grand classic, but to assume that a classic-smelling French fragrance lacks an ounce of rebellion is not a correct notion, either.
Perhaps the biggest misconception about Chamade is its doyenne status. There lies the paradox: sure, the definition of youth has changed dramatically, but back in 1969 Chamade’s opening would be considered quite interesting. Hedione. Blackcurrant. All then new materials and not widely used. Of course Edmond Roudnitska employed hedione brilliantly in Eau Sauvage (1966), but the chemical hadn’t been widely dared in women’s fragrances. Nowadays the blackcurrant note has been used to a fault, but Chamade was arguably the first to have done so. Again, one shouldn’t fault the early adaptor, even if the innovation becomes commonly accepted.
But I’m really ahead of myself. The trembling of the heart really starts with two key players: the interplay of galbanum and hyacinth. Both are quite polarizing, having a refreshing but strong-willed diffusion—hyacinth, having an unapologetically white floral scent with a slightly bitter edge; galbanum, emitting an all-out, almost knife-sharp verdancy. The chills, when set on the typical Guerlain warmth, surprisingly pulsate and mimic the intrigue upon feeling "the mad ache". (Doesn’t one often feel a moment of clarity even when falling madly in love with the wrong person? The interplay of fire and ice can be so cruel sometimes.) Had the opening act been allowed to dominate the fragrance would have been reduced to a bony, postmodern solarium, but all this feels like the opening clash of the battlefield surrender signal.
The undulation between the cold and the warmth really creates a dual effect when narcissus and vanilla add to the tension. Within the context of ylang ylang and blackcurrant the narcissus feels opulent and insolent at the same time, yet there’s a certain ambiguity about the shapelessness of it all, as if the character of Sagan’s heroine Lucile comes to life. Chamade the fragrance would have been the necessary luxury she craves, yet like the fragrance she doesn’t fully give in when facing her feelings, essentially not out of defiance, but actually coming from an undulating ambivalence. Do not be mistaken by the gauzy, silken aura with a slight golden sheen: Deneuve has that the necessary indirectness down pat—the confusion is essentially self-serving and really the destination, not the process.
Come to think of it Chamade’s legendary development curve adds a beguiling interplay to the theme of Sagan’s novel as well: this has never been a forthcoming, no-barred-hold type of wild attraction story at heart, but more of an exquisite torture. The pang of the hyacinth and galbanum really hold fort for a good while before the drydown of the narcissus-amber sets in. In fact it’s exactly this character that makes exposes the problem of testing fragrances on paper blotters: testing a multi-dimensional olfactory sculpture on a two-dimensional medium is an act in futility in itself.
On a personal note I was determined not to make that sampling mistake when presenting Chamade to my godmother Jeannie, instead testing the scent directly on her skin. Surely enough the golden gauze envelopes her upon first spray; after decades of using L’Air du Temps,Chamade became her signature, no doubt in part because my beloved godfather was hooked from the get go!
Photo: Guerlain Chamade fragrance advertisement from the 80s, via Google
The idea of la chamade floated wide in the Parisian psyche years before the Guerlain creation. Françoise Sagan (1935–2004), a French author best known for works revolving around the romantic lives of wealthy but disillusioned bourgeois characters, first published her novel “La chamade” in 1963. Set in high-society Paris in the mid-1960’s, the plot reads like an anti-fairy tale romance as the novel tells the story of Lucile, torn between Charles—twenty years her senior but rich enough to keep her comfortable—and Antoine, the more age-appropriate but broody young man she is attracted to. Classic Jane Austen romance would give Lucile a more determined heart, but alas, true to Sagan’s heroines she has a flighty soul:
“Life mostly made sense to me until I left my parents' home. I wanted to get a degree in Paris . But it was all a pipe dream. Ever since I've been looking everywhere for parents, in my lovers, in my friends, and it's all right with me to have nothing of my own—not any plans and not any worries. I like this kind of life, it's terrible but true.”*
Over the years Charles had a steady supply of mistresses at a salon he frequented, hosted by Claire. The arrangements would usually last a year or two, but Lucile turns out to be different as Charles doesn’t exactly have a trivial relationship with her:
What he couldn't say to Lucile was this: "All I care about is you. I spend hours and hours trying to fathom your psyche, I'm hounded by one single idea. And I, too, am frightened, just as you were saying, frightened of losing what I have. I, too, live in that perpetual state of despair and yearning you described."†
Antoine, a typical French 'intellectual' romantic hero of film and fiction, is kept by an older woman as he falls for Lucile. Thus begins a delicate social dance: people within this small circle are all aware of this attraction, even be pushing them towards it, but Lucile and Antoine do try not to betray those who love them. As Lucile notes, Charles "might be able to accept my sleeping with Antoine, but not my laughing with him". She eventually gives passion a shot, but life in the garret doesn't suit her one bit; worse luck, she finds herself pregnant but unfit to be a mother. Lucile’s solution to life thus requires funds, leaving no choice but to return to Charles, still loving Antoine but no longer loved loving him...
The imperfect love story might pale in dramatic intensity compared to Sagan’s magnum opus “Bonjour Tristesse” (1954), but Catherine Deneuve eventually gave her blessing in 1968 as she starred in the cinematic adaptation, continuing her wardrobe collaboration with Yves Saint Laurent along the way. Now here’s that movie in its entirety, complete in its original dialogues: I couldn’t negotiate English subtitles so unfortunately some would have to read between the lines.
Thus what exactly is this French word chamade? Unfortunately there isn’t a comprehensive English equivalent to capture all of its French nuances. Sure, the English dictionary recognizes its antique military usage, denoting a distinct beat in battlefields that signals the surrender of the troops, most notably used during the Napoleonic age. (La chamade would have been played prominently when Napoleon lost the decisive battle of Waterloo .) Now not many people have actually heard of the actual drum beat so here’s an enriched sample below.
Yet the French also have another usage of the word, the expression un coeur qui bat la chamade, a double entendre to our wild heartbeats when surrendering to the latest object of affection. It is this second meaning that plays a huge influence to the Guerlain fragrance―but to be precise, all of the influences above have contributed to the character of this fragrance, which I shall explore in detail in Part 3.
Photo: Still from the film La Chamade (1968)
* Unless otherwise noted all English excerpts are from “The Mad Ache”, the 2009 translation by Douglas Hofstadter
† The original text uses the French formal “vous” and the second person pronoun; normally a more intimate “tu” is applied in this context.
...for the deluxe sample of the latest Les Nez vetiver fragrance is λειντι ντι. Congratulations and please email me using the contact so I can have this in the mail for you shortly!
Thanks everyone for the enthusiastic participation and till the next one (soon!)
‘Now come’, thought Lucile, ‘he’s only holding my hand as we cross the park. It’s spring, no need to worry. I’m not sixteen any more’. But her heart beat wildly. She felt the blood drain from her face and her hands, and rush to her throat, choking her ... Son Coeur bat la chamade.
―Françoise Sagan, “La chamade” (1965), excerpt taken from “Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances” by Michael Edwards (1999)
~By guest writer AlbertCAN
chamade[ʃə’mɑːd]
n
(Military) A signal or an army’s surrender during battle, usually by drum or trumpet
―coeur qui bat la chamade: French expression for heart beating wildly due to strong emotions (literally “heart who beats the chamade”)
[from French, from Portuguese chamada, from chamar to call, from Latin clamāre]
The heart perhaps is the most impossible of all. The untamed is virtually untouchable by a sound mind, marching to its drum beat, questing for only its desires. Logics and perspectives may temporarily girdle its mad gallop, only to let it rampant again once passion reigns supreme. Often mankind speaks of progress and civilization, how the likes of smallpox or polio are either eradicated or nearly so from the face of the earth. Yet no modern physician can ever cure a broken heart―and the latest gamut of anti-depressants only address the brain’s chemical balance―nor any vaccine can successfully prevent one from falling in love with the wrong person. Caesars and czars may come and go, inciting awes and fears with the might of the day, but the hardest thing to govern, as shown time after time, is still the heart.
Nowadays one need not to venture far to see the modern casualties of the heart: tabloid newspapers or gossip standards shall be evident of our fascination of its unpredictability, ranging from the latest indiscretion of the Hollywood stars du jour to the myriad of advice columnists dispensing hope to the unrequited. Or the plain crimes of passion, a plead of temporary insanity that allows one to walk away even from murder. The brain may be our largest organ, yet we speak from the heart when feeling amorous; when emotions run rampant we wear out hearts on our sleeves. We make a promise to our love by crossing out heart, and our hearts go out to anyone who loses their significant others. And when we know what we want? We set our hearts on it. Our intelligence may set us apart from a Darwinian point of view, yet it is our heartbeats that set us in motion, navigating through the illogics of it all.
The heart of Paris at the end of the Sixties was certainly beating wildly: a flourish of intellectual and artistic new waves, combined with a sound economic welfare, marked a full turn from the sobriety of the Fifties. Yet that few years of gaiety were "killed" by the 1968 Paris uprising: urban trenches were erected in the heart of Paris as street cobblestones were turned into medieval artilleries. Order, calm, harmony all gave way in that heated moment as everyone’s heart beat la chamade. It’s under this mixture of simultaneous cultural boom and bust, this combination of light and darkness that perfumer Jean-Paul Guerlain put his finishing touches on Chamade (1969), one of Guerlain’s fragrance masterpieces.
That’s the simple version of this story.
True to any Guerlain crown jewels cultural icons endorsing one another in Chamade, drawing upon references of different époques and interlocking them all in the most fascinating ways. Literature, cinema, military history all play part in its development; even a beloved Italian Renaissance masterpiece painting is involved.
In the next episode I shall explore the immediate cultural muses to Guerlain Chamade and answer an all-important question―What exactly does French novelist Françoise Sagan, cinematic icon Catherine Deneuve and Napoleon have in common?
Photo, from left: Guerlain Chamade poster and fragrance editions, via Google
Exultat by Italian perfumer Maria Candida Gentile is touching on both the contrast and the accomodating orifices between citrus and sacerdotal frankincense. The latter naturally possesses citrusy facets on top, making the combination register as an increase in tonality for a few minutes, an effect also explored in Etro's Shaal Nur. The ecclesiastical connotation of resinous frankincense (olibanum) couldn't go amiss: The story goes that signora Gentile was inspired by a visit to the church of Saint Lorence in Lucina during the hour of Vespers.
But in Exultat the hesperidic top note soon dissipates to give way to a very detectable and unusual in such a context violet leaf note; silvery, quiet and crepuscular, like linen purified in a wash of ashes and countryside lavender. This technique mollifies the natural smokiness of frankincense, rendering it purer, subtler and very wearable with the soft feel of Grey Flannel. We might have been conditioned to regard frankincense fragrances as reclusive, monastic and intellectualized, but here is proof they can be wordly, human and smiling as well, which is a feat in itself.
Notes for Maria Candida Gentile Exultat:
top: lime, bitter orange, orange and olibanum;
middle: powdery violet and fresh violet leaf;
base: woodsy notes, vetiver and virginia cedar.
By popular demand, after the Top-20 Best-selling Fragrances for women in France for 2011, which many readers mailed me to say was an eye-opener, I decided to post what the popular choices (based on bulk of sales) during the year 2011 in the American market are. A sort of two-faces-of Janus project, if you wish.
I had prefaced my French post by saying that people with an interest in perfumes imagine the French to be wildly sophisticated when it comes to fragrances; perhaps it comes with the territory, having so many options, though to be honest the US market is by far more populated. And yet, it's more of a form of branding, a subject on which the French have excelled while Americans have languished. As one of my friends in marketing says "USA branded itself as star& stripes, hamburgers, NBA, Hollywood and big-tit tanned blondes from California". Not exactly premium, you'd argue. And yet, this is exactly why we love to dump down on American culture, even Americans themselves. The USA as an uber-democratic, nascent nation decidedly branded itself as catering to the mass, with their Walmarts and their Costcos and For All Humanity jeans, in constrast to the largely still medieval-farmer/bourgeois mentality of the French with their small boutiques. Both societies have their elites, socio-economic as well as intellectual, but whereas one of them is proud of it, the other is self-effacing, almost embarassed to see it mentioned. See where I'm getting?
Robert Redford & Jane Fonda in Barefoor in the Park (1967) via Mary Lou Cinnamon
The Americans also routinely receive flack from perfumefreaks because they're supposed to like "clean" perfumes, i.e. shampoo & laundry detergent smelling stuff we turn our noses on. (I assure you that that is better than smelling the bad breath of a typical Gitannes-smoking French, but that's fodder for another discussion). And yet, I can't erase from my mind Sarah Jessica Parker's comment, while explaining her layering technique of perfumes and how she envisioned her first perfume in her own name, Lovely. It was in Chandler Burr's The Perfect Scent, where Parker revealed that she loved the smell of body odor, strong sweet musk, and general all-around dirtiness and concluded that "Americans, we love our body odour"; she was already brainstorming for her "B.O scent for everywoman" (which turned out to be the quirky Covet).
To revert to perfumes in the real market perspective, as my reader Victoria commented: "I still think this [French] list is a bit fancier than the top 20 American scents would be. I'd imagine that list would be filled with Britney Spears, JLo, Pink Sugar, and other generic fragrances." But as Mals from Muse in Wooden Shoes says "Chances are, these are the things that your college roommate, your bank teller, your Aunt Becky, and the cashier at your grocery store are wearing, and they don’t smell so bad…"
So come with me, dear readers, to see which 20 perfumes really make America tilt (in no particular order). And if you want to contrast it with what happened an only two short years ago, check this 2009 fragrance best-sellers (US and France) list out.
Chanel Coco Mademoiselle (this tops the list, predictably as it was the US Chanel headquarters who insisted on its creation and is topping the list for some years now) Burberry Body
Calvin Klein Euphoria Chanel No.5
Chanel Chance
Chanel Chance Eau Fraiche Christian Dior J'Adore Clinique Aromatics Elixir
Clinique Happy
D&G Light Blue
Donna Karan Cashmere Mist
Estee Lauder Beautiful
Estee Lauder Knowing
Estee Lauder Sensuous Nude
Estee Lauder Pleasures
Fendi Fan di Fendi
Justin Bieber Someday Prada Candy
Taylor Swift Wonderstruck
Thierry Mugler Angel
thanks to Laure Philips for info
What we consider that should be popular in the USA presents its own interest, nevertheless. In that spirit, if you hadn't caught it when I first posted it back in 2009, please read Stars & Stripes: 10 Quintessentially American Fragrances.
But more importantly and I'm interested in opinions, rather than hard facts: What do YOU consider American-smelling? And why?
an outlaw perfume that doesn't recognize any rules or regulations it hasn't been tested on animals but one Turtle with his kind consent
Matthew Stoned for Dazed & Confused Oct.2011
Thus is Turtle Vetiver Front, the second installment in the limited edition series that began in 2009 with Turtle Vetiver Exercise No. 1, being introduced to us by Swiss niche line Les Nez, uncompromising in its catering for individuality and art-concepts. The new fragrance is part of the Turtle Salon (if you don't know about it, here's your chance to discover), hence the Turtle referenced, and was composed by ISIPCA teacher and perfumer Isabelle Doyen.
According to the blurb "For Turtle Vetiver Front, the smoky and flinty facets of vetiver are brought to the fore, with carbon paper and freshly printed newspaper effects; an unexpected coconut note softens this austere blend and makes this iteration more easily wearable than the first, while preserving its raw power".
Indeed the new Les Nez fragrance opens intensely, with the swamp-like qualities of vetiver grass oil, which recall vast expanses of muddy waters where crocodiles might lurk, rather than techno-age associations; Creature of the Swamp more than 9 to 5 with its carbon papers, even though there is a hint of inkiness possibly due to quite a bit of oakmoss in the formula and a 3D quality thanks to a drop of natural ambergris. Les Nez doesn't really have to be IFRA compliant, nor is it cost-effective bound. The effect is overall flinty, inky, swampy, even phenolic from a certain angle when sprayed. Almost immediately Turtle Vetiver Front takes on a very discernible fig leaf facet with cedar wood, sweetened with the milky note that is inherent in the fruit's sack: the whiteish, coconutty-laced note we have come to get introduced to from Premier Figuier andreally now find in Santal Massoia (Hermès) and Santal Blush by Tom Ford (as well as in a woody butch iteration in Santal 33 by Le Labo). Coconut has a reputation to scare the horses, as it's been played to death by aroma-care companies that churn it out in devilish cones lurking at the back of Ukranian-driven taxis and overdoses that can turn rotten-sweet in suntan lotions and Pina Colada cocktails, but if those are your associations you need not worry: This is a new development in the industry we will be seeing more of, using coconut lactone to soften woody compositions and with the usual refinement of both Les Nez and Doyen the coconut facet is both subtle and delightful, merely giving a caress. If you liked that element in Santal Massoia, you will most definitely like it here too.
Compared to Turtle Vetiver Exercise 1 (the first edition), the original was rawer, more robust, with a pronounced salty true aspect to the vetiver, iodine-like and sea-reminiscent, with that "briny/marine" tonality in Goutal's Vetiver, also composed by Doyen; unique, delightfully bracing, for hard-core vetiver fans! In Turtle Vetiver Front, the greener and milky elements are that of the shore which solaces the wounded under the shadow of the fig trees, providing a softer turn which would make it very wearable for men and women alike.The inky top notes reminiscent of Lalique's Encre Noire swirl back and forth between rawness and the softness of fig/coconut, producing a lasting vetiver fragrance that will get discussed (and which I personally liked a lot). NB. When stocks run out, the third iteration, Turtle Vetiver Back will challenge us more with an edgier interpretation!
Notes for Les Nez Turtle Vetiver Front: vetiver, coconut lactone (synthetic coconut note), moss and ambergris.
LesNez Turtle Vetiver Front is available in Eau de Parfum, 50ml/1.7oz for $120 on the official Les Nez site. Profits are given to Turtle and there are only 90 splash bottles available. There are also samples available for purchase.
I have a deluxe sample atomiser for one lucky reader.
Please say what you like or not like in vetiver & coconut fragrances in the comments to enter. Draw remains open till Sunday midnight.
Not a day goes by that I don't get an offer of some sampling opportunity in the mail and in all fairness most don't create any bleep on the pond, audible, visible or otherwise. I suppose you're guessing that anyway. Considering that so much effort goes into producing a perfume in this industry, with months ahead of brain storming into how to present it, how to market it, and of course how to compose it -and I should know because I worked in launching a couple of things myself- it's perhaps no surprise that people come up with things more surprising than they truly are. I sympathise. You don't come across genius every day. But from genius to lackluster down to b-o-r-i-n-g, now there's a huge leap. And I'm surprised that perfume releases with no business being in the running in the first place are getting released at all, just because the fragrance market in niche and prestige is cannonballing along something fierce. To use a physics analogy, it's a sort of "Dirac sea", an infinite sea of particles with negative energy.
Read the NPD Group's findings, an acclaimed market monitoring tool:
"For prestige fragrances, the segment experienced the strongest dollar and unit performance in 15 years, coming in at $2.8 billion, which marked growth of 11%, while units grew 7%. Juices grew 14% for both women and men, driving overall fragrance performance of 11% growth for women and 12% for men. Fragrance juices priced at a premium of $100 and above helped to propel growth for the category with unit gains of 45% versus a year ago, and fragrance launches were up 21% percent overall, driven by women’s launches, which grew by 33%. Celebrity brands, specifically women’s, were the winners in 2011 with gains of 57%".
In short, don't expect fragrance prices to lower any time soon; as long as people buy these things at those exorbitant prices, upstarts and more established players will continue to think that we're just buying an aspirational thing; even if it has to do with the aspiration of connoisseurship and snob appeal.
A brand that has released other fragrances in elaborate, niche, graphic designed packaging with claims of novel effects and dubfounding results, and which will remain unnamed for reasons of courtesy (the Poirot types amongst you will deduce with accuracy I'm sure), has released the most generic clean rose fragrance possible, only it doesn't even contain one trace of rose essence in it I'm sure. Not only the real thing in terms of absolute, attar, pomade or essential oil is missing entirely, a fairly trained nose can't detect more than just a screechingly synthetic freesia accord that stands for "floral" and that dreaded aqueous/green tea/empty air perfumer's base that passes as "clean" or "fresh" whenever you hear about fragrant releases for spring and summer wear. This "electrically-charged" rose is cropping up with an alarming frequency: I recall Givenchy issuing one for their Very Irresistible franchise, so who knows what else might include it in the not too distant future.
The fact that this brand has been sitting on a table display at some exhibition alongside Serge Lutens and By Kilian is probably an infuriating testament to the reality that you can claim anything and then get treated as such, even by professionals in the field! (Are those professionals so jaded they don't give a sniff anymore, just nod their heads and grant royal rights? Are they so anxious to please everyone they feature just about anything? Are they just paid to act how they act? Who knows.).
My senses aren't shocked by this random new release. My intellect is. Houston, we've got a problem.
painting Woman with Claws by Paul Outerbridgevia tumblr
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)