Drapeau Tricolore: 12 Quintessentially French Fragrances

"How can anyone govern a nation that has two hundred and forty-six different kinds of cheese?" General Charles de Gaulle had infamously querried. Growing up one of my best friends was French. Her name was Marianne (coincidence?) and she was living in a Paris banlieu: We met in the summers vacationing, we exchanged cards and film-stars-stickers in the wintertime. She brought our family gorgeous stinky cheeses that cemented my life-long appreciation for them, we brought them handmade olive oil soaps and mastic liqueur; and between summer siestas and hot days skulking we came to know each other's culture in passing. I learned that the French are a sensual more than sexual people: They buy their fruits and vegetables every day (fondling them, like us); they like to satisfy their eyes, but also their touch and their tastebuds in everything they do. The cliché wants them to be dirty and if the Paris metro is anything to go by one can't blame that notion, yet much as they have legends of The Great Unwashed (Napoleon's note to Josephine "I am returning in three days; don't wash!") they also have recipes to aromatize said juices! (The tisane recipe of orange, rosewater and mint the French lover hands down to his American young mistress in bed in "Le Divorce" by James Ivory: "That's something you would never have found out in Santa Barbara" he tells her naughtily).
But what constitutes Frenchiness? In the mind of the American it has always stood as sophistication, but this really only stands for Parisians. And not as expected: French women often go for a thrift thrill at Zara and gloat on finding the perfect little outfit for less than 100 euros! They wear mainstream and high-street brands unapologetically and shop at department stores.
My own culture has been very influenced in the political and intellectual fields by France. Yet France is as much the Breton seaside with the matelot tops and its mussells as well as the Gitanes-smoking existentialists and the urinous paths of the clochards in Paris; the sole meunière with its bland ~to my Greek buds~ taste and the tangy blackberries growing on each side of the Loire valley. It's Midi and the characteristic familiar Mediterranean herbs (thyme, oregano, rosemary) picked by hearty housewives cooking a mean coq au vin, but also the Route des Vins d'Alsace (the Wine Route)!

Compiling a list of perfumes viewed as French-smelling, I had to eliminate many classics. Surely Paul Parquet's Fougère Royale for Houbigant (1882) and Jicky by Guerlain (issued in the same year as the Exposition Universelle and the Eiffel Tower, 1889) are beacons in the history of perfumery, but they were not as popular with the French themselves as other scents. The French are an elfin people, small, usually brown-haired and quirky, not blond and athletic, so anything Wagnerian can be safely left behind; nor are they Joan Crawford shoulder-padded and hollowed cheekboned; therefore Mitsouko and its Japonesque homage was out. By the same token the pale sunlight of Après L'Ondée (1906) reminds me more of northern climates. Miss Dior and Cabochard have now changed to the worse... And although France has traditionally been a very advanced country in the intellectual stakes, it is also conservative in its mentality, much like many of the older nations in Europe: People want to feel special, but not to be too different from the other respectable society!
Paris by Yves Saint Laurent seems like an obvious choice, yet its rosy embullient appeal transcends cultures. Same with Soir de Paris by Bourjois, especially popular with American women, and Narcisse Noir by Caron (initially a US hit before establishing Daltroff's knack). In the end I went for an arguably idiosyncratic list of French perfumes which satisfy my inner exploration of what "smells French".
Here it is for your enjoyment.

Amoureuse by Parfums DelRae
Technically an Anglosaxon fragrance (inspired by the Victorian boxwood trees on San Francisco), but executed by a masterful French hand (Michel Roudnitska, son of Edmond and responsible for Noir épices & most of the Del Rae line), Amoureuse is a sublime indolic, "dirty" floral (jasmine and a little tuberose) touched by honeyed sweetness and a ginger zing, that you can picture on someone as fortuitously vulnerable as Jeanne Morreau. It oozes femininity, frank sexuality and inner power like few other modern florals (Manoumalia perhaps?).

Bal à Versailles by Jean Desprez
If there was a void of great French orientals that didn't took you to the gardens of India in the manner of Shalimar, but kept you within terra franca, Bal a Versailles (Ball in Versailles) would be it. Unusually for the second half of the 20th century (1962) issued by the perfumer himself, Bal smells like afterglow ~spent, content and animalic, its citrus opening cascading into a cadenza of rich florals, fanned on opulent resins and golden balsams.

Bel Ami by Hermes
The citrusy leather modern classic of 1986 is often overlooked in its unusual pepperiness and floralcy under the smoky woods (cedar and sandalwood) and the animalic vanilla, which make it raunchy and assertive at first, refined later on. Named after a novel by Guy de Maupassant chronicling the rise to power of a manipulative journalist, Bel Ami has always striken me as the perfect masculine choice for a genuine French lover. Someone like Michel Piccoli of Le Mépris, Belle de Jour and The discreet charm of bourgeoisie. Can you think of anything more French?

Cologne à La Française (Institut Très Bien)
Small children in France ~and all along the Mediterannean~ often have their hands "washed" and their clothes sprinkled with Eau de Cologne. This cherished memory I have has undoubtedly contributed to my appreciating fine fragrances later on. This particular ~recently discontinued~ cologne by Pierre Bourdon bears its nationality proudly as a crest and its lemony goodness is akin to the optimism felt on a bright summer's day. I like to think that it smells like the one (American born) Jean Seberg casually splashes on her nape in Godart's A Bout de Souffle under Belmondo's watchful eye.

Hypnotic Poison by Christian Dior
Annick Ménardo went for the gourmand idea inaugurated by Angel, yet proposed a novel approach: the plummy, bitter almond heart poised on coumarin radiates like a poisonous apple of temptation (cyanide smells of almond) while the heliotropin is a distant wink to Après L'Ondée . Although Angel can be smelled everywhere in Paris, so it can in several other metropoleis (London, Athens, Miami...). Hypnotic Poison (1998) is just this side of being subversive without straying too much.

L'Air du Temps by Nina Ricci
Paris was liberated and hope was brimming in the air; the world was ready for light-hearted optimism after the austerity of the WWII ravages. Francis Fabron was thus commissioned to create the first Nina Ricci perfume in 1948 capturing exactly the "air of the times". The Lalique doves almost kissing on the top of the cap (designed in 1951) symbolised the romanticism that Paris has always stood for in the collective unconscious, preparing us for the olfactory equivalent of delicate Chantilly lace. The scent's tender clovey-carnation and peachy heart seems strung by fairies (especially in the vintage version), given a boost by benzyl salicylate, effectuating one of the most memorable scents of my own childhood.

L'Heure Bleue by Guerlain
From the Impressionist paintings that Jacques Guerlain was inspired of, to the elaborate pattiserie tradition that the French have been going to extremes for (see Vatel), everything in L'Heure Bleue (1912) is redolent of French Belle Epoque: the orange blossoms of the South, the Meditarranean herbs with the spicy anise overlay of rustic bread and the woody violets flanking it, as well as the paradigmatic sillage left behind it, enforce L'Heure Bleue as one of the masterpieces of French perfumery. Its wistful contemplativeness feels very Parisian to me.

Musks Kublaï Khan by Serge Lutens
Named after the bloodthirsty warrior of the steppes and created by Christopher Sheldrake in 1998, the shocking reality is this purring cougar smells soft, luminously warm and inviting in a special, "dirty" way, thanks to intense cistus labdanum, castoreum (rude hide) and civet essences. It shares the barnyard quality with the otherwise mossy musk of L'air de Rien by Miller Harris and several parfums fourrure. Despite its reputation of "the armpit of an unwashed camel driver" (perhaps due to the dirty hair note of costus), my personal perception of it is highly erotic, a view which the many French pilgrims of Les Salons du Palais Royal, where it's exclusively sold, seem to share.

No.5 by Chanel
Is No.5 French-smelling? Does the Pope wear a hat? No list would be complete without Chanel's icon of 1921 by Ernest Beaux, simply because it is emblematic for the perception of French perfume throughout the globe. The image of the little black dress with a single strand of pearls and two drops of No.5 is not especially francophone (it's more of a WASP image nowadays), nor is the touristy "baguette under the arm and tilted beret" cartoonish notion. Yet whether you like its soapy aldehydic bouqeut of intense ylang-ylang and jasmine over a musky trail or not, No.5 has accomplished what the Eiffel Tower has as well: to be considered an instantly recognisable French hallmark!

Nuit de Noël by Caron
The mysterious Mousse de Saxe (Saxon moss) base, with its cool and dark, animalic edge rich in musky and vanillic aromata (it's said to include geranium, licorice, leather, iodine and vanillin), and its jarring 6-isobutylquinoline (leathernote) produce a rosy-woody-powdery fragrance with a raw undercurrent that stood apart even in an era filled with outstanding perfumes (1922). Guy Robert praised it thus: "If a woman were to enter [a crowded theatre] wearing Nuit de Noël, all the other women would become invisible".

Une Fleur de Cassie by Editions des Parfums Frédéric Malle
I recall seeing farmers collecting gum from the cassie tree (acacia farnesiana) for use as gum arabic substitute in Australia, their agile hands working effortlessly. Known as Cassier du Levant in the South of France, the scent of cassie is rich in benzaldehyde, anisic aldehyde, and a violet-smelling ketone, rendering the essence sensuous and shadowy fleshy like the contours of a soft feminine body through gauzy garments. Cassie has been harnessed in several renditions from Caron's Farnesiana to Coty's La Jacée through Creed's Aubepine Acacia, but nowhere is the flesh-like honeyed richness, from bark to thorny stem to sugary-spun blossom, best interpreted than in Dominique Ropion's masterpiece Une Fleur de Cassie.

Vétiver by Guerlain
Simply put the scent of the French bourgeoisie, a classic that smells respectable and always pleasant in all situations; the passe partout that opens all doors! It seems there's nary a banker, broker, lawyer or well-to-do doctor in France who hasn't got a bottle of this citrus woody with refreshing vetiver notes of Jean Paul Guerlain in their bathroom. Although Eau de Guerlain with its provencal herbs accord is just as French, Vétiver (1961) caught on more, due to its erstwhile virile profile. A bit hacknayed thus if you're actually French and in France, it stands along with Dior's Eau Sauvage as the classic of classics in the great masculines pantheon. Its feminine counterpart is exceptional too!


Please add your own suggestions on French-smelling perfumes!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Stars & Stripes ~10 Quintessentially American Fragrances

Painting "La Liberté guidant le peuple" by Eugène Delacroix (technically commemorating the July Revolution of 1830) via Wikimedia Commons. Jeanne Morreau in Les Amants via cinemoi.tv, J.P.Belmondo via artscatter.com, L'Heure Bleue photo via Tangled up in L'heure Bleue

Orange, Rosewater & Mint Tisane in Le Divorce: Erotic Recipe for Women

James Ivory has long been considered the most "British" of American directors, at least going by his Ismail Merchant collaboration (usually with Ruth Prawer Jhabvala in screenwriting/adaptation), which has produced such delicate cinematic gems as Room with a View, The Remains of the Day and Howard's End. In 2003's Le Divorce, however, he tries his hand on the old cultural war between Les Americains et les Français, instead, based on a novel by Diane Johnson. A weak link in Ivory's formidable record, mainly due to an indecision as to what his main focus will be, the film nevertheless produces interesting and subtle little snippets of the cultural and ideological chasm between the two nations in high style and an all-star cast.

Kate Hudson as Isabel Walker is an American film school dropout who jets off to Paris when her pregnant step-sister Roxy (played by Naomi Watts) is abandoned by her French husband. Soon, Isabel has a scandal of her own when she falls for an older French man, Edgar Cosset, who's related to Roxy's cheating husband and is a far-right politician. Totally out of her waters, the nubile, originally hippyish Isabel lets herself be metamorphosized into a chic butterfly, through the sophistication-adding tricks of a bob cut, soigné makeup, co-ordinated wardrobe, an Hermès red Kelly 28 bag given to her as a gift (really, a stand-alone character in the film, a status symbol prop made into powerful allusion), intimate trysts following elaborate four-course meals, and racy lingerie brought for the sheer pleasure of getting out of it.

There all sorts of clichés too, accounting to French character assasination, mainly involving cheating Frenchmen, conservative French women, manners & propriety above essence and a contrasting augmented sense of sincerity on the part of Americans as opposed to the Europeans, which involve a pleiad of secondary characters (but true stars, such as Glen Close, Stockard Channing, French legend Leslie Caron, Jean Marc Barr, Matthew Modine etc). If you have been to Paris, it's also a trip down memory lane, as besides the Louvre and the final, downspiral kerfuffle at the Eiffel Tower, you will recognize beautiful Parisian locales such as Cafe de Flore and Le Georges.

But the most characteristic scene in Le Divorce~well, for us fumenerds noticing such details anyway~ takes place when Isabel's older French lover hands her down a secret erotic recipe in bed, telling her to drink it before lovemaking to make the love juices smell fragrant: "That's something you would never have found out in Santa Barbara!" he tells her naughtily (You just want to bitch slap him, that's how smugly he delivers the line!).
A stereotype though it might sound, as liberated and sexually free the American woman is, catering for her lover's pleasure in such a subtle way is not considered the norm. This special tisane symbolizes a favour to the male, a preparation in anticipation of erotic ecstacy, a foregone conclusion, a subjugation of the feminist to the concubine, recalling how Chinese concubines were fed  deer musk so as to make their bodies exude fragrant fumes from every pore when stroked by their lovers...

Of course there are hundreds of erotic recipes for potions, ointments, unguents and powders to enhance the sexual act. The recipe in Le Divorce involves a special tisane, brewed of mint leaves in orange and rosewater, sipped before the sexual act. The herbs and essences chosen are not random: Apart from their health benefits and aromatic properties, imparting a delicious fragrant steam when sipping, they balance the hormones and open the mind for the pleasure of the senses. Mint is easy on the stomach and excellent for steadying the nerves and for nausea. Rose hips are the seed pods left behind when the rose blossoms fade in autumn. Their sweet and sour tonality is very enjoyable in tisanes, giving a refined, feminine taste. Coupled with orange, coming from the peeled rind of the orange fruit itself, the taste is sweet and bracing, balancing the other ingredients and providing a sensual rounding.
This is an easy recipe to make by yourself, adjusting the ratio of plants to suit your own taste. Just peel a ripe orange, boil the rind with some mint leaves (or a mint teabag) and a rosehips tea bag and you're good to go! After all, in the movie the exact measurements are pointedly never given and there is a sense of received irony when Isabel asks for exact directions as to when to drink and how much. Like French seduction, spontaneity goes further than a pre-planned go-by-the-book approach...



pics via wwcinemastyle.blogspot.com and toutlecine.com

"Dior and I": the Documentary Soon Hitting US Screens

Film & TV distributor The Orchard has acquired all rights in the U.S. and Canada to director Frédéric Tcheng’s fashion documentary Dior and I, which premiered at the 2014 Tribeca Film Festival to outstanding praise. This marks the third fashion film for Tcheng, who previously co-wrote and co-directed Diana Vreeland: The Eye Has to Travel and co-produced Valentino: The Last Emperor. The documentary captures the entire process behind Raf Simons debut couture collection in his new position as Creative Director of Christian Dior Couture. 

"I am extremely excited to be working with the Orchard on bringing the film to its North American audience," said director Frédéric Tcheng. “They clearly have a passion for and understanding of the film that will translate to a successful roll-out.”

In 2012, legendary French fashion house, Christian Dior Couture, announced designer Raf Simons as its head Creative Director.  Dior and I pays homage to the work of the talented Dior atelier and takes a privileged, behind-the-scenes look at the makings of Simons’ debut haute couture collection and how it returned to the origins of the house of Dior.  

The film takes an intimate, vérité-style glimpse at the inner workings of the Dior atelier, capturing the entire eight-week process up until the premiere of Simons’ collection. This includes the little-seen atelier workers – the heart and soul of the fashion industry – some of whom have sewed for Dior for decades and do so with an unbridled passion. Together, they form a support system for Simons and help to create his masterpiece collection, with every line they sketch and bead they sew.

A whirlwind of creativity, stress, determination and triumph, the movie boasts mass and niche appeal. 

“Dior and I is a visually and emotionally stunning film about an oft unseen part of the process in the world of high fashion,” said The Orchard’s SVP of Film & TV, Paul Davidson. “Frédéric Tcheng has crafted a documentary that, much like the elegant creations in the world of Dior, deserves to be seen."

The film is slated for a 2015 theatrical release in the US and Canada. The deal was negotiated by Danielle DiGiacomo of The Orchard and Josh Braun of Submarine.

Watch the clip here. 

Guerlain Chamade (1969) Fragrance Review Series Part 2: The Muses

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

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.

Hidden Gems: Little Pleasures from Two Sides of the Globe

Some wonderful things in this life are well-known: Veuve Cliquot champagne, the Nutcracker suite, Mercedes Benz S-class and Gregory Peck. The again there are those little things that while not essentially secretive they float with little collective wow as much as they trully deserve it.

The Non Blonde (from New York) and yours truly decided to sit down and reveal some of the "secret" things that makes us tick. Things of a local but also international colour to take you away from your everyday existence into the cosmos of a friend city-trekker and which we hope will inspire you to seek them out this autumn.

Foodstuff and aromatic delights:
Mastic or lentisque, the natural resin of the mastic tree, is one of the local products which I feel few people outside the Mediterranean know about and that's such a shame. Because mastic is medicinally beneficial to so many ailments (soothes the stomach, strengthens the gums, whitens the teeth, refreshes the breath, helps with catarahh), it is also an excellent... aphrodisiac but most importantly its aroma is delicious, unusual and very pliable to so many uses in food, drink and fragrance (Infusion d'Iris by Prada is said to borrow its aromatic note).
Mastiha Shop is the brandname of Mediterra SA company founded by the Chios (the Greek island) Mastic Growers Association. Whenever a foreigner comes to my city I always take them to the Mastiha Shops: a paradise for everything around mastic! The Mastiha site is excellent and you can spend lots of time seeing the products, the shops and reading about how they are collaborating with other Eastern Mediterranean companies such as Al Doucan, Junan Natural Lebanais, Senteurs d'Orient Sarl and Haki Bekir SA. The best part is probably the Recollections section on which there are dots on the map of the whole Mediterranean with customs around mastic for every one on the map (on the Folklore sub-section), tales about travelers and historical references aplenty. Get their gum with rose essence if you can: yum!

Books and films
Jeux interdits (forbidden games), is a novel by François Boyer. The synopsis has a girl of 5 orphaned in an air raid while fleeing a French city with her parents during WWII. She is befriended by a 10 year old peasant boy when cut off from the other refugees and is taken in for a few weeks by his family. The children quickly become friends in the purest and most tender love story of them all in their attempt to assimilate the deaths they both face and the religious rituals surrounding those deaths through the construction of a cemetery for all sorts of animals. However child-like and adult activity often are at cross-purposes till the climactic finale.
The novel got adapted into a 1952 French language film directed by René Clément starring Georges Poujouly, Brigitte Fossey, and Amédée. For once a film respected the book and became according to filmsdefrance.com: "almost unquestionably the most compelling and intensely poignant drama featuring young children ever filmed" . If you have small children or have not forgotten the sensitivity of your childhood, it is highly, highly recommended. Take a box of Kleenex with you too, you will need them. Available through the Criterion Collection. Watch this little montage.

And if you're embracing your cynical, adult side, don't forget the Italian spaghetti western classic from one of my favourite directors of all time, maestro Sergio Leone.
Here is Clint Eastwood, Lee Van Cleef and Eli Wallach in one of the most poignant treatises on war & the individual and the best showdown ever (click to watch): Il Buono, il brutto, il cattivo (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly) from 1966 set to music by Ennio Morricone. "There are two kinds of people in this world, my friend: those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig!" A masterpiece.

Homage to a tortured soul:
Guillame Depardieu, son of France's greatest living acting legend, died on Monday out of complications of pneumonia according to Google. Gifted in acting himself, with the ill fate of growing up feeling side-tracked by his father's fame, and having to go through the loss of a leg due to a motorcycle accident a few years ago, he had a rough life that ended unjustly. He was 37.
He will always remain in mind fair, young and passionate as he was when he appeared alongside his father in Tous Les Matins du Monde (all the mornings of the world), a 1991 French film by Alain Corneau about the baroque music of Sainte Colombe and Jean Baptiste Lully which I had referenced when talking about O de Lancome and a big-fat-shinning gem of its very own. This is for you, Guillame. Godspeed...

Jewellery:
Another passion of mine, I'm afraid. There are so many things to appreciate in a well-crafted jewel beyond its monetary aspect: the craftmanship, the cultural inspirations behind it, innovative designers making portable art. It makes my day to look at beautiful and inspired jewels and my collection is growing thanks to careful selection and generous gifts.
I tend to prefer vintage pieces with rose-cut diamonds (those grey irregularly-cut stones that resemble hazelnut shreds). Fanourakis is a Greek goldsmith fronted by an admirable woman, Lina Fanourakis, who designs the most ecclectic mix of portable sculpture: small flies become dainty earrings, a corset is shaped into a bracelet, drops of liquid fall off the length of a brooch. Take a look here and if you pass through Ermou St (Hermes street) in Athens, turn on the left before Kapnikarea church so as not to miss their boutique.

Then again there is Rinaldo Gavello: an Italian designer married to a Greek woman and almost a Greek himself now...With boutiques in the glamorous Athens center, Thessaloniki and in always popular Mykonos, he designs the rock-chic pieces with skulls out of the tiniest diamonds and bright enamel that delight my Metallica-loving soul. Take a look at the new Josephine collier, inspired by black gazelle Josephine Baker and prepare to be awed! (click the link to see pic)

Perfume:
One of the fragrances that I have never heard anyone in the perfume communities know is an Italian Eau de Toilette by the French-sounding Jean Louis Gady brandname, christened Musk Oil (it's anyone's guess why they called it thus when it's in fact a spray alcoholic fragrance!) It's my favourite "extra" to include in international packages: there is no one I have sent this to who hasn't spontaneously commented that it is very pleasant and wearable. Warm, sweet but not intensely so, with hints of rose and vanilla, unisex and a proper "perfumey" fragrance rather than a clean musk, it garners compliments from everyone. It's a mystery why it's not widely available.

Another little-sung hero is Sonia Rykiel Woman, not for Men! from one of the more chic and favourite designers: musky, leathery, powdery and with an abstract touch of cosy warmth it's a wonderful, wonderful perfume that is unique, never nauseatingly sweet or heavy and a subtle come-hither. Nota bene, however: all this describes the Eau de Parfum in the bottle with the bronze studs on the cap and the purple accent lettering, not the pink one with the silver studs (the Eau de toilette, which is yet another trite fruity floral).

Demeter's Rain is not exactly what one would call "perfume" and indeed I am not advocating you wear it as a personal fragrance. It's more of a mind-altering mood in a bottle: it is exactly the smell of those baby humidifiers-ionisers which shoot negative ions in the atmosphere to boost energy levels and clear the air. It smells as fresh as the first raindrops from a blue cloud in the autumn sky.

Body indulgences:
The shower gel which I most enjoy during the late summer and autumn months is none other than Felce Azzura (means "blue fern" in Italian) by Paglieri. There is some pungent aromatic and slightly bitter essence like crushed dried herbs gathered on a Greek hill along with a lingering powdery quality about it that never stops having me swooning (a dangerous thing in the shower!). Refreshingly cool in late summer's humidity and unlike any usual citrusy or minty bath product it has an autumnal feel that is a perfect fit for the current season in particular. It also comes as a body powder with the same heavenly smell. And it's relatively inexpensive, making it the perfect everyday indulgence. Once upon a time, as attested by the ad designed by Moltrasio in the 1950's which is clearly inspired by my look-alike, there was also a hair brilliantine. Kill me now!

Hair guilty secret:
I am über-loyal to Elnette hairspray for dry hair ever since I remember using something to hold my stray strands, ever since it was non cool and not fronted by Penelope Cruz and Claudia Shiffer in those nifty ads. Seeing my mother and grandmother using it obvsiouly had a deep and contradictory impact: I wanted to break out of the mold and try "younger" hair stuff, quirky, punky, whatnot. After hundreds of flings with lesser mortals I always return to this one: it brushes off in an instant, does the job well without sticking the hair into barbed-wire and has a nostalgic faint smell that doesn't bother my perfume wearing.

Makeup unsung hero:
Guerlain has my hard-earned Euros on many things; one of the constants however, apart from perfume, is mysteriously enough a highlighter-cum-concealer: Issima Precious Light. A click-pen with a little brush at the edge that delivers the creamiest, most becoming little shot of light for under the eyes, over the brows, at the edges of nose and lips, to give a gentle luminosity to the face to lift it through the darker days of the cooler season. More creamy than the Yves Saint Laurent analogous product and less sticky or thick than the comparable Dior, it is the perfect consistency to blend without tugging. I use Beige Naturel 020 and it doesn't need anything else on top (the sales assistant who insisted my light skin needed the Beige Clair 010 hadn't realised that too white-ish gains a grey-ish pallor over any trace of blue under the eyes...)

Actors to watch now:
This guy has been steadily gaining a small but dedicated fan club, mainly thanks to his inclusion in the Tudors. I fist spotted him in The Count of Monte Cristo. I don't know why they don't employ him in almost everything!
Opposite physionomy to the virile one above, fabulous acting chops, this one is another gem not to miss: I don't know why they don't employ him in almost everything either! Best thing of all: you never hear about their private lives: wise boys...

Music to listen to this autumn:
Manos Hadjidakis is no unknown in Greek music. He shares demi-God status. Yet not many people abroad who only know Greek music from Zorba the Greek instantly recognise him as immediately as the latter's composer (equally talented Mikis Theodorakis). Here is a clip from Gioconda's Smile, his 1965 instrumental album inspired by his stay in...New York City. Available at Amazon.



I'd love to hear from you about your favorite hidden gems (regional or of a wider scope). Share them in the comments and please don't forget to check out The Non Blonde's for another take.

Art photo on top by Charettevia. Felce Azzura ad via trocadero.com. Jeux Interdits poster via Wikimedia. Clint Eastwood pic from the Clint Eastwood Archive.
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L'air de Rien by Miller Harris: fragrance review

Jane Birkin piqued the imagination of thousands when she sighed heavily throughout “Je t’aime, moi non plus”, the Gainsbourg song that Brigitte Bardot had refused to sing and which the Vatican renounced as sinful. Her personality, her insouciance and her contradicting fashion sense, embracing tattered T-shirts alongside the Hermes bag which got named after her, made her an idol that contrary to most should be graced with a celebrity scent. And so it has: Lynn Harris, nose of Miller Harris, surrounded her aura with a bespoke which launched publicly to the delight of many.
Here at Perfume Shrine we were quite taken with it and decided to post our two versions of what it means to us.

Enjoy!

By Denyse Beaulieu

“I have never liked perfumes. I have always preferred to carry potpourri in my pocket. It was an interesting exercise in finding out what you don't like. All the things usually associated with heady, dark-haired women like hyacinth, tuberose and lily-of-the-valley made me vomit when they were enclosed in a bottle so this one is much more me – I wanted a little of my brother's hair, my father's pipe, floor polish, empty chest of drawers, old forgotten houses."

Jane Birkin’s quote in vogue.co.uk at the British launch of L’Air de Rien put me off trying the scent for quite a while. I love perfume, loathe potpourri, tuberose is one of my favourite notes and

never in a thousand years would I dream of smelling like Andrew Birkin’s hair – though I enjoy the films he wrote, such as The Name of the Rose and Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, his hair is not, frankly, his most appealing feature.
It took the combined pressure of Vidabo and Mimiboo, whose judgment I trust, for me to dig out my sample. Both were so taken I needed to know what, exactly, exerted such a pull – Vidabo compared it to what an avant-garde Guerlain could be.
It took several tests to “get” the elusive L’Air de Rien, which truly lives up to its name… In French, “l’air de rien” can be said of something that looks insignificant or valueless, deceptively easy (but could be the opposite). It can also be literally translated as something that “looks like nothing” – perhaps nothing we know. Something completely new, then, which, intriguingly, L’Air de Rien turned out to be.
Never has a composition behaved so capriciously in each encounter. The initial dab from the sample vial yielded nothing but a rather mild musk sweetened by neroli. Then a spray from a tester bottle was an outsize slap of oakmoss. Thinking my sample has gone off or come from a defective batch, I secured a second: musk again. Second spray, different tester bottle in a different shop: oakmoss redux.

Curiouser and curiouser … I turned to specialists to explain just why the two star notes refused to sit down and play together. I first contacted perfumer Vero Kern. She ventured that the difference in result was due to the difference in application: spraying would produce a much more ample development. She also suggested I contact Lyn Harris directly, which I did. She promptly responded:

“As the creator of this fragrance, I do find it totally mysterious and magical. It almost seems to behave like a wine in the way it changes and evolves so much with age and on different skins. It is a very simple composition based around oakmoss, amber, neroli, vanilla and musk as Jane wanted and had to know exactly what was in it and I never wanted to deceive her. She completely loves oakmoss on its own so this had to come through the top notes as it does as you spray but also as the composition doesn’t have a lot of top and heart notes (…) Oak moss is the least tenacious material with the neroli and so this is most prevalent when you spray and then drops away on the dry down.”

Mystery solved? Hardly. Mystery is truly at the heart of L’Air de Rien –how such a short, simple formula manages to create such depth of resonance. Almost as though the stripping of most head and middle notes, to delve directly into base notes, echoed the depth of intimate memories – and Jane Birkin is nothing if not a repository of memory, that of her long-time romantic partner and Pygmalion, singer-songwriter Serge Gainsbourg, whom she left in 1980 but whose songs she still performs. Indeed, in the eyes of the French public, she is still predominantly known and loved as the quirky, immensely moving English ingénue muse of the greatest French-language poet of the late 20th century…

L’Air de Rien’s heavy sexual gravity belies the sweetness of the musk-neroli marriage. The balsamic bitterness of the oakmoss sets off the dark, almost medicinal facet of the musk that can be found in Middle-Eastern perfumery – say, in the Tangiers perfumer Madini’s Black Musk or Musk Gazelle blends. It is the polar opposite of the more fashionable clean white musks of Narciso Rodriguez for Her or Sarah Jessica Parker Lovely. The ingénue has aged and weathered: she may slip feet dirty from wandering in dusty rooms or moist, rich gardens into scuffed, well-loved boots, no longer willing to seduce with a bat of her gazelle eyes, but on her own, mournful, timeless, terms. Or not at all.

By Elena Vosnaki

I will always remember Jane Birkin in French film of the 60s La Piscine starring Romy Schneider and Alain Delon: an erotic thriller of sorts, in which she ~long haired and surprisingly young~ moved her lithe limbs innocently doe-eyed. Her French pronunciation hilariously Brit ackward as she asked “Laquelle preferez-vous?” while rolling little pieces of bread with moist fingers into miniscule spheres, averting her eyes from Romy Schneider. This faux innocence has served her well in other roles too, such as the underneath conniving, outwardly gauche heroine of who-dunnit Evil under the Sun. In that one she even dons some other woman’s perfume to make her con more believable. We are talking about a character with perfumista clout, obviously. A scent starring oakmoss no less: one of the shining ingredients of L’air de Rien!

It is with the same mock innocence that L’air de Rien fools you into believing it is a simple musk fragrance. Musks of course have been a love of mine from ever since I recall first sampling one, a rite of passage. It was thus with a sense of exaltation that I put L’air de Rien on my skin. If nothing else it proved as unique and contradictory as the woman who inspired it. Like she said herself of her life:

"I don't know why people keep banging on about the '60s. I was very conventional because I came from a conventional family and I didn't go off with different people - I rather wish I had now, seeing all the fun everyone else was having"

If her perfume is meant to be worn “like a veil over one’s body”, then it is with Salome’s subversive power of being driven by a higher entity that one would do it. Only Salome wore multiple veils and here we only have a few: the notes of the fragrance progress so rapidly that one is confused as to the denouement.
There is cosiness and snuggliness aplenty. A strange feeling of humaness, as if a living and breathing human being has entered a dark, forgotten room in an old abandoned cottage in the Yorkshire countryside or the scriptorium in the The Name of the Rose; coincidentally among my most favourite novels (the film of course necessarily excised much of the esoterica of the book by Eco).
Like old parchment there is a bitter mustiness to L’air de Rien that gives a perverse, armospheric sexiness to the sweeter note of amber that clutches on to shadowy musk and oakmoss for dear life.

If you have secretly fantasized about having a roll on the floor of the dark kitchen in the murderous monastery of the above-mentioned film with a handsome young monk, then this is your scent. Literally nothing lay hidden underneath Valentina Vargas’ dirty cloak as she silently seduced Christian Slater with all the rough innocence of their respective youth and all the postcoital regret of the eternally unattainable.
Lacrimae mundi, tears of the world...


Click here for the famous nude scene from The Name of the Rose. Warning: Not office-suitable!

Pic of Jane Birkin and Charles Gainsbourg sent to me by mail unaccredited. Pic of Andrew Birkin from The Telegraph 2003. Artwork by Polish illustrator Zdzisław Beksiński courtesy of BekinskiOvh.org

The One That I Want: Gisele Performs for Baz Luhrmann in Chanel No.5 Commercial

Every new commercial for Chanel No.5 is a small idyll and the reason isn't very hard to see: we're talking about the perfume industry's most sacred totem. The amount of ink and gigabytes spent to write about No.5 (and the whole Chanel mythos) is spilling forth and my cup filleth. But still I was left sort of mesmerized upon watching the latest Chanel No.5 video commercial, directed by Aussie maverick & iconoclast Baz Luhrmann (who might possibly never surpass his Romeo & Juliet 1990s film adaptation, but who's interesting and relevant all the same).

The credits come full circle as Luhrmann had directed the 2004 commercial starring a fledgingly scary-looking at the time (notice the eyes) Nicole Kidman as "a dancer" (but really a celebrity) who pushes away Rodrigo Santoro (then becoming famous through his participation in 300) in what was an almost bankrupting filming for the French brand of luxury goods. The couture gowns designed by Karl Lagerfeld, the jewelry, the body suit and high heel pumps, the chauffeured limos, the skyscraper views, the dancing routines, the red carpet exit, the Debussy music…

Luhrmann doesn't really cut down on budget for the new Chanel No.5 commercial for 2014 and again uses a well known male actor to his feminine heroine, the giga-super-model Gisele, this time Game of Thrones' Michel Huisman. In fact this is the first time that the heroine in those commercials doesn't shy away from a man, but seeks him out.
But what really stands out is the genius use of music, Lo Fang's extra slow (like, 5 times slower than normal) cover of The One That I Want, the famous Grease song that vindicated a generation or two.

Even though I was initially skeptical on the choice of Gisele standing as the face of this iconic French perfume, when it was first announced, this was mainly because she doesn't embody any of the cliches that we come to associate with either Chanel (brunette, small framed, very smart but quirky looking) or the French "chic" (lots of simple black & white, Cleopatra-cut bobs, red lipstick and a spattering of rather unhealthy habits). But seeing the film, I can't deny that apart from a couple rather "void" gros plans at her face on the surf board, I find myself convinced.

Of course I disagree with Lurhmann that Gisele embodies the multi-tasking character of Coco Chanel (a much more manipulative and sharply street-smart woman, what in Greek we call "καπάτσα"), but she looks good (in not only gorgeous-gams-and-hair way, but also convincing in her anxiousness during role playing). Additionally the fact that the director and scripting didn't get her to speak any lines is clever; why shatter the perfect image? It's all played through direction, something that shows very well in the 3-minute long film (shorter snippets of 30 and 60 seconds will play on TV screens during the countdown to Christmas).

Lurhmann, a man known for his grandiloquence, also makes use of some personal leitmotifs: the Queensboro bridge driving-through shot which he used in his Nicole Kidman commercial for No.5, his The Great Gatsby and now for the latest Chanel commercial, for one. To Baz it's a shot out of Fitzgerald's novel that suggests inner turnmoil, much like the Brooklyn bridge stands out in filming as a symbol of faith in industrialization (or even the unification of America, such as in Atlantis poem by Hart Crane).

 The commercial of Chanel No.5 featuring Gisele isn't as dreamy as the Audrey Tautou Chanel commercial (who unsurprisingly did embody French cuteness to a T), which had been directed by Jeanne Pierre Jeunet, but it's rather charming all the same. For instance, I absolutely love the clever association of "chills" in the lyrics to the water bubbles shown and the famed zing of aldehydes on the top perfume notes of this most classic floral aldehydic fragrance. And I also smile watching the very cute mother & daughter spraying a cloud of perfume in the air ritual]. The Chanel commercial, especially for something as timless and "old" is better mannered than Dior's latest J'Adore 2014 commercial (which basically told us off if we romanticize any sort of timelessness). Assuredly a step into the right direction after the catastrophe of sanctioning that Brad Pitt commercial (and patching things up last season with a Marilyn tape transcript). Well done Chanel!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: 
The most incredible Chanel No.5 commercial ever is from 1982
Chanel No.5 Through the Years: Iconography and Advertising
Clips of old Chanel No.5 commercials
Collective PerfumeShrine Posts on Chanel No.5 (scroll)

Top 10 Most Popular Fragrances in France 2012 for Men & for Women and Favorites for the Opposite Sex

Best-selling lists are always interesting to ponder on as they reveal more than merely shopping habits. When it comes to how women view specific perfumes as "ideal" (or close to ideal) however it gains on even more esoteric nuances as it bypasses the obstacle of price hindrances or availability. To that end Promise Consulting Inc has generated a most interesting research comprising 1082 women 18 years old and upwards (out of which 1000 are perfume buyers themselves), conducted between 28 November and 15 December 2012 which resulted on a list of perfumes that French women view as close to what they consider "ideal", as well as which perfumes they find best for offering to men. Men on a similar pool of subjects were also asked which perfumes garner their interest as "ideal" to offer to their women, as well as which they judge as most desirable for themselves. The results, posted below are most revealing. [NB.Please note these are my personal interpretations of the results and therefore the companies themselves or the research firm might disagree. I urge you to discuss your own opinions on them in the comments!]

via popthusiasm.blogspot.com

First of all it's a resounding affirmation which I have long held that the French consumer is comparatively conservative and relying on established brands with recognized "luxury cachet" (and is therefore a stark contrast to the USA best-selling perfumes list for the same year). Big companies do not invest money in their marketing and advertising budget without knowing this intimately. Campaigns such as Dior's J'Adore featuring Charlize Theron (and recently reprising silver screen icons to supplement the glamour) have helped make a sensation out of a perfume that very soon after its introduction it became the leader in the market. Niche fragrances are nowhere to be found in such lists, confirming the above view and validating the term "niche" after all.

It's intriguing to see that the women's preferred perfumes list doesn't vary much from the actual best-selling perfumes list for 2011: in short, what French women end up buying is what French women consider most desirable for themselves, hence the undisputed throne of J'Adore by Dior, which has been a steady best-seller for 10 years now. Florals, fruity florals, woody florals (Parisienne, Flower)  and "gourmands" (Nina, Lolita Lempicka) reign supreme. Although there is technically a "French style perfume genre", modern French women are  more fashion-conscious than that; market trends have marched on and women have embraced the trends no matter where they're situated.

Comparing with what men actually seek to gift their women with is fascinating: the notoriety and pedigree of classics (No 5, Shalimar) takes precedence over popularity, but not by too large a margin: J'Adore is sandwhiched between No.5 and Shalimar. A few other suggestions crop up which haven't been featured in the women's list. Generally it involves perfumes which have been best-selling for years before, such as Angel or Coco Mademoiselle, which women themselves do not mention in their most desired top-10 probably due to overexposure to them over the years of smelling them everywhere. Men, even French men, on the other hand seem to like familiar scents (scents they have smelled before) and they also like to lean on a stable, surefire standby that has proven its value before, such as a "classic". As Frédéric Malle puts it on the current issue of Vogue.fr: “A lot of people give Chanel No. 5 for the same reason they might buy an Apple computer—because they think they can’t go wrong.” Orientals seem more populated in the men's list than on the women's.

Men choosing for themselves is also interesting as opposed to what women find as best for their men. Although "fresh" is the default choice there are some interesting variations on the theme. Hugo Boss, Azzaro and Calvin Klein have sold their fragrances with a virility or modernity angle for ages and continue to do so. The classic Eau Sauvage by Dior features  highly in both sexes' lists (possibly rekindled by the 2010 commercial featuring Alain Delon scenes from 1960s film La Piscine). The celebrity or eye-candy factor might be why Dior Homme is on the list of women liking on men (a combination of scent and Jude Law fronted advertising), whereas the same fragrance doesn't appear on the "men for themselves" list. Generally men are proving more conservative in their choices once again.
There is the anomaly of women designating Chanel Allure Eau de Toilette (which is marketed to women!) for men. I can't possibly account for that fact other than to say there might have been some mix-up between names and gender-targeted smells and since Allure in eau de toilette is generally "fresh" (with citrus top notes and a clean powdery drydown) it might appear good for a man to wear regardless of the demographic it's aimed at. Le Male is higher on the men's list than on the women's list for men gift-giving,  I'm hypothesizing because the image of the androgynous (and being a "gay" favorite) creates a distance between established luxury and "hipness".

Top 10 perfumes that women appreciate as best for themselves (France 2012):

1.Dior J'adore
2.Dior Miss Dior (Cherie)
3.Chanel No.5
4.Nina Ricci Nina (apple bottle, modern juice)
5.Kenzo Flower
6.Yves Saint Laurent Parisienne
7.Guerlain La Petite Robe Noire
8.Lancome Tresor
9.Lolita Lempicka Lolita (original)
10.Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps

Top 10 perfumes that men appreciate as best to gift to women (France 2012):

1. Chanel No.5
2.Dior J'Adore
3.Guerlain Shalimar
4.Lancome Tresor
5.Dior Miss Dior (Cherie)
6.Chanel Coco
7.Chanel Coco Mademoiselle
8.Dior Pure Poison
9.Kenzo Flower
10.Thierry Mugler Angel

Top 10 fragrances that men appreciate as best for themselves (France 2012):
1.Hugo Boss Boss
2.Hugo Boss Hugo
3.Jean Paul Gaultier Le Male
4.Dior Eau Sauvage
5.Azzaro pour Homme
6.Calvin Klein CK One
7.Armani Aqua di Gio
8.Dior Farhenheit
9.Hugo Boss Boss Signature
10.Chanel Allure Homme Sport

Top 10 fragrances that women appreciate as best to gift to men (France 2012):
1.Hugo Boss Boss
2.Dior Eau Sauvage
3. Chanel Allure Homme
4.Armani Aqua di Gio
5.Chanel Allure (the women's Eau de toilette, please note)
6.Dior Homme
7.Hugo Boss Hugo
8.Azzaro pour Homme
9.Chanel Allure Homme Sport
10.Jean Paul Gaultier Le Male

 The data comes from Promise Consulting Inc in partnership with Huffingtonpost.fr, hence the pics.

The Politics of Perfumery: Jean Paul Guerlain Makes a Faux-Pas?

Perfumery is a minefield. It's not only perilous to make an olfactory mistake and distance your core audience, a communication faux pas might even trigger a campaign of boycotting your product. That faux pas can take many guises, but none is more "sensitive" than a random comment which can hint of racism. Jean Paul Guerlain, apparently unintentionally, just committed just that cardinal sin.
The whole incident took place in an interview to Elise Lucet concerning his work at maison Guerlain, where he created many masterpieces, Samsara among them. Concerning the latter, Jean Paul commented: "For once, I worked like a negro. I don't know if negroes have worked that much, but anyway..."

The word used in French was negro, but the translation is edgily close to the subversive nigger word (of which there is no French comparable).

The quote also inelegantly suggests that there might be laziness involved too. SOS Racisme and Cran have complained about this statement on France 2 this past Friday 15th October. (You can read the news and the original quote on this link) The reasons given for the outcry are mostly pedagogical, as they renounce the colonial cliches which are thus being perpetuated through such statements. Of course it's argued that these statements go against the values of LVMH and Guerlain in general, and action of distancing was demanded from LVMH, to which the behemoth company replied with a direct apology by Jean Paul himself on AFP via mail. In it Jean Paul Guerlain clarified that he is sorry for the statement and that it does not reflect his deeper thoughts. He also mentioned that he is not a representative of the company since 1996 and is not salaried since 2002, "taking full responsibility [for the faux pas], not wanting to hurt the company and its employees". His current position is of advisory to the head perfumer Thierry Wasser.

That was of course in response to the wildfire criticism which erupted on Twitter and blogs as well as perfume community fora (such as this one or that one) with proposals of boycotting the brand. It even reached CNN!.

As usual on Perfume Shrine, we dissect things to get to the bottom of it.

First of all, the first part of Jean Paul's statement is simple enough: "Work like a negro" is -unfortunately, but there you have it- a common idiom in many European languages (French being one of them, Greek also among them) in which it simply means "work very, very hard". Undoubtedly the French have it one better than us, having intimate knowledge of just how hard negroes might have worked because they have been colonialists for centuries, but I digress. The thing is very often the phrase springs up with no intent of offense; it's just an ingrained "memory" or "hearsay" (for those of us who never had any blacks in a colonial past working for our wealth). And anything can be interpreted the way one wants it to. The Holy Bible is filled with racism if you're willing to seek it from an objective point of view.

Blacks/Negroes have worked in plantations for many years as slaves, as recently as the previous century. This is deeply shameful, there is no other way around it. But certainly not to black people! Rather the ones who owned them and perpetuated this practice at a time in history when such a practice was not necessitated by ANY means (It's an agreed fact that slavery in antiquity falls under completely different parameters and not within our scope here). There even exist wonderful French patisserie creations that reference negroes, certainly through no desire to offend them.

The unfortunate correlation is that the word negro can be twisted into translation into the offending "nigger" word, which is undoubtedly derogatory. Which is exactly what happened on American media. This reminds me of the instance when Gérard Depardieu was a nominee for an Academy Award for Cyrano in 1990 which he eventually lost through a mass campaign smearing his name as "juvenille rapist". What had happened? He was giving an interview in French, recounting his troubled formative years in which he was seeing things on the streets. He mentioned, in way of example, witnessing a rape. His misfortune was the French verb "assister" which he had used was mistranslated out of context as "assisted" in the US press. From witness, he became accessory to the crime! Outcry ensued and Academy Award voters took the matter to heart...and decided to give a pedagogical lesson by denying him the votes. The trajectory followed was down-spiral...and the award went to Jeremy Irons for Reversal of Fortune (In no way am I intending to diminish his exceptional performance which I love myself). Thankfully Depardieu has remained unscathed since and the gossiping tongues claim the campaign was not so innocent to begin with, aiming to deny a non-English speaker an Academy Award for Leading role in a non-English speaking film. This is of course merely conjecture.

So far so good and this should be a lesson to us all on how to pick our words in a multi-cultural society such as the global one we're living in. And I wouldn't be giving any extended commentary, should the second part of the Jean Paul Guerlain quote not exist.

But the second part does exist, alas. Weirdly too, because Jean Paul is well-known for his good rapport and friendship with the inhabitants of the island of Mayotte, where Guerlain keeps ylang ylang plantations. Maybe his progressing age doesn't help too much in general?

That second part of the quote inelegantly attaches the stigma of laziness where none exists (and by association the "plight" some of the countries inhabited mainly by negroes is attributed to a fault of their own). Speaking with personal national experience, where critical geopolitical and precarious financial games are played on our backs by the superpowers, I can assure M.Guerlain (and everyone) that very seldom in politics anything is "through one's own fault". It's not school exams, you know. There's got to be someone assisting someone else's plight; someone else who is actually gaining something out of it. In this instance, it is colonialism and the wealth it accumulated for colonials. Too bad that France is still struggling to come to terms with accepting that heritage. Whatever... nevertheless a little more compassion to people who are not wholly responsible for what happened to them goes a long way.

And, before I forget, oh, I wish I could have forgotten about another unfortunate quote concerning other less privileged groups which I had critiqued on these pages back in 2008.

Because, come to think of it, what purpose is perfume accomplishing -refining us, giving us a veneer of sophistication and allure- if we forget to show basic human understanding for the misfortune of others? Let's refresh our Aimé Césaire readings.

For purposes of injecting a semi-relevant & controversial viewpoint on racial matters, France and the US, please read this blog post. Food for thought, and why not, comment!

NB: The pics are (clearly I hope?) ironic. The hypocrisy of white colonialism at its very highest.