Rainy weather: Mitsouko time

What can one possibly say about this iconic perfume? What can one add to the tome upon tome of literature on the subject?

Everything has been analyzed over and over : how it was inspired by a literary Japanese heroine in 1919; how the bottle was the same as the one for L’heure bleue; how the aldehyde C14 in there replicates peach skin; how it is a scent implicated in sex under a different perspective than the one in the West; how it is mixed in tragedy, greatness and cinematic art; how the name doesn’t mean what Guerlain has been telling us after all…(you can see all that on my Mitsouko entry on my personal site Perfume Shrine, section "Perfume in literature and film", linked in index)

Sometimes great works of art ultimately lose if one describes them too extensively. They lose their mystique, their spirituality, their rapport with the hidden forces that make them so compelling in the first place.
So we won’t dissect Mitsouko here. We simply won’t. Just because.
We’ll just let ourselves feel the yearning and sense of loss it evokes and slowly whisper my favourite poem. (I'd like it to be on my tombstone)

The god forsakes Antony

When suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive—don’t mourn them
uselessly.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
say goodbye to
her, the Alexandria that is leaving.

Above all, don’t fool yourself, don’t say
it was a dream, your ears
deceived you:
don’t degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one
long prepared, and graced with courage,
as is right for you who were given
this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion,
but not
with the whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen—your final
delectation—to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange
procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.

- by Constantine P. Cavafy (1911)

Translated from greek to english by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard

Note for understanding the context: The poem refers to Plutarch's story that when Marc Antony was besieged in Alexandria by Octavian the night before the city fell into enemy hands, he heard an invisible troupe leaving the city. He heard the sounds of instruments and voices making their way through the city. Then, he passed out; the god Bacchus (Dionysus), Antony's protector, was deserting him.

If you want to read Constantinos Cavafy's poetry, click here. Plutarch's Parallel lives link here

Mitsouko entry on Perfume in literature and film: here

Bvlgari Black: Eating Asphalt ~fragrance review

The car analogy on my previous post and today’s pic had been lurking in my mind allied to a particular scent and what with mr.Duirez doing a commercial for Lexus (Duriez is nose in Patou house), brought to my attention by Karol, one of my readers, and everything, this is as good a time as any to bring it up. I had referred to this perfume as a Mercedes S-class its rubber tires eating asphalt in a metropolis setting in my Scent of a Man list a few days ago and the comparison now seems anachronistic somehow, but scripta manent, therefore I am to remain blameless.
Bvlgari (or Bulgari, whichever way you want to spell it) Black is the weird oriental for men (and women; it’s one of those euphemistically called “shared” frags) who want something modern, sleek, original, definitely not the spawn of any other department store fragrance. Yet it is easily accessible, which adds an intrinsic value to people who live in places far away from hip Barneys, Les Senteurs or Body&Soul stores, so the poor chaps might actually test the stuff before commiting the monthly allotment reserved for perfume.


In Black’s case sniffing might be in order if you are unfamiliar with the modern perfume niche market. However under no circumstances is it strange or unappealing to wear. Polarising as it might be, due to the perceived hot rubber tires accord, I find it soft and vanillic, which is perhaps sounding like an oxymoron next to the "supreme exponent of the metropolitan concept", as Bvlgari wants to call it.
Created by Annick Menardo, the talented Cannes-born nose behind Lolita Lempicka, Lolita au masculine, Kouros Body, Hypnotic Poison, Boss and a co-perpetrator for Hypnôse (well, I am no fan, sorry), it was a 1998 sensation even if it never reached the upper echelons sales-wise. Although Dzing! by L’artisan created by nez extraordinaire Olivia Giacobetti launched in 1999 and is quite close to Black, it segues into other avenues of weirdness and wondrousness, enough to make it stand apart.

The bottle is a very fetish-y matte rubbery surface like the rubber watchband from their supreme collection, encasing a glass bottle within that is crowned by a steel top with the Bvlgari Bvlgari logo of their eponymous collection that twists and sprays. There are ON and OFF positions on it, in an attempt to make it look like a gadget or a driving equipment. The idea is brilliant, however people have been reporting that the mechanism has been found a bit wanting, since it can have a tendency to jam or leak if you try too hard. They’d better ameliorate this aspect. The current version exists in 40 and 75ml bottles.

Upon spraying this on skin a warm citrus/bergamot note greets you, soon to be rounded and smoked by the black veil of lapsang souchong tea leaves notes. Tea scents have been something of a trademark for Bvlgari, because it was them that introduced the accord with their Bvlgari Femme perfume and the tradition persisted along in Eau parfumée au thé vert (green tea), then thé blanc (white tea) and finally thé rouge (red tea). Seems tea is coming out in all colours of the rainbow, after all, and pity me who had underestimated it through my teenager years as the drink to consume while sick. Little did I know then.
Along with tea a strange and wonderful resiny aroma rises up from heated skin like smoke signs by stressed executives in their offices to the object of their affection along the hall. Has life become so hectic that we communicate in new ways and with new signals after all? Does perfume hold a special place in this new language? I think it does.
Proof positive that pretty soon the warm hug of rich vanilla envelops the cool smokiness and the whole nests in a woody embrace created by the combination of sandalwood, cedar and amber. No single wood is discernible for what it is, because the mingling is seamless and vanilla and some musk seem to overpower the rest.

Although Bvlgari insist to list oakmoss as one of the ingredients I have never smelled it in this and I doubt that now with the new IFRA regulations it will be included anymore.

Anyway, the fact remains; do you have an object of affection across the hall? Are her or his antennae tuned in to perfume? Black might help you deliver that message you have been wanting to across.


Pic by HelmutNewton.edu

Givenchy Ange our Demon: Repossessed? Fragrance Review

There are some deeply seated feelings and memories in all of us and smell has an uncanny way of unlocking them. The launch of Givenchy’s Ange ou Démon (meaning angel or demon and marketed under "Ange ou Etrange" in Muslim counties) has been such a case recently.
Promising a dichotomy that was much anticipated –nay… longed for- in an era that overindulges its gluttony streak that runs through the ever-dieting masses, everyone was expecting the duality of a light/dark scent.
The advertorial in the LVMH on-line mag enticed us with this: “The new feminine fragrance […] is an invitation to succumb to that most powerful charm, an enigmatic scent created from shadow and light.
With elegance, inspiration, playful spirit and exceptional quality, Ange ou Démon is a concentrate of Givenchy’s values. A highly sophisticated structure, precious and rare ingredients and the generous emotions unleashed, all combine to make this a scent in a class of its own.
The truly splendid olfactory universe of Ange ou Démon unfolds around the purest lily and the deepest oak wood.”

Created by Firmenich’s Olivier Cresp and Jean-Pierre Bethouart, the new floriental was aimed at creatures that were not targeted by their Very Irrésistible offering with the lovely and angelic Liv Tyler to front it. It wanted to play up the dark card, the forbidden.
Images and insinuations to the forbidden have been tied to perfume advertising from time immemorial. Psychologist Joachim Mensing has this to offer: “Wearing a sinful scent is a way of living out your alter ego’s ideal existence without the risks of acting it out in real life”. Especially women, I think, trapped in the Madonna/whore exigencies of male fantasy.
Therefore, an avalanche of sinful scents including such gems as My sin, Deviltry, Tabu, Magie Noire, Bandit and lots of others has been tumbling over us for the past century or so. Witchcraft, possession,Hecate worship and demonic names have had their fair share in this. It will never end as people are simultaneously lured and appalled by such notions. Ange ou Démon looked to be in this illustrious line. Sadly it did not deliver, at least for me.

The modeling face is Marie Steiss, née Marie de Villepin, the daughter of former French Prime Minister Dominique de Villepin. She changed her name to Steiss to pursue a career in modeling and acting. Maybe it also has to do with the fact that her father is so unpopular now despite being quite dashing. (certainly in the league of politicians of Pierre Trudeau or J.F. Kennedy good looks). The girl isn’t bad looking, but certainly not evocative of angelic/demonic nuances. The dark roots under the “big” blonde which alludes to Debbie Harry are not much help, I’m afraid. However the next rumoured Givenchy scent, probably called Bourgeois, might be grist to her mills.

The design of the bottle is meant to resemble a crystal from a costly chandelier, in the shape of a spear or a sinner’s tear (your choice) with a colouring degradé from light to dark, evoking the duality of the name and the scent. Although it was not to my exact taste, it does look luxurious and sturdy, I have to admit, unlike many others on the market from equally prestige brands.

The scent itself is built thus (info from Escentual):

TOP NOTES - Crystalline Femininity: white thyme essence, mandarin from Calabria and saffron essence. HEART NOTES - Radiant Nobleness: noble lily, ylang-ylang, orchid maxillaria. BASE NOTES - Mysterious Addiction: tonka bean, vanilla, palissander wood and oak wood essence.
Well…..hmmm…….

Upon initial spraying a very cleaning-fluid-like note emerges, cool and with herbal elements that I am sorry to report do not remind anyone of the culinary thyme. There is no trace of the tartness I associate with mandarin either. The lush florals come to the fore with their intense headiness; lily is particularly evident, and has a penetrating smell combined with ylang ylang which smells true enough. There is a very candied aroma to the floral, which surprised me, because although lots of florals are sweet by nature, they do have a different nuance to them, more piercing than flat saccharine. This is vaguely reminiscent of the syrupy sweetness of Hypnôse by Lancôme or Armani Code, two scents suffice to say, I am not particularly attracted to. Those two do share common elements among them, enough even to label them “olfactory cousins”. [Many others in the market tout their orientalised woody sweetness too, from Boucheron Trouble to Le Baiser du dragon by Cartier. The latter two however do not bear a resemblance to Ange ou Démon, but merely illustrate tendencies in the industry.]

Orchids from a hothouse do not have the scent they are naturally supposed to have and therefore I am not the best judge of this particular note. I did search about what maxillaria orchid is, though and the result was this. Seems like the coconut emission of the blossom does contribute to the sweetness, although I cannot be conclusive on such aspects.
However the swirl of silky saffron does make an emphatic appearance and softens the top and heart notes that supposedly smell of “crystalline femininity” and “radiant nobleness”. A slight peppery smell is evident too.
A good thing, since vanilla and tonka bean would divert this into confectionary avenues I am best far away from. In another mix, of sour or bitter tendencies, these two notes would provide the much necessary plush, but not here.
Oak wood in the base, along with pallisander, promised a more chypré/woody quality and the culmination of the drydown is imbued in rich woody essences, with a little bit of powder. Perhaps oak wood is an attempt to bypass the IFRA restrictions on the use of oakmoss in fragrances, although the two are not identical in smell obviously. This is just a guess on my part.
The lasting impression is not that of a deep orientalised fragrance. It lacks that certain roundness coupled with some kick which fragrances of that category possess, despite the vanillic/oak drydown. And although overall candied, it has a weird smell of faint underlying mustiness that doesn’t mix well with the top elements. The transition is not seamless.
The lasting power is good, which of course might be a Damocles’ sword.

Actually the top and heart was so disturbing to my subconsious that it immediately got me on the thinking track hinted by the pic I chose for today. Linda Blair as Regan Teresa MacNeil from The Exorcist is not an image we are going for. At least I hope not.
Not even the handsome Max von Sydow can save me from the ghostly memories.

This 1973 cinematic classic by master director William Friedkin is in fact so terrifying in a deep-rooted, subconscious way that it has never ceased haunting me since I first watched it in my teens. And yes, I did watch it again as an adult, more than once. No more splatter than lots of other films out there, no more credible in its storyline either; yet, its power lies in the fact that it makes one believe that evil does exist and it spares no one, not even innocent little children and this is a deeply disturbing thought… Let’s hope they don't get repossessed chez Givenchy!

The eau de parfum comes in 50ml and 100ml. Spray bottles at 65 euros and 95 euros respectively and I am told that the scent flew off the shelves in the first days of its launch in the UK and in the States. The creation of a bath/body line simultaneously with the launch of the scent hints at them knowing something I do not. Perfectly plausible, I'll give you that.

What is Chic ?

The human brain needs small incentive to go on a day dreaming track when provoked. A casual question on a perfume forum made me think about what constitutes chic in perfume. The unanimous response reigning supreme was Chanel #19, a scent I personally love and consider very chic indeed. Other chypres also featured prominently. However the issue deserves pondering on and not just writing it off with a few predictable recommendations.
Antisthenes the famous Greek philosopher, has a saying attributed to him, by which I have abided all my life: roughly translated, the beginning of wisdom lies in exploring meanings. So what is chic? I have thought about that, first of all.

via tubearc.blogspot.com

People have different definitions: some consider chic equals “confidence, timelessness...fragrances that are effortlessly stylish”, others say that it “means fashionable, to be sure, but also stylish in a kind of lean 'n' mean, insolent, provocative way” and cites models of a certain designer house as examples.
Ayala, a perfumer herself had this to offer: “timelessly stylish (as opposed to the passing fashion-du-jour). There must be something about it just a little bit cool or aloof in a way - as if there is no real attachment to the scent (or the fashion item), and they are just used as a tool...”

Luca Turin addressed the issue in a humorous way in The Emperor of Scent:

“Chic is first when you don’t have to prove you have money, either because
you have lots, so it doesn’t matter or because you don’t have and it doesn’t
matter. Chic is not aspirational. Chic is the most impossible thing to define.
Luxury is a humorless thing, largely and when humor happens in luxury it happens
involuntarily. Chic is all about humor. Which means chic is about intelligence.
And there has to be oddness –most luxury is conformist and chic cannot be. Chic
must be polite and not incommode others, but within that it can be as weird as
it wants.”

By that same token, Madame Clouzot, sister to film director Henri-Georges Clouzot in talking about French perfumery she deemed only two houses as really great French perfumers. She then ascribed Guerlain to cocottes (=kept women), while Caron was for duchesses (proper, proper chic). What the French consider chic nowadays is “a sort of kept-woman vulgarity”, luxury that shows. So I do find myself simpatico with that opinion expressed above. 

Many times women’s glossy magazines, fashion editors and coffee table books devoted to style do spreads with images alluding to the following ladies: Jackie Kennedy-Onassis, Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly - and Katherine Hepburn if the editor is having a good day...More subversive personalities, like Diane Vreeland or D.Furstenberg, are considered exceptions that consolidate the rule. In that light, chic at some point deteriorated to certain "style-icons" of Western perception and scope.
A pearl necklace, a camel coat and black leather pumps look. You know what I mean. Timeless, classic, a little preppy. (I am having a difficult time imagining in those terms what would be chic in India, for instance, if one takes into consideration clothes’ tradition and climatic differences) But what was it that equated chic with that look? Is this chic? Not if a hundred women out there go out and copy it; because isn't chic supposed to be sophisticated? And what is so sophisticated and individual in following in the footsteps of someone else, someone as well known as the style icons just mentioned? I mean, everyone would expect it. Hmmmm...

In the interests of objectivity I searched the term online too.

The Free Dictionary had this to offer:

adj. chic•er, chic•est
1. Conforming to the current fashion; stylish:
chic clothes; a chic boutique.
2. Adopting or setting current fashions and
styles; sophisticated: chic, well-dressed young executives. See Synonyms at
fashionable.
noun
1. The quality or state of being stylish;
fashionableness.
2. Sophistication in dress and manner; elegance.

By that definition, chic has a stylish air, a contemporary element (not something obsolete) and yet possesses elegance aplenty.
Also there is this definition by Wikipedia: “means stylish or smart, as reflected in styles of fashion such as heroin chic or boho-chic”. This leaves much more leeway, though, for almost anything.

via goldgorgeous.blogspot.com

So what are the perfumes that personify all the elements of chic? What is elegant, contemporary, sophisticated, non aspirational, confident, insouciant, and humourous?
Maybe it can be better defined by what is not in that league.

Too much luxury has an effect of “blinding” the sensory receptors, registering as bordering on show-off. Cascades of costly ingredients, rich velvet feel, gold tinged nuances: all that points to the direction that the wearer wants to be perceived as wearing a rich perfume (why that would be desirable, enough to make it to a beauty magazine such as Allure with the corresponding views of Frédéric Malle -the head of “ Éditions de parfums”- in the article "How to smell discreetly rich", is perhaps the theme of another article). What could be included in this super-luxe category? Obviously the Clive Christian and Amouage perfumes, which are so costly they surely stand as the olfactory equivalent of a Hèrmes Birkin bag -in crocodile skin, no less; costs as much as a small car and has a waiting list of at least two years. I’d rather give my money to charity, thank you.

Unfortunately, although not as pretentious, there are other perfumes, lovely, gorgeous perfumes that bring to mind lush plush and starched banknotes: Joy, Shalimar, Boucheron femme and homme, 24 Faubourg. They don’t smell un-chic. But they do smell conformist, like someone who wants others to know he/she has good taste. Alas many oriental fragrances suffer from this affliction.

Too much sexuality is also anathema to chic, not because very sexual beings are not chic per se (they can be, as proven by some), but because advertising one’s sexuality with perfume might border on the desperate. So hairy-chested, virile, traditional male aftershaves that purport their attractant properties like Kouros pheromonic experiments and perfumes that have the dubious fame of resembling odorata sexualis (such as Musc Ravageur, Boudoir, Shocking, Obsession or Ambre Sultan to name but a few) bring to mind catcalls to carnality and cannot be seen as insouciant. Sorry…They do serve their other purposes admirably, though.
Too much experimentation on the other hand, that avant garde that is so prevalent among niche brands with unusual synthetic ingredients that mimic everyday objects of sometimes even an unpleasant nature, are also removed from the elegant part of the equation. Comme des garηons is a prime candidate, although I love their Incense series.
Obsolete creations that have withstood a myriad incarnations or bring on the reminiscence of another era can also be excluded. They do attach themselves to ageist jokes of a cruel nature and this is sadly to their detriment as well as to the joker’s. I am afraid Quelques Fleurs suffers from this fate, along with certain old lavenders, such as Yardley English Lavender. It’s not a fault of the perfume; it’s just that they seem far-away and not intended for a major revival.
And there is no need for me to elaborate on why fragrances that smell too much like food do not have associations with chic, now is there?

So what does that leave? I find iris scents and non invasive chypres chic. Some aldehydics can be too, if they don't conform too much. Even some select orientals could, if one wears Opium the way I do: very casually. Yes, Chanel #19 is very chic, exactly because it never shows off and is never more or less than a lady. Miss Dior is also playfully audacious and naughty under the effluvium of floral notes. Rive Gauche vintage is so coldly steely it can cut a swath in a room and make everyone wonder without ever becoming bothersome. Bois des iles is wonderfully composed to sit equally well on men and women, in formal or informal attire. Tauer’s L’air du desert worn by a discerning male could be very chic. Defiant. Mitsouko in all its veiled mystery can be chic, simply because it never elicits the instant recognition compliments and is sexual in a most intriguing, never obvious way. Guerlain Vetiver is always chic; dicreet but individual. Alpona or Jicky on a man could be all those things as well. I would like to put Madame Rochas in its older incarnation in this league, along with modern ones like Voleur de roses, Timbuktu, Fumerie Turque, Tubereuse Criminelle and Iris Poudre. Possibly there are others too.

Does perfume play such a major part in grafting chic-ness onto an individual? Is that even possible? I don’t know for certain. All I know is that chic needs humour. So maybe even the least expected perfume can be viewed as chic on a person who has the wit to make it his/her own.

War of the Worlds: naturals vs synthetics

The first half of my title today, which alludes to the famous H.G.Wells novel, is perhaps implying polemics of a greater magnitude. Still, it is hardly a small-scale issue.
Over the last decade a shocking realization dawned in the minds of most people. Ours was a polluted world, a world of decay and man-made confusion. A world in which Man had distanced himself from Nature.
The 90’s saw a growing concern about the environment, animal rights, the resources still available and the reversion to a way of life that would be purer and cleaner. Organic food, fair trade and a return to traditional techniques entered our vocabularies and our lives. Perfume was just one part of the equation that would go with the flow. Or would it?

Perfumes of yore have been changing their formulae over the past 2 decades at least (in many cases many more) substituting ingredients of a dubious origin with newer ones, usually of a synthetic nature.
The use of synthetic molecules is nothing new, of course. Jicky was the precursor of the modern perfume with its use of not one, but three synthetics (linalool, isolated from rosewood for the first time; coumarin isolated from the tonka bean; and vanillin of course) in 1889. Its success brought about the modernization of perfume as an art form and a new era dawned. Chanel #5 was the other great classic to make use of the aldehydic aroma-chemical family. In some cases it was necessity on the creative side that prompted the innovation brought by certain chemical molecules; gardenia or lily of the valley scents have to be created some other way, because the flower does not yield a satisfactory essence for perfumery. Milk is a note recreated in lactone, because it seemed like a nice, ground breaking idea at some point to include such a note in a composition.

Cut into today. The scarcity of certain ingredients, such as natural ambergris for example or the soon to be depleted natural sandalwood from India, as well as the ethical questions raised concerning the use of others still, such as the deer musk secretion and that of natural civet, have been only one of the factors that directed a new approach. The new guidelines of the European Union/IFRA and of the FDA dictated a substitution of ingredients which would pose a risk of allergic reactions or toxicity. Oakmoss is among them. So is birch tar and coumarin. Reasons of stability, longevity, unlimited possibilities and consistency also come into play for companies.
The issue is complex and companies rarely admit to the change for their own reasons, giving a rise to angered voices complaining of a cheapening of the formula (voices which are not always that educated themselves, I am afraid).
New launches have been proportionately bigger in synthetic ingredients than natural ones, of course. There are even perfumes composed entirely of synthetic ingredients, prompting Chandler Burr in his Synthetic No.5 article in the New York Times (Face, Aug.27) to hint that one very popular perfume is made so and the company is not letting him reveal the name because of the huge prejudice against synthetics in consumers’ minds.

Although I agree with his points made before that, namely that synthetics are expensive as well (sometimes even more so than naturals) and that the notion that natural equates safe while synthetic equates dangerous is not entirely true, I have to point out that this might explain the ignorance of an average consumer, but it does not stand up to a perfume lover’s scrutiny. And this is what Perfume Shrine is always striving to accomplish completely independently and non-strings-attached.

“Creating a perfume without them [synthetics] is like painting a picture without blues or reds. You could do it, but why?”

mr.Burr quips.

Personally I find this rather irrational. The spectrum is composed of 7 colours in the visible
end, which would make us think that therefore synthetics amount to 2/7 of the
total of possible smells. And yet, there are thousands of smells not yet experienced! A never ending journey into the compounds that make up our world and the worlds farther off in the cosmos. The human nose knows no boundaries in this quest. So it would be a little presumptuous to declare that synthetics, man-made substances, have the ability to encompass almost 30% of all smells.

The following quote is also a bit over the edge to me:

“every great scent, from Armani to Gaultier to Lauren, is built on them [synthetics]”.

Not to dwell on the fact that the afore-mentioned houses have not produced that many great scents (because that might be just my personal opinion), but to imply that only the use of synthetics accounts for the production of a great scent rules out centuries of masterpieces that have been maybe lost on us.

There is another prejudice, I am afraid; that one is on the part of perfume experts ~and non-experts alike~ regarding natural perfumers. Some aromatherapists started blending simple perfumes from essential oils about a decade or so back. Those of course were not proper perfumes but alloys for the enhancement of an experience in a spa or meditation. Then, Mandy Aftel wrote Essence and Alchemy which spawned the interest in natural perfumes. Natural perfumers are not aromatherapists, who use aromas for their beneficial use on the mind and body. They just like the aesthetics of natural ingredients and have a greater appreciation of nature’s complexity. They use concretes and absolutes that aromatherapists don't use, not to mention that they study classical perfume structure. Seems pretty valid to me. The main objection of perfume experts has always been that it would be difficult to manipulate natural essences, because they can be multi-nuanced and changing from batch to batch, and to coax them to comply with the given objective in the creative process. Natural perfumery has only got to prove that it can and the proof would be in the pudding, so to speak.

To cut a long story short, the issue is not easily resolved and there should be no aphorism uttered about either naturals or synthetics in my mind.
In the interests of keeping things on a balance however I have embarked on the appreciation of certain natural perfumes, three of which produced by Anya’s Garden I will go on to review shortly. So stay tuned!



Pic from the Girbaud controversial campaign.